i feel disgusting-
every itch
every hair out of place
every wrinkle in my clothes
every randomly sprouting hair on my face
every feeble, fragile, weak, cliched word
makes me need out of here
out of this place
this (mental) state
that has, again
turned me into a self-conscious mess
who only sees his own flaws

i want to burn these words
as i write them

want to cut into my face
with my non-existent, bitten fingernails
everytime i scratch

want someone to hold me
to tell me i'm beautiful
(lying through her teeth)

forget that

i don't want to make anyone
feel like i do;
ugly, desperate-
with me clinging to her
as strongly

as these ****** words cling to me

begging me for air
for life
so they'll feel that their existence
isn't a joke-
reminding me, every second
that mine is, for needing them



©Brandon Webb
2012

1
light falls in river
to red head
red ear
creating glares
of open spaces
in the shaking airwaves
of tapping shoe
slice paper
slice language
cut
to the core
of this planet
where solid liquids churn

2
repeat, go!
Slice into your  mind
Write the outline
Of everything…
Something…
This…
I think
What is left
when everything
disappears
into
something
that has never been
like a river
born from
phoenix ashes
rushing,
thundering
as it strikes, burns,
chars the unyielding
earth
the imprint hinting
at the boots
of an unwelcome hiker




3
(dreams of a wheelchair bound germophobe)

each finger map
creates a face
a person
with cheeks
rosy and full
like plump
grapes, falling
from the
wispy clouds
into footprints,
memories
of what?
Somewhere
A closed door
Hollow, but solid
Rat bitten,
The vermin, running
*******
Stinking of disease
As they squeak
Dying, in the wine
Spilled
In the corner of
Damp cellar


4
sandpaper chipping
contrasted fingernail
pale on brown
the world turns
upside-down
black powder
pencil shavings
fall
somewhere
without door
hallway, walls
floor, ceiling or..
no, forget it
there is nothing there
a black hole
against
untouched
white wall
her face
eyes hiding
behind
the world
as she runs
into the ocean
holding
fire
she discovered fire
the fire of…
of
nothing
of, afterthoughts
a period falls
from blue line
expanding
to form
entrance
to
sewers
rats with red eyes
stare out
that smell,
their breath…
mouthwash
and air freshener
too expensive
to buy
so
in revenge,
they fall
from an inside
pocket
and again,
you are alone
in a room
full of
eyes, which
lead
below,
above
and the world
turns, twists-
the horizon
becoming
needle-point
as they draw
blood


5
puzzle pieces
fall,
crumble-
sand sound
an ocean wave,
the tapping
of a blind cane
a language
unidentifiably
foreign
each word
burning
outlines
into…
what is an
outline?
A silhouette?
A silhouette…
There is nothing left
But a reminder
Of the past-
Filing cabinet
Names
Arranged
Tab by tab,
Letters go down
Stair-steps
Of and unending
Case
Trumpet case?
Violin case?
Or case of words-
Arranged
Letter by letter
Each starting
With “dear…”
Before they end
With blank edge
Discolored
And bent
A broken
Finger
Outlined by
Screaming recipient
Hotel bellhop
Misplaced bags
In the trash chute
And they slide
Into an unlit
Hole
They have yet
To install lights
And show the
Path
Which,
As a child,
The follower
Will not follow
But
Never will they
Know if their
Footsteps lead
Forward or sideways
Through
Night-forest
Of concrete





6
silence:
the existence
of nothingness.
Nothingness
Permits nothing
To be
Permits no one
To see
And in the shadows of un-being-
A sea
Of crashing waves
Colored
Pine needle
To
Watered blood
Shapes ebbing
And waning
In
And
Out
Of focus-
Giving
The effect
Of loose
Fitting
Glasses on
Someone
Otherwise
Engaged-
A jogger
Whose feet
determine
path and
distance-
whose minds
eye is the
only eye
working
ever.
Glasses
Fall forward
And are
Crunched
Underfoot.
Shadows
go black
again



7
nodding
and sniffling-
balding head
shining back
is field of
water-lapped
river-stones-
singular
tide
washing
them
bare-
gl­are
like
windshield
thrown
at highway
speed
onto
midsummer
tropical
gravel road.
gravel
under boots
sounds
eerily
similar
to hard
cereal
in
slime-chunk
milk,
each
grain,
or chunk
is its own
universe
ecosystem-
unaware
of the
rotten
space
in which
it is implanted-
a bullet
into a
tree-
not
piercing
but
remaining
forgotten
to rust
into
non-being
until
only rust
fragments
remain,
to be
scattered
and re-grow
forming new
shapes,
abstract
shapes
tilting
and
twisting
above,
below-
be­low
blue
boundaries
hinting at…
leftover
unwanted
but
envied
in form
by
lesser
beings,
bottom
dweller,
memories
of
ancient times


8
administration
location,
power
fall, topple
off, of your tower
into- elsewhere
but- where?
Does the world
Offer a choice
Of where we
Disappear
To?
Is so
That is
The only
Choice
Given-
Truly given
Upon inspection
Of society
And life,
The structure
Of the life
Of the living
And
The dead,
The dead
The living
Are dying
And in time-
Become-
The dead,
In piles
Of dusty
Tomes-
The past
Was once
Called now,
And now,
The future-
In only
The tick time
Of a second-
Now, will
Be long past-
In two,
The future
Also will be
Past.
Time has
Shifting names
Which change
Faster than
It passes




©Brandon Webb
2012

we circle the mall endlessly
meeting any female eye
hoping she looks back
we're desperate,
we're trying.
but everytime
someone meets our eyes
we look down
unsure of what the hell to say;
so we walk away.
back to the same stores,
same areas
we've already been.
and then,
we stop for a second
somewhere around JC Penny
and ask each other
"what the hell would we say anyway?"
and both our answers are
"i wouldn't be able to talk".
but we keep walking,
keep gesturing everytime we see a girl
but never walk up to her,
never say anything.
for two hours we do this,
reminding us both of how shy we are,
but we still have a good day.
I just hope next time i'll say something,
because i want to hold a passing face,
not a girl i already know.
there's no chance of ruining a friendship
with someone you barely know.
i need love without taking a chance
but i'm too shy to take the chance
of talking to an unknown girl
and hoping for love
just to avoid loving
a girl i can't take the chance of losing.
i need someone,
i just can't jump




©Brandon Webb
2012

it's always at night
that the epiphany comes,
that the constant downpour of thoughts
forms a constant shape.
how can i tell you that lately,
that shape has been your name?

my late night dream shaping sessions
have to stop-
epiphanies leave a footprint,
and i don't want this one to be filled by tears,
like all the rest.

I'll put the rain to better use
than thinking there's a spot next to you
for me

time to roll over,
fall asleep without dreaming

i think like this too often
for me to believe i've succeeded tonight

i'll wake up tomorrow still thinking of you
and thank myself for you not being her,
but i'll still be stuck-
dreams are hard to break,
false realities are worse
(wish i thought this could work)



©Brandon Webb
2012

she had mornings
(still does)
where she'd not talk to anybody
so i'd get on tumblr and check,
finding the familiar phrase
she used on these days
"i'm such a *****"

and between classes
i would find her and wrap her in my arms
and tell her she wasn't
she never believed me,
always disagreed with me

so isn't it ironic
that those words-
"you aren't a *****"
are the ones i hold on to now
everytime i start thinking she is
i tell myself i was right,
that she's only had a hard life
and thinks differently than me

but then she cuts me off walking in the hall,
she gives me emotionless stares on the bus
(where i sit 8 seats farther from her than ever before)
and i almost call her a *****
but i hold off, knowing i was right

i walk an extra three blocks
to and from the convenience store
to avoid her house.
i spend lunch in the library
to avoid hearing her voice.
i walk home from the elementary school
to avoid her presence.
and i don't go swimming
with my brothers boyscout troop
to avoid the memory
of the first time she said she loved me.
but when i'm about to call her a *****
because avoiding her
only makes me remember what she did to me-
i stop
because i know i was right

those words were probably the reason
she left for the last time
the reason she says nothing to me now
becasue she always believed she was right.
i only hope i'm right,
but i try so hard to convince myself
because i don't want to, someday
get so ******* that i scream at her
that she's a *****.
because that will break her
and she'll think she's right
that all her insecurities and anxieties
are true
are righteous,
and she'll be hurt forever
thinking that she's horrible.
she isn't

she isn't a *****
just misunderstood by herself.

when i look at her,
i feel no anger
and i supress the sadness
which may create anger.
anger only fuels my thinking that word
and i can't bring myself to hurt her

no matter how much she hurt me.

not a *****...
not
a
*****




©Brandon Webb
2012

I spent over a hundred dollars
just on chocolate
for her
last year

every once in a while
i'd surprise her
with one of those organic peanut butter bars
she liked

i'd buy em from aldriches
during photography
or video productions

never told her where i got them
because they gave her something
to depend on me for

i never tasted a single bit of that chocolate
i haven't been aldriches in months

and i haven't gotten one of those thankful hugs
since that last one
in july
that was half kiss, half hug
and less thankful, more lovestruck
but also silent, tear filled, melancholy, foreboding

that was after i bought her reeses,
the only time e ever went to qfc together

i don't buy chocolate anymore
i've saved alot of money lately

but i've lost so many hugs,
avoid half this town
and no one relying on me like that

she was my life
it's time for a new one



©Brandon Webb
2012

i turned back
to see if anyone was there
with her
in the back of the bus
when she started talking.
there wasn't,
there were only two people
besides us
and the driver,
and they were in front of me,
the seat in front of me,
three seats from the front.
She was three seats from the back,
and talking to her mom on the phone
in a wavering tone i once knew by heart.
But
i have to look
to even tell that that voice is hers

she stops talking, meets my stare, coldly
and then, as me and the other two
exit onto the mid-morning fog-covered street
she stands and follows,
three blocks from her stop

i try starting a conversation
with the familiar face walking near me.
he answers- it's awkward and silent,
except for the sound of her
crunching dead puddles and flattening grass,
staring blankly through my back.

He runs the last bit,
She keeps her pace.
I round the fence.
She Stares
I reach for the doorknob,
it's locked.
I knock
She Stares.
I stand there, waiting,
and meet her stare.
She rounds the corner,
passes the jeep, the truck,
crosses the street,
keeps her eyes on me.
they're empty, emotionless, foreign,
so are mine;
standing on the doorstep she never stood on,
knocking on the door she never stood knocked on,
meeting those once familiar eyes
in a final, ear splittingly silent goodbye




©Brandon Webb
2012