hush, hush,
keep your rumbling down. let us not wake him!
he has no idea of this.
oh, this started so long ago, i cannot even remember
the first time i touched your heat,
tasted your iniquitous liquid.
i kept coming back, for one more sip, one more
sniff of your lip-smacking aroma.
oh, how my glands moisten at the mere thought of you!
how my nerves tremble without you.
so, shhh, shhh,
my joe, my java, my jesus.
keep your whistling down, my lover sleeps.
but tonight, we’ll share
another taste in my favorite mug,
we’ll swim in your bitter ocean

disappointment is like that 7th glass of ***** you shot back.
in the beginning, the transparent liquid seems enticing, your heart beats
with new rhythm. (your glands water, your pupils dilate)

1 shot in, it burns…but slowly disappears.
instantly your brain forgets, your vein longs for the torture

2nd shot in, the burn is like fire, your lips smack with disgust
but you can’t stop there

3rd shot in, you taste the gasoline at the pit of your stomach,
fueling the flame that you know will eventually eat you alive

4th shot in, your brain is sending signals, telling you to jump
while you still can, but your arteries silence it, and all you can do
is laugh

5th shot in, people’s faces blur, your tongue is thick with regret.
your stomach is ready to empty the lies you previously swallowed

6th shot in, the floor moves. you have to hold a chair to steady yourself. people’s voices sound like boom boxes at full volume. you cover your ears to stop the pain

7th shot in, you’re on the ground, watching the ceiling float away. you
feel the previous shots try to find a way out.

disappointment hid itself in that 7th shot, entering your bloodstream quick and painless. you are lethargic, your head pounds like construction during a too early of a morning.
you sink into the couch, into the carpet, trying to regain previous emotions, movements.
disappointment travels your veins, gleeful with the free ride, the new
habitat.

(at some point, you’ll have to get rid of him)

there are some days
where it's hard to look away


this is one of those days

Each day I give little pieces of myself
Handing it out like city street corner flyers
Free samples
Library books
I'm your library
You check out my facilities
And your books are always overdue
I know you read my facebook statuses like tarot cards
You analyze them
Like a bank tellers cash drawer
I know you hardly think of me
But when you do you can't sleep
There is no medicine for counting sheep
And Sometimes I can't sleep
My words play around in my head
Like darts
Ducking and weaving
as they wiz through each cortex
Bouncing on a vertebrae
They reach my spine
My words are what keep me standing
What keep me breathing
The oxygen to my personal ozone
And I don't need food now
My words fill me up
They hold me like a newborns cradle
They shelter me from the ongoing storm
They wash away the hate,
the fear,
the loneliness
And leave me standing bare
Standing bare
For you to judge me
And I hope you do
Because I don't need you now
I've got sentences
Stanzas
Punctuation
And God willing articulation
And when they come in with their tiny clip boards
Red pens and
Neckties
I'll look to my words for salvation
Because they are me
They open me
They dress me up in emotion
They place a thorny crown of justice on my head
And this isn't a relationship
This is love
A challenge of the witted
And I'm committed
And sometimes my words and I argue
I want a comma there
They feel comfort in the runon
But we've never been closer
Closer then we are right now
Because I seek solitude and joy
In the speaking of words
I seek awareness and hope in each little letter
And When you think of me
Think of my way with words.

Oh how it eats me alive
As the thought dances in my brain
Am I not good enough?
Do you want another?
Look at how much more beautiful they are,
Their skinny waists and sparkling eyes
And a personality to match.

eyes heavy like the shackles clasp around his wrists
weighing down my mentality without remorse
exhausting agendas exist and persists
your raw hands, empty with divorce

you told me between book shelves
how the paper reminds you of two summers ago
we now know we were destroying ourselves
ever since the first hello

you carried me home,
again,
I am inebriated on the cheapest liqueur,
you've done this before,
you've held me,
and if we had to walk you made sure,
you walked on the outside
you know me,
and my tendency to conduct
traffic in the middle of the street,

if we drove,
you,
made patterns on my back,
smoothing out my dress,
or collecting all that I have taken off,
like a jaded version of Hansel and Gretel,
you are always picking up the pieces of the crumbs i dropped,
you forever in the friend zone,
and I am continually putting on and taking off,
creating intricate dances for strangers,

and you catch me when I fall,
I am forever falling,
wandering the woods looking for danger,
or maybe just another way out,
I speak to witches,
you pray to Jesus,
I used to call him mine.
and you hold my hand,
when I began another round,
of self infliction,
another bout of self destruction,
you stay my sword,
swords that nick my wrists,
that have found home in obscure location
but can be found in any provocation.

you stay my hands,
allowing me to yell and scream,
allowing me my anger,
you know it's just misplaced,
and I am just struggling to deal,

I recreate wounds that never showed up,
play house with the demons,
as they remind me I have been beaten,
with the words of an abuser,
I felt the tainted touch of emotional vice.

but you follow me,
lovingly,
consistently,
like a chain wrapped rigid around your heart,
and I feel in foggy delay,
so intoxicated with the ghosts of things that fester,
you are the only one who keeps me safe.

And I have loved you, even when it seemed like I didn't notice,
I know you hold my hair when porcelain tattoos my skin
and I am making love to tiles on the floor.

and with any and all parts of me that are good,
they have lived and survived because of you,
living in the wasteland you have become my sun.

your grace and love carry me,
though I am not as strong yet to live for them,

you have shown unmeasurable kindness,
to me,
and my knight to beat back my darkness,
I may not say it,
I should just say it,

*I love you.Forever and always.

Depression
is not romantic
it is not
tear drops on rusty guitar strings
accompanying a soft trembling voice
it is not
cigarette smoke from soft lips
highlighted by pale moonlight through the window
it is not
bitter black coffee in recycled paper cups
discussing how much it can compare itself to you
it is not
somber solace found in between the lines she wrote
displayed as the flower-adorned suicide note you hang in your locker
it is not
being held as you weep
your lover's soul pouring into your cold body
it is not
a gentle touch wiping away your tears
and fixing what was never broken
it is not
romantic at all
and it is not
yours
and you can not
tell me
that my depression
is a human
or any sort of noun
when you've never felt it verb
through your temples
and it is not
yours
and you can not
tell me
that there's anything
romantic
about it