New Year’s Celebration

Among mad men in drowning corridors,
built on rusty foundations,
tethered to rotting, sugar-coated
grins, and nestled in the trashcan
of our neighbor’s backyard –
a candle we cannot see burns
out over the mountains, the
ones draped in vacation photographs,
the same set your kitten is named after,
a geological setting, a historical
lesson, a discipline of chances
strewn into another’s handshake
sweat left on the public
bathroom door handle, a smudge
of lipstick left on the countertop,
next to powder – a scene
unimagined for nonexistent detectives.
In a drunken state, we decide to play
Gunshots or Fireworks?
And we laugh when we are wrong.

With you, I want everything.

I want to take chances.
Exchange side glances.
Stay up 'til dawn with talks,
filled with sarcastic remarks.

I want to trace the ***** of your nose
and measure the length of your toes.
I want hair and skin slathered with "I Love You's."
Political discussions over empty bottles of *****.

I want to whisper in the mornings and shout in the evenings,
how much to me you mean.

But you... You already know...

You see it when I take chances,
in every one of my not-so-sly side glances.
In my droopy eyes that I refuse close,
while I lose myself in your sardonical prose.

You see it when I admire your face,
only to view others following with disgrace.
My "I Love You's" will never run dry,
unlike those useless bottles.

Nothing gets me drunk quite like you.

Tainted havoc ensue
from our imminent destruction.

We befoul each other's affinity
with the ruin of our past lives.

Together we spoil, destroy, and infect the air that devours us.

Coexisting is not an option
between

You,

Me,

and

Sympathy.

Forgive me, for my years.
Perhaps I am just nine short of knowing the rhythm to which your heart beats and having the ability to match it.

Forgive me, for my legs.
I did not have, and still have yet to find, the strength I need to run to you.

Forgive me, for my words.
They were deceitful. I believed they could keep you close to me. But in reality, you have always been hundreds of miles away.

Forgive me, for my heart.
The poor thing loves too quickly. It did not see the big picture. For months, it's gaze was fixed solely upon your scorching glow, which was mistaken for a beacon of hope.

When I die,
write me a lullaby.
Sing me to sleep,
with a breathtaking melody.

When I am ready to fly,
let me go and do not cry.
Just let me flutter my wings to the beat
of your awe-inspiring harmony.

So, when I die,
please write me a lullaby.
Play it aloud, gently,
then everyone will have known the sound of me.

She looked into his damp, brown eyes and realized in an instant the beast she really was. At one time, his body was still a body. Now, it was just a shell. She was tearing out his insides piece by piece and displaying them to the world. Any outsider could see he was stained red.

She looked into his eyes and saw a monster glistening in her reflection. She knew what she was doing to this poor boy. She saw the harm she was causing to his sweet soul. But she enjoyed every minute of it. She was selfish, and she would not stop.

In the glow of an intransigent moon,
she looked up at dull stars with a twinkling bitterness.

All she wanted was the sun.
She wanted endless yellows and reds.
Blues.
Greens.
Light to be shed upon her world.

But she was stuck under a film of grey.

And the night would not relent.

This house, it does not speak of me
I am unknown to these adobe walls
these cool clay floors
I press my feet against
wanderlust, I dance
desert nights alone, roam
these sands to drink
and drink of moon
thirst for stars
to call me home

I travel endless nights
painted blue with black
wait until sunlight
warms my room
once more to bloom
in wild fields
with you