my body is water molded
paper
peeling back in curls
revealing bleach white bones
a skeletal structure
hollow
as wind
whistles through

interwoven sunlight
through back streets
over grown ivy curling on stone
growing in grey concrete
someone's footsteps linger
where the millions have frayed;
icy hearts melting
with warm summer rays
a woman with skin mottled and pink
curls in a corner of the busy city scene
said she lost her existence to the devil's drug
and now she's just a shell of what she once was.
decomposing back into earth, into the gravel
the pavement slick with oil, copper filled taste.
and i lounge upon a quilted meadow
laying waste

the ache of a violin
thrums in your stomach
a soft sad whisper
and a gray smudged tear
ink calligraphy on a cheek;
a wreck of beauty
so wonderfully ruined.
a glorious ship sunk
and decaying in dust
under leagues
of ocean
reminding us
that the prideful
can be broken.

vibrations underneath
of the cries of souls buried deep.
i wish i could go to them,
to answer their pleas.
so much is wrong
with what i see
so much bad energy.
i cannot escape, i cannot run.
the hem of my dress is nailed
down tight to wood.
helpless as helpless gets,
i watch as the painted faces
of children melt like
candle wax
after the flame has long been
blown out.

hell, i know i'm a pain in the ***
i get angry just at the sight of a cracked glass;
because i don't like things that are inconvenient
and i don't like when you hide your feelings.
i become a dam with some poor fool's
finger shoved into the hole, while i continue
to fill with watery rage, until
flimsy fleshy fingers
stand no chance against
the current that is my fire
and i knock the silly fool
straight off his feet, and the streams rush, unhinged
right, bullseye,
into you.

she had sad eyes
misted gray clouds
stormed about
upon her forehead
creating creases
like a restless sea.
her smile
(if only she would)
could hold the shining beauty
of a string of pearls
resting gently
on white collar bones;
but only a thicket of
gray
shrouds her features
and likely
eyes shall
pass her
without any hesitation

hey i think we've met before
two young sets of eyes
staring quizzically from
across the tabletop
of a chinese restaurant
with paper lanterns
and oriental
tea being
****** through
chattering teeth.
i met you at a bowling alley;
you told me you couldn't bowl.
it was pretty cute
when the ball landed in the gutter
time after time-
why would you bowl?
you said
why wouldn't i.
perfect sense.
ink stains my fingers,
i watch the splotches
as i comb my hands through
your hair;
so we've met before
and we keep meeting again
and again
inside dark closets
warmed by hanging clothes
and static cling
me to you
you to me
that's how it should always be.