he painted the way he saw things
and he saw her lips;
deep red rubies.
he feathered the paint on his brush lightly
so as to capture the gentleness
of her clairvoyant voice
that snakes out from between those ruby lips
parted in pleasure-
pleasure from the twinkling stars
and the distorted reality
she's encased herself in;
never to understand why he
depicts her portrait
in a style
so abstract.

i found a love
within myself
that i didn't know was there
but it was filling up like a pool
collecting rainwater
for the droughts to come
and when my throat  was dry
i didnt plead for a sip
from your veins, a tangled web,
but instead
i swam inside my stomach
curling fingers around
dancing seaweed
finding all that i needed
existed
between the tiny pulses
growing louder
with each realized
moment.

it was achingly beautiful
when you cut off all your hair,
letting curl upon ebony curl
drift to rest at your feet
the sun never shone
brighter atop your head
i still dream of the angles
of cheeks and knuckles
all blurring together
a cave exists under my sheets
sometimes i can see the hollowness
in a voice
echoing and echoing and echoing
till morning
but by then
such loveliness
had disappeared

sweet daughter
little girl with curling hair
one day she'll hate that hair
and terrorize it
with styling machines.
sweet child holds her mother's hand
looks into motherly eyes
with awe
in a couple of years
she'll look into those eyes
with uncertainty.
soft cheeks, rosy lips
will one day crush a boy's heart.
or her heart should be crushed.

the gardens weep
in the moonlight
because she has gone away.
a pale sliver of a finger
waivers in a pond reflection.
a specter-
  the stars have become
pearl spilled tears
and the roses tremble in dew
because of the absence,
her absence-
felt so wholly.
the world fades quietly
with her white body
under ground
...
although that is where she lay
(she has gone away)

swollen cheeks
and bellies
dancing with the
succulent satisfaction of being filled.
but i am empty.
my palms desolate deserts searching
for the source of energy
to quell my wandering soul.
yearning for deeper connections
and a sink
to upheave the
dry heaves
of lonely
nothings.

its always
strange
when new places
start to feel like home
and you've got holes in your
stalkings
holes in my lungs
where your words
filtered through me like
black smoke
with an intent to burn
and the ash is still on my tongue.
oh mother can you take away the poision
that consumes the waking hours
and the subconscious ones
cause he hurt me bad
and im a cracked teacup
leaking all over the window sill

i plead my apologies
to jesus hoping
god will save me
from the
wolves
-the lamb i once was-
aren't i the predator now?
how will i repent
when a train ticket
destined for hell
has my fate stamped
across it?

i felt sad today.
i painted the walls blue
and sat down in front of the window,
searching for you.

you were afraid of being cut open
the view of doctor gloves
reaching inside
parts you didn't
know could feel
like slicing off
a point of a star
watching it dim
and die inside
of a light bulb
flickering.
these things they spit out of you
you lost them one at a time
fingers down your throat
evacuate what you didn't need;
that day i slept in your stomach
i could feel the urgency of static
pulling me through your lungs
your teeth hit me on the way out
you needed me
but you were your own
doll maker
cutting space
into your heart
substituting
wooden pieces
that held no
memory of
the way
my lashes looked
when it rained

the sky looked
like layers of birthday cake
and my eyes were swimming in a
sunlit haze
autumn golds
all melding together-
sepia toned-
dreaming of dancing lips
and coffee shop bookstores
where hearts will beat in mocha lattes.
and yes;
this is happiness

i am filled with tombstones
and the heaviness of corpses,
my lungs decaying with the dust
of death.
just a body plagued with
old memories and empty
fingerprints

the scent of soggy cigarettes
fills my nostrils
and my stomach swirls in a queasy
tempest.
this is alien territory.
i built my bones around your organs,
always there to protect
your sensitive heart...
but my bones were malnourished
and they yellowed
over time,
until i could feel the decay
and knew it was the season
for you and i to learn different roles.
for you, you had to be your own anchor
and for me,
i needed to find relief
i needed to be free,
give my bones some exercise.
although, with your beating blood gone,
i feel empty inside,
absent are the things i've always known
but now there are horizons and trees
and birds and suns to hang in the sky,
with my bare
hands
all on my own,
a journey that is waiting
for my footprints.

The wet, neon light spills on the pavement
Like animated paint.
Cars and people rush by
A cacophony of the future, industry, and hurried time.

But my love for you is simpler,
It's slower, like the soft flutter of eyes,
How a flower unfurls its petals
every second filled with a fragrance,
growing stronger.
Like muted snowflakes
drifting down to rest
Coating the earth in its peaceful caress.
My heart hums a gentle rhythm until suddenly,
it becomes a song.
A consistent feeling that won't become a city skyline,
or a technological gadget replaced by tomorrow,
but something solid
like ground under our feet,
and the blood flowing between.

the moon's pale hair
dusted the top of the water tower
spattered in graffiti rust.
i want so much to flick the dirt
from under my nails
and the dried blood smeared on lips.
i took a seminar on how to give back
and we learned to cut up plastic cup holders
and draw crosses on our hands.
i hung your painting in the room with the ink stains.
i feel nothing while i pass through this life,
paper mache carnations
king of clubs
missing buttons
all collect under my nails.
i just want to scrub
until it's fleshy pink
and i can write poetry again

lying with my ear
cupped to your chest
your heart spilling its
secrets to me
your warm living body
soothes me
comforts me
our breathing slows
into one deep sigh
a sigh for this moment
a sigh to slow down time
a sigh for feeling
incredibly alive.

if i were you
and i read my poetry
i'd hate myself
and wish to feel
every needle sting.
see your torment,
with glowing red eyes
the angel of death
i will avenge
my fractured innocence.

my days become calendar boxes
fitting each miserable heart break
between the times of
2 am until unblinking eyes
muster up the courage to open the blinds
and the morning starts over again
where i tend to forget
that you think i'm a monster
with a ribcage full of blizzards.
you see, the sun fills my
consciousness with a mirage
where i am a broken mouth
numbed on nova cane      
and the pain is a dull thud that
can fade into the background
until the darkness blankets my psyche
in a silent cocoon
and your horror film scars
throb along my skin.

red horses
swim across the green meadow
sinking like a mermaid's tail
and the yellow laugh
of your eyes
call from a chimney
smoking in early
novemeber

I want to know you
through rainstorms
and starvation
See you with eyes strained
and drained
of sleep
To feel you
with senses
that have yet to awaken
I want you to see
my reflection
and reach through
the glass.

peeled me like
a citrus fruit
waiting to ooze
and digest
inside of you

i get sad sometimes
too much
feeling in my
throat
swollen tonsils
with hydrated
emotions
wallowing in
one place
thinking of winter
and days that
act
as night
dawn doesn't
show
wrists
that cannot
cease
blood flow
i was a corpse
once
did you know?
i think
sometimes
my
heart
remembers
death
and its the same
old itch
that
ignites
memories best
forgotten
but
there's the
salt
and here's
my wound.

the melancholy music
dwindles inside of my bones
hollowed by the
constant straining of limbs
hoping to feel something
other than this
unfailingly cold metal
kissing my tongue
gleaming cruelty
branding scars into finger tips
im unsure of everything
and most of all
i am a lost
cry for help
a distant plea
fossilizing into a future
of dead uncertainty.

dusk;
it shrouds the
evening in mist-
a cloaked figure
carrying a message
that will send a mother's
heart rocking.
the smell of eggs
smelling them sunny side up
some comfort in the
familiarity
of a kitchen and a stove
i'll always remember
the moon licked grove
with white rotted
wood being taken back by the earth
and how your eyes lingered there
in ivy and tendrils so green
you looked sad
a rare sadness,
one that comes with great knowing
we never spoke
we never speak
between the long slabs of
concrete that conjoin
the towns we've shut up inside
closing with a dead man's eyes
how did it get this way;
my lungs decayed,
puffing up dust like an ancient tome

we were never people
but maps
with worlds to explore
an almanac of oceans
body parts cut up into
states.
you were california
always so far away
and i was alaska
in a cold dark place.
one day
our bodies folded
atlas hands
joined together
splitting mountain
ridges
to be with one another.

Every night we count the stars,
then you count my eyes.

in your home
dead moths
line the window sills
destined to a grave of dust
outdoor light gets
caught up in the grains
of rust
so nothing grows there.
your heart has rusted too,
splinters in your blond
hair.
splinters in the world you see.
the world that i have gone from.
it took me so long to be able to say goodbye.
to stop looking for your car to drive by.
now you're coffee dregs,
the stuff i wash down the drain.
i do not think of you when i smile,
i do not wish for your touch when i am
in pain.
no longer am i under your hex.
for this is salem,
and the witches hang.

skin stretches into mountain ridges
i am a fetus
wanting to bloom inside of you
to meet your heart
and cup it within my soul
to see your beauty from deep within
and stoke the fire that warms your veins;
with me you'll never
be cold again.

I slash my skin
into
violent
grins;
welcome
my friends

i carved my heart out
of lapis lazuli
because i thought
it would be pretty.
but prettiness fades
like the warmth of youth
from a school girl's cheeks
and my heart has shattered
a thousand times over
that i
am so tired
of rebuilding

my eyes are slow to waking
to the dust filled light that swims
around my head in a dizzying dance.
these are the few precious seconds of
morning consciousness
where you are unaware of your body
your mind
and the room with the empty walls.
these seconds are filled with nothing but oxygen
that fills the lungs but does not yet touch the
brain
does not yet signal your logical state to
shake off the silken cobwebs of sleep.
but when those moments melt away like
sugar on your tongue
you are once again
the victim of
antagonizing reality.

The world feels like its breaking
when you discover your parents are, in fact,
humans too.
What is a girl to do,
when she realizes they make mistakes too?
How can she cope when
the rocks she envisioned in her mind
are nothing more or less than her, herself?

What does it mean when she discovers they are
one in the same?
Is this what its like to grow up,
when you find the pieces
scattered on the ground,
and have no one else to turn to,
no wings to shield,
Just your bleeding fingers
as you pick up
the broken shards,
All by yourself.

Bodies drip,
Like molten candle wax.
I've glued my heart to your chest.
You never asked for it, though it's there.

Too bad the handle with care
label was scratched away.

Maybe then you'd have changed your ways.

I lay curled in a sleepy pile,
sheltered from the world outside, from the rain beating the
earth like a worn out drum.
It thrums in a sorrowful manner,
Wanting people to listen, hear it's muffled cries.
But everyone's too busy and rushes on with their lives.
Although I am inside, I can gaze through the window panes,
the drizzle of drops spelling out my name.
The song of the gray sky and the water pouring from it mix into a symphony and I stay tuned.
Even though inside my tangled veins a rush of industrious activity hammers through my being,
I drown it all out.
Just to sit.
In peace.
With the ballad of the world playing out before me.

i call this the golden hour:
i only notice when my
heart is content-
and right now, its swimming
in a sweet heady fragrance;
the leaves on the trees drip yellow honey
the windows radiate;
kitchen walls glowing warmly
and all our skin stained
with the color of laughter.
and  i know the light is
rejuvenating
and i know that right now
i'm golden too

this heart is like
smoke hanging
in the air
when the ashes crumble
into living things
and it's all
illusions
pressing the clock hands
waiting for your breaths
to come raspy.
who could love what's never been alive?
but he did
he did
"you never had a funeral",
he said
and "when i looked into your eyes
i knew something like that;
those soul windows-
could never be dead."

a dark abyss
waits for me.
insects pour from my throat
choking my words.
how could anyone know
the way wounds feel
when they're stretched  
and pulled apart
with ***** of skin
hanging loose.
my scars;
they've faded
into translucent
breezes
that tickle the skin
a sort of itch itch itch
to remember the dark abyss
and purple veins
and when practical thinking
went amiss

the ******* city is lit up
like the headlights
of a single vehicle
transitioning into yellow
illuminated mist
in the dim shadows
of the parking lot
a concrete
interconnecting
web of cracks
and
cigarette butts.
my eyes droop pink
into a breath of suffocation
pillow over mouth
face a mask of
idolistic worship
religions ******* tight
passed to holy hands waiting for an offering
that stings and burns the skin
i looked through my eyelashes
wishing to taste
your sin

sugar coated candy eyes
a smile dripping with wine
the pale girl so wan,
waxing like a moon
she held her pretty head
with a dainty gloved hand
and the stars twinkle beneath
her.
i'd like to ride into town,
smoking spices
filling my dreams with
holly wreaths
hoping on pennies
that you will be waiting
at the station
with a little umbrella
arching over
your secret
stare
and i will be glad
that it isn't
raining.

burning white metal
your touch scorches my skin
it feels so good
to not be numb,
your lips are a wound
running

i fell in love with a succubus
years ago
and he still
haunts my dreams
and every morning
i feel a little more
lifeless

i got really drunk
and
peed
in a bathtub,
and it was
the happiest i've
been
in

a
while

our skin is washed in the rivers of youth
stained yellow from tea leaves
the subtle scent of mint green accumulates between
nostril and lip
freshly awakened.
your soul,
my soul,
is clean

when i bled in the sheets
your scream wounded my ear
like shell shock
in WorldWarI trenches
we forgot our helmets that day
our skin blew to bits
and blanketed the tree branches
hanging limp
like ripped-off doll
hands.

you were beveled glass
carved out of sunlight
and you burned into my irises
contracting against the intensity
of your presence.
sometimes it still gets like that.
brief moments where your beauty over powers
and in more ways than one
i'm lost in a temporary blindness.

A rivulet of nostalgia
snakes around
the ever bright
eyes
shining like a beacon
sinking towards the sea
a rubble of glass
is what you
make me.

I've put myself here.
In this mess.
No one's fault.

But my own

I don't wish to hurt you,
You're so kind.
And you have such a nice smile.


Why did it have to be me?
I'm so complicated.
Sad.
Scarred.
Bruised.
How could this be appealing?


Happy people belong with other happy people.
What can I do?
My heart's not in it.
Must I pretend?


I should have apologized right then.
For the way I am.
A bird without a song.
I'll sty trapped in this cage.

**Until the time comes

it won't always be this way
a bath of ice
and cold
fingertips
blue lips.
there's gotta be a fire burning within us
some
where