Through my eyes I see the world
I see its heartache and its impending failure
All things that once were are no longer
The light of life has burnt out
Our strive for love has diminished, only hunger for lust remains
Though I am blinded by those who do not understand
Through my hands I feel this world

The one without tolerance
Without compassion we march forth, deeper into our unsentimental views
I feel the depth of lingering sorrow
Though my hands have been bound by those who don't know me, but classify

But I breath life
My heart beats not to a drum of musicality
Or the strokes of a brush
But to the sound of disgust
Judgment and fear
Though my heart isn't worthy of love

They say life goes on
Yet for me, life holds still
Creating a void in which I am lost
Yearning for forgiveness
I yearn for love
Yet  for me, love is held away
In my hands, but torn to pieces
Whole in my hands, but I fall to pieces
The paradox in which anger grows
Self destruction blooms
Wilted and dead, yet it thrives

Self destruction is taught
From age 9
Father leaves home, holding yet another suitcase
You hold his arms and legs, you beg him to stay
But staying is as bad as leaving he says, and he leaves.

From age 15 you learn of attention
The feeling of being noticed, of being wanted
Unlike ever before
A man looks at you
No matter the age, you want that man to love you
To need you
You want to stay with him
But staying is as bad as leaving he says, as he pushes you out of his bed.

From 16 you learn of your Mother
Men come and go
You become attached to this father figure, loving you
Unlike your own
They stalk, they prowl, they become animals
Looking at you like meat
Loving you in other ways
Loving your mother for who she introduced them to, and as
You ask them to leave,
But staying is better than leaving they say, as they close the door to your mothers room.

From 17 you learn of Death
It is close and true
It is real and something guaranteed,
You realize this as you're slicing your skin
You write the note as the blood drips
Because leaving is as bad as staying you say, as you swallow the pills
Because being dead is better than being treated like you should be.

Hello Darkness,
We meet again.
Dwelling inside of me, licking at my nerves.
Lapping up my freshly drawn blood as fuel.
My brain is plagued by you.
My heart is diseased.
No pills or herbs will banish you.
No needles or probes will find you.
I am alone with you.
I am  forever ruined by your love of decay.
Roots are no longer deep in the soil.
But abstract above.
My organs are exposed through my translucent skin.
You leave me exposed.
Tell me Darkness.
Why do I hold you here when there is a world of light?
A world of laughter?
Darkness, I will tell you.
Because being alone with you, isn't as dangerous as being alone with myself

Three cents a day,
The memory of another remains.
His folded flag, his folded hat, his folded letters.
Our folded clothing, along the walls.

We never did unfold the clothes.
Only once did his flag leave its box, his hat.
Only once was it placed into glass.
For her, and only her.
For he only did exist in her world.
And her world alone.
His letters seized, as his love.


One cent a day.
His scent no longer lingers.
Only memories of rocket-rides in our purple chair gather.
Who is this man?
Who has he created in me?
I would say void, but no.
That word has no meaning.
For if it did, would it really be as it says?
The word is my father.
Empty, and meaningful.
Yet if its meaning is spoken, all purpose of the word is lost.


Now I unfold this box of clothes.
And remember his scent, the rocket-rides, the play-dough grapes.
I recall his balding head.
His slender, calloused hand.
As it slid the dollar bill into my palm for a treat.
Turning back I see him board the plane.
A trail of his scent behind him.