“What are those marks on your arm?”
Instincts pulled the fabric of my sleeve over the evidence and
I thought of giving my normal excuse:
My car scratched the hell out of me.
Most people didn’t know that I actually had a dog,
But they never questioned the lie.

I didn’t answer the girl’s question right away
And the silence that filled the space between us
Reminded me of when a stranger enters the elevator;
Neither of us talked or looked at each other.

I thought of telling the curious girl about my teenage years
And how it seemed a dark cloud hovered around me,
Reigning over my head and sliding beneath my feet
Like a magic carpet, taking me to places I didn’t enjoy going.

I thought of telling her that often times I felt
That terrible cloud becoming stronger, overwhelming me
Like turning on a faucet, warm water covering the bottom
Of the bathtub, inch by inch, creeping over the surface like the tide drowns the sand.

I could feel it like that eerie feeling that comes
Before a big thunderstorm, starting near my feet and seeming to
Crawl up my legs like a gust of wind creeps under a sundress
And I tried to hold it down or push the cloud away.
But pushing it was like pushing a cloud of smoke. It swirled
To other parts of my body but still it lingered around.


I thought of telling the girl that while growing up,
When it rained, it poured.
One thing went wrong and five others went wrong,
Like a design of dominoes. One tips over and soon
You’re left with too many pieces scattered over the floor.

I thought about telling her that I often
Laid in bed at night, a staring contest with the ceiling,
As I imagined myself floating around the high walls of a church
Where my funeral shouldn’t have even been held
Because of all the sins I’d dreamt of committing.

Suicide is considered a sin.

I pictured my mother crying, my brother trying to keep his composure;
My friends who’d dressed in black and sat in the church pews,
Keeping hold of the secret they’d refused to do anything about.
I imagined a lot of hugging and tears, but mostly I heard the lies
That they’d say about me:
“She had so much going for her.”
“It’s really too bad.”
“What a beautiful girl she was.”

I saw myself lying inside the casket, one half of it open,
Revealing my arms crossed in front of me,
My fingers laced in between the spaces of each other
As if I was praying, but it was much too late.

After discovering the scars upon my wrists,
I would be clothed in long sleeves to hide what everyone
Had been pretending not to see.

I didn’t tell the girl that I’d already seen my funeral.

She continued looking at me, waiting for the answer
To the question I’d hoped would never be asked.

I thought about telling her how I kept a thin, silver
Razor blade hidden inside my purse so when the dark
Cloud threatened, I could slice my way through the roaring
Smoke harboring rain droplets that wanted to fill up my body of a bathtub
And consume me.

I thought of telling her that there was a time when I depended
On such a small, dangerous object. I thought about telling her that
I often held the metal like a lifejacket to keep me afloat
Amongst the raging flood waters that wanted to drown me.

I thought about telling her that late at night after I was sure the house
Was asleep, I cried huge, heaving, silent sobs.
My pillow caught my tears and my blankets severed as Kleenexes.
It was all I could do to hold back the truth of telling her that
I grabbed my life preserver many times and would drag the blade
Across my flesh, creating a ripple of red ink over my pale, white wrist;
A tear in the shower curtain that protected my body.

I thought about telling her that many nights
I drank too much alcohol and digested too many pills
And cut myself too deep into what seemed like my own burial,
To where I couldn’t see the light at the other end and it felt
Like the casket lid had closed over me.
I didn’t tell her that I tried to climb to the top of the hole
Where I was buried, only for it to feel like someone had
Stepped on my fingers, the pain making me let go and fall again,
Deeper to the bottom.

I thought about telling her that I’d been lost and tried
Finding myself by drawing maps over my wrist with a
Car that had seen too many miles in such a short amount of time.
I thought about telling her that I made too many mistakes that I couldn’t
Take back; ones that I couldn’t hide or cover all the time,
Like tattoos that wouldn’t wash away.

I thought about telling her that I stopped wearing my seatbelt
When I drove anywhere because if I was in an accident,
I would have a better chance at dying.
But she wouldn’t understand.

So instead, I pushed my sleeve back up to the middle of my
Forearm where it’d been when she’d first asked,
Exposing the straight lines of flesh that had healed over but
Left a permanent scar of elevated skin.
I ran my fingertips over them, feeling the wounds
Like a train moving over the ridges of a railroad.

The girl’s eyes studied my scars that I showed her.
I took her arm in my hand and traced my fingers over
Her skin, smooth , without any ripples,
Then told her to do the same.
She did, then repeated the same motion on mine.
Her cold fingers touching what I’d never wanted her to see.

We made eye contact again.
“Do you see how your skin is soft and smooth?”
I asked her. She nodded her head in response.
“That’s how it’s supposed to be. Don’t ever think about ruining it.”
I whispered,
Wishing my mother had said the same to me.

The serpent slithers on the garden floor.
Down comes the apple.
Fall of man.
Dwelling on the devil.

In the garden on bent knee.
Temptation of the king.
No pressure.
Dwelling on the devil.

In a darkened apartment high above the Emerald City.
Things change rapidly.
Sin is met with sin.
Dwelling on the devil.

Soldiers in a far off land.
**** and torment.
Innocence passes away.
Dwelling on the devil.

Fire down below.
Eternal damnation for all.
No real choice.
Dwelling on the devil.

I am in love with a boy
Who was born blind
In his left eye
I had no idea until one day
His grandmother decided
To fill me in
And I almost laughed because
I saw no tell-tale signs
of this affliction
And like a small child
Acting on a prediction
I covered your eye with
My hands and asked,
"So you can't see me?"
Our noses nearly touching
But our souls feeling far
"No," he replied
"But I  don't need to
To know how beautiful you are."

Little bird, you perch so daintily on the swinging bar of your heavy iron cage,
flitting back and forth looking, here and there,
But behind thy beautiful breast and chiseled beak,
is a deep tempest of boiling rage.
Quick! Here comes the roaring audience again!
They scream and beg of you to dance and sing,
better keep up the charade little bird,
or they will throw you off the stage.

Little bird longs to be from its prison,
But with clipped wings it's impossible to take flight,
The iron cage seems to be slowly constricting,
and little bird decides it can't take any more of this "life" ,
Soon the master comes by again to feed it crumbs from his ***** hands,
the rusty door slowly opens with a creak,
little bird makes a choice and decides to take a risk,
and with sudden faith, makes its final leap.

Little bird free falls through the air,
the taste of liberation is so incredibly sweet,
but all good things must come to an end,
and with a crash that beautiful bird hit the ground,
and with it's final breath makes it' s last little tweet.

If I told you that you're perfect,
would you believe it's true?
No, of course not. I mean, maybe so,
but it wouldn't be enough for you.
Just one man's opinion;
you need global recognition
to prove that you have value.

It makes me kind of sad,
but I've never had ambition of that sort,
so if you'd like, I could help you.
We could make it work.

With your style, and grace,
(and those big brown eyes, and that beautiful face)
along with my words,
(your silk ribbon of a voice)
and my keyboard;
I swear to God we could make it work.

A partnership to stack the cards:
Aimless Asteroid and Shooting Star.
You'll always burn brighter, but I don't care.
I swear,
together we could go far.