I just want
to wear flowers
in my hair
and raindrops
in my eyes
and feel the heat
of your lips
blow fire
through my veins

i have always been a wanderer -
i roam the earth, bare feet against the dirt,
finding temporary resting spaces for my heart.

i have traversed the plains, scaled mountains,
felt the tear of sinew and faith when i fell.
i have scars - raw and aching - that
leave me breathless in the daylight.

but along the journey, i found you
with wounds that mirrored mine;
a familiar fear in your eyes
but brazen hope in your heart.

and with arms outstretched,
you cradled my weary bones
drew promises around my scars
kissed the corners of my eyes
and whispered in my ear
"breathe, love, and hang your heart here -
you're home"

Words collided,
My skull spinning with
the repercussions of
words said,
love lost,
bones broken,

and right at the point
where my knees hit the floor
all i could see were
fireflies, dancing in the ashes
rising up to join
the stars.

You struck a match
Against my ribs,
Saw the flames
Lick the blue
Of my eyes.

Now all that's left to do
Is watch me burn.

You are the answer
To every question
I've ever had
And all of the ones
I never even thought
To ask.

I don't believe in god
But I do believe in the
Warmth of your breath on my shoulder,
The emerald shine of your eyes
In our shadow
And the way you seal my fate
In figure eights on my neck.

I don't believe in god
But I believe in heaven
Here, with you
In the silence of a love understood
That needs no words
And needs no god,
Just the trace of your fingertip
On my lips.

There's not much left,
Pieces left strewn
And abandonded
In all of the places
I've ever died

There's not much left,
But you can have this heart
If you would like.

It isn't much,
But it sings in the thunder
And it is all I have left
To give.

-cjm-

it happened in a matter of seconds,
metal folding in on itself, the crunch of
glass shards raining down like crystals,
the sudden impact and the distinct
silence of bone snapping, blood pooling.

i opened my eyes and took a second,
took it all in, felt the dull ache
in my ribs and the ringing in my skull.
and as i fell out onto the concrete,
oil seeping through my jeans,
i looked up to watch the clouds pass by -
to watch the birds dance - and i wondered
how long it would take me
to forgive myself
for surviving.

The woman in the chair is not my mother.
Her eyes the same shade of blue, but sunken too far in;
Her skin too big for her bones and hangs like a sheet
             draped across her shoulders.
Her hair is sparse and scattered across her skull as though one puff of the wind might blow it all away,
her smile - weak, her lips dry and cracked
             stretched thin across her teeth.
The sound of her voice is familiar but soft, a whisper
echoing from somewhere deep in her hollow lungs
             as she calls my name.


This woman is not my mother.
Tubes snake out from beneath her oversized flannel shirt;
            I count six from where I stand stagnant in the doorway.
Pumping toxins from her body,
Draining life from her core
Stealing the woman I used to know, used to cling to.
She sits somber now, engulfed by the chair and the room and the noise
and the tears that flow silent from my eyes
As I sink to my knees against the doorframe
        and curse a god that I don’t believe in,
        in a life I no longer want.

I've been here before.
My heart finds a home
In the cold of your shoulder,
The sting of your silence,
The bite of your blame
As I hold my knees
To the edge of the bed.

I've been here before;
I've counted the bricks
One by one
As you pile them between,
Locking me out, leaving me
Alone, armed with nothing but
a dull knife
And shattered ribs.

I've been here before;
I know the words you keep
Coiled between the plates
Of your skull.
Harsh words, left to marinate,
    Thicken, grow.

I've been here before
In this place that I know so well,
This place I fell back into
head first
again
Cinder blocks tied to my ankles
And I'm drowning
In your eyes
And your pain
And this vicious cycle
Some *******
Called love.

through all of the times
i've been shattered
beaten
crushed
trampled torn tattered
scattered to the wind
haphazardly
left aside,
forgotten;

i always thought that
one day
i'd find someone who
would carefully
delicately
gather my fragments
of scar and bone
one by one
and put me back
together.

i realize now
it was you i needed.

not to fix me,
but to fit
in the spaces
between my broken
     pieces.

a hollow carcass
with a kinetic spark
is nothing more
than hollow.

my body is a canvas
of old scars,
fresh wounds,
and someone else's art; my

thoughts drowned out
by the whistle
in my skull
and the echoes
in my lungs and

i'm chilled by
the breeze
between my bones. so

i silently offer
this pagan prayer
for the day i find purpose
as a meal for
the maggots
and the
earth.

Cough syrup and gin slow
the beat in my heart
and the ink in my skin
and the thoughts in my head
     until I forget why I started,
why I stopped.

So I cover my nails in black
and trace the roses on my hip,
soaking in the cigarettes and aftershave
stuck in the fibers of your flannel
that kisses my knees
and leaves me naked in tears
and empty spaces.

Sleep runs away from my eyes
and I’m left in the light,
frantically searching for something
I have already found
in the dark.

1.    I realized I could love him again.

2. It was after the accident. After the windshield turned to dust on the pavement in a pool of oil and gasoline, glimmering in the oncoming headlights. After the hoarse screams and the crunch of metal folding over itself like a paper fan. After the seatbelt tore the skin off my chest leaving bloodstains on my shirt and a ringing in my ears. It was even after the cops came and arrested the drunk driver who hit us head-on at five o'clock on a Wednesday evening, after the tow truck came and flipped her car right side up again, watching empty bottles fall from the open windows as it turned. After all of this, in the silence of the aftermath, I sat on his couch with his head in my lap. I traced my finger across the skin that stretched over his hipbone and listened to his rhythmic breathing as his lips curled slightly upwards. I imagined he was dreaming of days that didn’t end in shattered glass and tears. The calm, steady rise and fall of his ribcage as his cheek left an impression in meat of my thigh, safe. In the silence of the aftermath, I realized.

3. The next morning, I woke up with my head in the crook of his arm, my left hand asleep from the weight of my body on top of it. The impression of my earring was stamped into the soft skin inside his elbow. I turned to face him and lazily draped an arm across his chest, remembering that last night I had decided to love him again. I smiled. I lifted my head to speak, but he turned away and without saying a word, walked half –naked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. In the silence, as I stared at the impression of his cheek in his pillow, I realized. His love lay there, in the glimmering pool of glass and gasoline, still spreading in the middle of the pavement.

if home
is where
your heart is
then i might
just say
i'm homeless

I miss the sudden ache
of a heartbreak,
the stabbing, painful wound
that throbs in your chest
and haunts your waking hour.
It consumes your thought,
your step,
your breath.

But deeper is the pain
of the quiet crack -
The slow tearing of sinews
between heartbeat and harbor.
The passive, dull ache
that lies dormant in your ribs,
it lets you forget.

And even worse,
it lets you remember.

The rising water splashes.
      It covers my knees
elbows, tired skin;
     it takes the weight

as i float in the heat
    and my own filth
and these stark white
    walls engulf me.

But no one stays
   as the water drains,
as the weight comes back
   pound by pound

Inch by inch
    you remember how
heavy your mind
    and your bones can be
as you’re slowly pinned
     to the floor.

An empty frame hurled against the barren wall
        (its contents stowed safely in the trash)
shatters, sending shards deep into the faded carpet.

A victim of the circumstance, the dog
limps across the kitchen floor,
trailing blood from it’s paw in small puddles
on the bright linoleum tile.

Red blood runs thick, runs fast –
and it occurs to me that, of all the pain
tears should run red, too.

the a/c broke
     up the words i tried to spit
out of my mouth and into your ears
     through nervous glances
and feigned smiles, you were
     saved by my lack of oxygen
and the sound of me choking
     on my own stupidity
as i swallow
     and keep my mouth shut.

still it simmers
     in the dark folds of my stomach
burns the lining of my throat
     aches in my hollow lungs
faint, flickering pleas of escape
     and water.
dam up these ducts, no tears
     today.

nothing let out but the chill
    of the facade
your oblivion
    and the haunting still of what
i meant to say

i lost myself in the recesses
of your ribcage and the dark pulses of
my blood (which flows safe and thick
in your veins) and each beat of
your heart (for mine has none without
the constant drum of yours)

i have no sight without your eyes
nor breath without your lungs (for sweet
is air when breathed for two) still
                                                         i fear not
for all thought lost in the shine of your eyes
(which rivals glow of moon and stars
and blazes brighter lighthouse calling home)

and safe will i forever be
if my hands yours
and your step my step
all lost, not lost
in the warmth of your heart
holding mine.

The world curves around me,
spinning on its axis;
oblivious to the colors that
fade and change and fade again.
Light pours out-
an attempt to envelope the shadows,
but the shadows always win.
Always hide in the bark on the trees,
and between the blades of grass beneath my feet
waiting, patiently, for the chance to escape -
to shield the earth from the glow
of the stars and the moon.
In my solidarity,
I wait in isolation to be born again,
to resurrect,
to wake from this finite coma,
to learn that it’s all a lie.

Show me the way to redemption;
free my soul from the demons that live
(the darkness that hides) in the trees
and the grass
and the cracks of my ribcage.
Patient and waiting,
ravenous.

The suffocating sky upon my skin
in heavy sheets of satin, locks me in
while rising tides trade water with the air;
my silent screams resounding pagan prayers.

Reflections cut me close and ripple past
an upward gaze  (a plea for fate recast).
The options slim: to fight or drown before
my vacant core dies flaccid on the shore.

All that I have ever known or been
gets swept away and washed ashore again
when self-indictment draws me back to you.
this masochistic need for black and blue

wraps tight around my ankles, pulls me deep
into your arms, the ocean floor - asleep.
While water fills my lungs and steals my air,
your tightened grip - it kills me unaware.

*

they say that time can heal all wounds, but can it heal all fear?
the truth disguised in little lies, the answer drawing near.
my heart in two (my soul to keep) but deeper yet, my will
drowns out beneath the water cold and settles lower, still.

The thick formaldehyde air keeps me awake.
Eight hours on fluorescent lights and lemon water
pins me to this stiff, rigor mortis chair.
Her stifled screams a ward away distract me from
counting the ceiling tiles
again.
Clocks ooze down the wall, time melting in sync
with EKGs and IV drips.
and I, alone with my blanket and Harry
turn to ask him how long we’ve been here
why the sky is blue
how much a soda from the cart might cost
if she’ll be okay.
But he just stares blankly with his cold gorilla eyes
omniscient in his eternal silence.
So I hug him closer to my chest, plastic fur
scratching at the soft spot under my chin.
Dad paces back and forth along the linoleum,
crushing grandmother’s pearls between his teeth
like candy mints.
and I, alone with my blanket and Harry
idly wonder what he’ll pack in my lunchbox tomorrow.


It takes me back -
this dilapidated Christmas card from ’99,
tucked neatly away in a drawer
of condoms and last year’s candy corn.
A family photo from OR #12 wasn’t
“appropriate”,
So we chose one from the year before.
Three faces plastered on the blood red backing,
Season’s greetings through gritted teeth.
I throw it back into the box
with other useless paraphernalia
I should have never kept.
Reaching deeper, digging through years
like bare fingers through stale grave dirt,
I find her hospital bracelet.
Twist it between my fingers.
Wrap it tight around my wrist,
breathe in the familiar formaldehyde scent.
and I, alone with my blanket and Harry
idly throw it away.