I buttoned you into a grave,
you were finally a queen with a crown.
I’ve never seen you that brave.

The telephone lines brought a heat wave.
I painted over our names in brown.
I buttoned you into a grave.

There wasn’t much left to save,
just your faded evening gown.
I’ve never seen you that brave.

Everything about you was concave,
your eyes, your back and your frown.
I buttoned you into a grave.

I promised to behave
and I’m sorry I let you down.
I’ve never seen you that brave.

Dusted with smoke and aftershave,
the car drove out of town.
I buttoned you into a grave,
I’ve never seen you that brave.

i was born into a generation immune to tragedy,
conditioned, we have been made, to calamity.
hearts hardened by television images,
minds numb at the sight of pained visages.
i was born into a generation wrought with fear,
for the end of the world is coming near.
whether by anthropogenic atmospheric grumblings,
or symbols of american freedom crumbling,
the earth is no longer our home.
a place where mind, body, and spirit
are subject to torment,
and every child's aspirations must lie dormant.
the world, as i know it, is an unwelcoming place,
no matter what your sexuality, age, gender, or race.
our forefathers have pillaged our once overflowing pockets
to fulfill empty goals on lofty campaign dockets.
what is left is ours to fix, though not by choice,
and nobody knows if "they" hear our voice.
i was born into a generation less than "Great",
yet it is only we who can determine our fate.

It was winter I last visited
with a container separated into thirds,
one for me,
one for you and
one for apples.
Your hair was blonde.

We wove autumn tea out of your cigarette smoke
that wrapped into the trees like a vice
secretly brushing our necks as it built up.
Your smoke left a sleepy trail of spilled wine on the carpet
making naked flowers appear on your arms.
Those belonged to the ace of spades himself
lungs deep in a poison.

You became a dreaming mess,
the phone began to worry for you,
you kept chaos in a syringe and
cobwebs were spun onto the floor.
A doily waits for you,
under the apples.

The screaming in my head
It's getting louder
What is happening to me
I just wish I could sleep
Just to be free
But I keep running
I've got to find you again
For that feeling you catalyze in me
Like wet flowers
Like hot blood
Breathe.

Here are three hundred and seventy-one letters

write gibberish aimed at me.

We can warm up with haughty language,

cumulus white skies that brim with rudimentary quarrels,

as we watch an apprehensive apprentice appreciating an amateur.

Perhaps a devils activist entertaining a lawyer,

might spin supplementary lie- swathed webs,

Appeasing an imaginary stranger that whispers at night.

Liberate the unsheltered side,

In merely ten lines.

x.

understand that nothing is real.

**.

search for art in all that you see (for art is present in all things).

***.

art is everything, nothing is real. we are left to conclude that art is nothing, nothing is art, or perhaps everything is nothing-which makes art more real than nothing, because it is in fact something.

xxxx.

when we smoked cigarettes in the alley way during winter, our backs against the cold brick wall; well, darling, that was art.

xxxxx.

you made poems and paintings and songs and dances, but i’d never seen anything more real (or perhaps less real) than the way your eyes looked when they were in love. and that, well that was the truest art there could ever be.

xxxxxx.

understand that your love is everything, and everything is art, but nothing is real, or art is nothing. my words will never quite be right, but your eyes in love were the rightest thing that never existed -(or existed more than anything).

Tonight, I was made aware of my lonliness,
Or my lonliness was made aware of me,
Either/Or, I'll walk like confidence cause it's all I've got everything to lose,
No one needs to know how this feels,

These words will haunt you...
Your lust will haunt you...
My absence will haunt you...

Like a ghost inside of your head,
Your vanity showed through,
You packed up and started new,
And I'm still here, teary-eyed, and wondering why,
So don't blame me because I'm ******* bitter,
And I'm demanding some answers.

Don't try to fulfill my memory,
Because you are just a memory,
Don't express your love for me,
Because it's something you'll regret,
Don't let yourself feel special,
Because you're just something I'll forget...

Smile.
I miss always being behind one,
But I'm too tempermental by the things you say to me,
There's always another happiness to **** time,
And I'm convinced you can't bite your tongue,
But you just as easily bit mine.

Lay down, think of silly things, and feel seventeen,
Stop moving and don't breathe, it's so serene,
For all we know we were built to last,
But I'm the only one to acknowledge that,
I wouldn't hurt so often if I didn't mean it,
But those words are as tender as the scars on your wrists.

Unpredictable.
You ask, "Will my car drive today?"
My reply, "I don't know. Will my heart die today?"

After holding a conversation like you hold your liquor,
I realize that I am nothing,
Just an empty silhouette that stands before you,
I write this for my own self-fulfillment,
Break my bones and I will feel the same,
These days I feel like something on a string,
The way you parade me around and call me every name but my own,
I've got a lot of nothing, if I ever had anything.

Funny how our tears contain Aqueous Humor.
Ironic how your tears are meant to provoke a linguistic laugh
To whomever made the substance up, thank you
Because every time I cry, I'll crack up at my pathetic life
Laughter and tears will go hand in hand
Like ******* and gruyère.