Wisconsin, fine--
We sit on state lines.
Across the street, Rodeo Drive.
Move a little bit
and East L.A. makes you feel alive.

Go to the diner
where the mermaids wear aprons
and hold out menus like personal stock.
Where the surfer-rama drama in the diner deep
allows them to let go of those they keep.

And you and me and those we love,
keep us finite, because why not.
I could tell you how to eat your waffles
if you will be the spoon that stirs my coffee.

Listen to me,
"Rachel, there's no one, right now,
that I'd rather sit and eat breakfast with than you.
And if it doesn't work out,
and we choke on our meals, that's fine.
I just want to try when I'm with you."

We exchange glances
and I'm sure, then,
that I adore the aplomb,
for your smile leads myself
into believing and being more.

Hands tied
Blind folded
And in pain
He sat there
As she explained
Explained to him
The rules of the game

“Every day I’ll cut off one of your fingers,
And you’ll count back
From one thousand by sevens.”
Going through her drawer
Of clampers and tweezers and scissors
She said
“Now let us, rehearse?”

She took out one of her knives
And oh so calmly
Chopped off one of his fingers
Asked “What’s one thousand minus seven?”
He couldn’t hear her over his own scream
She asked again
“What’s one thousand minus seven?”

“Nine hundred…nine hundred and ninety three.”
“Good! It isn’t that hard you see?
Now I’ll be back tomorrow
Oh, and this is just an experiment
In ten days, we’ll see what you become.”
He sat there crying in agony
Wishing tomorrow never comes

But it did, and he counted
“Nine hundred eighty six.”
“Do you know why I’m making you count?
It’s a trick.
I’ll tell you about it in the end.
Don’t bother trying to figure it out, you won’t.
So just keep counting till then.”

Days went by
And he was counting
“Nine seventy nine.” “Nine seventy two.”
As he was screaming and shouting
He lost all hope of freedom
At “Nine sixty five.”
Now the only freedom for him, was to die.

After ten long days
He finally knew what it was about
At “Nine hundred and thirty.”
She finally let it out
Unashamed as she explained
*“You see?”
It was all just to keep you sane."

In the gas deep under-park,
she sleeps between shadows.

~~
Sometimes Loudly
Sometimes Silently
Yellow leaves have fallen,
Becoming dry
Pale
Passing through as the grained Sound on the Street

Slowly dark flees across the evenings
What an Illusion!
What Shadows!
Has Shuffled
The Past
Present
Future

Your form that creates metaphors
And what a wonderful feel
Through out its gravity
Night dancing,
When aroma of Night-Queen
Moving in the air,
Plays with the moonlit
As if Reminds
The First love Poem

Has burned within the form
Standing to fascinate
Away, a dense bunch
Of vine Forest
Bored Air moving
Listening the murmur
Of dried leaves
In the passing wind of banner
As if Someone Calling with
My old name

Empty
Restless Heart
Today is the tune that somewhere else
Like a flow
Of a distant river melody,
Surging waves of the attack
In the Strange night of Spring

Continuous grey leaves falling
Falling on the Floor
Whispering the words on the street goes through
What an Illusion!
What Shadows!
~~
@ Musfiq us shaleheen

I watch you breathe
as you sleep.
I'm afraid of what
you could mean
to me.

I study the stripes
on your shirt.
I think of all the
ways we'll flirt
and all the ways
we'll cry and I'll choke
with your hands
around my throat,
and Malboro Black
cigarette smoke
pouring down my
esophagus--
I wish I wasn't
so fond of us.

Love is for tin birds
in a flame cage.

Dear *******

They say you are what you eat, so am I a nothing?

Nah never mind that: first of all, I'd like to thank you for ruining my life and making it a living hell, and for making me drop out of school too.

Thank you for making me distance myself from the people who beg me to stop using You. Thank you for making people fear that I might rob or hurt them and thank you for making me hate the police and act like I don't give a ****.

Thank you for making me not to believe in compliments and for making me think they're all just lies. Thank you for the illegal foreigners who bring you to my country and offer more drugs even to our pregnant women.  
Thank you for making me believe that I'm not myself when I'm sober. Thank you for not being so cheap and affordable.
Thank you for making my family so scared for my life. Thank you for turning my body into a junk yard.
Thank you ******* for giving me ideas to break in my neighborhood and steal flat screens and jewelry just so me and you can be together...

I think about you all the time, I hope you think about me too.

You're not in love,
you just like
entertainment.
Blood boiling,
tense muscles
put your mind
at ease.

You're not kissing,
you just like
the gesture of hope:
the softer the lips
the harder it is
to walk away.

You quote their texts
like you're quoting
scripture.
The tweets you study
cause your heart
to freeze.

You're like a god
without a people:
You're looking
for anyone
to believe
in you.

I dreamt about
a ****** t.v.
movie.
I put myself
in a lover's shoes.
I said, "You're
not that lonely
but you like
the attention.
And I guess
I'd like to
give it
to you."

I don't believe in God,
I believe in me.

Because
the only thing
that scares me
more than a God
is myself.

I am
so many people
that I can't even
keep track of
myself.

I am
group-******
ideas, personas,
smiles, images;
fractions of a being.

Phantom in plain sight.

I am a joke.
I am *******.
I make you laugh,
so you can't hear me.
I sell you someone else
so you don't see me
as I stand before you.

I am the ghost.

So, so many
voices
but none of them
are mine.

**** me
to pieces,
then gather
what fits.

It never does.
It never does.

.
     ...is a fragile little thing,
     that most tend to overlook.
     Small word with a **** big meaning.
     Some may uphold it; some may
     conveniently have it mistook...

Trust...
     ...is in the grasp of the unknown
     stranger,
     that helps you up when you've fallen
     down.

Trust...
     ...is the pact between you and the cab
     driver,
     as he takes you to where you want to
     be, across town.

Trust...
     ...the bough on which your swing does
     sit.
     Pray that it doesn't break as you enjoy
     its joyous ride.

Trust...
     ...your cook, hoping in your food he
     doesn't spit...
     Especially when you've provided
     feedback that scuffed his pride.

Trust...
     ...lays exposed when the keys to your
     house you surrender,
     to your neighbour who'd keep an eye
     while you're away on a retreat.

Trust...
     ...exists latent in the open palm of your
     caregiver...
     As a child you'd take his hand so he'd
     ferry you safely across the street.

Trust...
     ...is the unspoken oath that I had thought
     we both held sacred...
     When I spilled the contents, my heart
     couldn't bear much longer.

Trust...
     ...meant nothing when you took it all for
     granted,
     when you weakened and succumbed...
     ...and then shared with another...