I let it trail on my skin,
cold yet gentle touch.
Just as I turned around,
there was nothing much,
that I could see.

Again,
It touched me slowly
but there wasn't anybody

This time 'it' forgot to call my name,
it kept chanting something again,
Trace of nothing I could find,
it did leave its shadow behind.

It's there but it's not there,
here or elsewhere,
somewhere maybe
near... it's here

I see the cover of the book of you my friend
with its catchy graphics
and beckoning fonts and title,
but how could I truly know the pages
of the stories that speak inside?

If the unique and essential you
were bound into a book,
I might scan the index,
or watch a Talk Show interview.

I could pull a bio off the shelf,
and trace the paths from who you were
to who you might become
sipping tea in my bentwood rocker
and who knows,
you might do the same for me.

My curiosity is keen my friend,
because our chapters are interwoven.
The air we breathe and our chosen paths
have sewn our lives together.
The common ground we walk
is crisscrossed by our footprints.

If I blink for just an instant
I notice that new pages have been
appended to your book.
Even the cover has changed
and so it is with mine.

So I own without regret or sorrow that
I can never know the book of you (or me)
whose infinite shelves of once-told stories
await some distant final chapter.

*September, 2013

and they all fall out stream down your face
things are happening that i can't take
in that moment you don't know where to go
nobody shows up to lead you home
you're not okay but nothing shows
you've officially reached your low
nobody knows

broken dreams for broken promises
broken within tainted nightmare
broken heart for broken bones
tainted nightmare of her face
a broken soul for a broken body
I see her but only in nightmares
she speaks to me but i cannot hear her
but I don’t need to
for I already know what she say
holding her almost dead body
‘I hate you’
a tainted memory in a tainted nightmare