It's a good thing we have skin. Otherwise
we'd have to see our filthy hearts, beaten and
                                                                             scrubbed raw,
Torn   apart   and  pieced back together with
Masking                                                     tape
                    Dented and bruised with abuse blackandblue not red
Except for the
scabs and sores and cuts and holes waiting to be filled
                                                                             With something
anything.
                  They contract, retreat to the beat of
desperate breaths   and                                         lonely sobs
Pumping a polluted river through our veins flowing with all the
                                                                                       Refuse
The tears and unsung songs, silent pleas drowning under
                                                                                    the weight.
                                                                                    All while we flash
Our pearly whites shake our bony hands
And say hello and how are you and fine and very well

thank                                                                        you

The way the harsh light bounces off your skin makes me think your face is electric. Soft pores and sunshine fleshtones. Almost like your face is the sun, and you are the son of the sun. The Son of the Sun. The Son of Man. On the wall, the clock ticks loudly. Ticking is just another word for stabbing. Looking across the room, I can see the angry, inflamed air. It has pus and blood. It's gaping. I draw a shallow breath and taste saltiness. You draw a breath and taste nougat. When you do, I can't help but look at your teeth. Your pearlywhites. Vanilla gelato. Sweet and good to eat. Were we ever friends? Could we be? A smile sneaks its way in at the corner of your mouth, and your foot begins to tap. I can't tell whether the ticking is making the noise anymore, or your foot.

Twelve years from now, you walk down the street with your son on your shoulders and your wife at your side. While you and your boy eat Baby Ruths, she snaps a picture. In it, the nougaty center is clearly visible. It looks like your skin. Sunshiney and soft and not salty at all.

Mirror of "love in circadian rhythm" by Samantha Adams*

I wish I could have stayed asleep
The dream, filled with smiles, could have lived
And it'd be simple

But the truth silently snapped into the world like a twig
And laughter dimmed to silence
Except for the tears, brand new and salted with fear, shed each night
At the emotions chained up and left to die
A heart left out in the snow as your head turns and arms cross
Anything to forget the sin at the window
The lights from inside flicker in my eyes
And all I want is to be let in
And thaw my frostbitten love, the pain like pins and needles
Reminders of the dream that broke at a twigsnap

As soft as a window closing

Can these crimes live forever?

Frankness seems to be the running theme so let me be that
Why does the work the energy the life the everything get taken?
Nothing more than the playthings of a bitter god a bitter people a bitter world
But bitter isn't the right word no
Not bitter

                                                        cold

A cold world of cold people except for the hot tears that freeze on my face
icecicleman
How loud do I need to shout how much do I need to cry do I need to swim or drown
until I feel anything warm except for the tears in their hotcold rivulets?
until I feel anybody touch me or care or look or respect or love or anythinganythingany
until I feel someone
                                 anyone
                                                at all?
until for once i actually get to come down off the wall the flower stuck there forever
until the frostbite ripped into me by the coldworldcoldpeople warms
until i finally can be someones friend or anything or
just
       matter
                    ?

Let me go to Trinidad
And escape the sins that live in the cold
(Even computer screens can't thaw it)

The moment calls me.
No.
It screams, laughs, taunts.
No more power now. Just the
Pain.
My god, the pain the pain the
Pain.
I can only wait,
Fists balled and eyes
Averted. Waiting for the
Moment. Cruel or kind is irrelevant.
The moment won't let me be.
He won't let me be.
It's Hell, that moment as
The door opens, when
All will be revealed
(Maybe). Or will it?
Can it ever ever ever

Let's see what's behind
Door Number
Three

How can the cities ever thaw
When all we have are our eyes,
Greedy for a smile and emaciated by the winter wonderland
And deadened by ennui worn as armor--
Trashbin fires consuming the smiles and sighs and frightful, lovely
Words we can never say

it's just too cold to say them
with frostbite in our hearts

I'm slipping away
Piece by piece word by word laugh by laugh
Consumed by their smiles
Decaying at the bottom of their hearts

(where am i)

el día de san Valentín

wet eyes quivering

echoes of laughter around corners
screaming in my ears
and my deaf heart

amor y amistad

i am the madman in the cave
talking to the shadows

Who do we cry for when all there is
Is the sound of shoes clacking on the floor
And our tempered breath in the dark?