would you whisper softly
   onto my skin
      with your fingertips?

i used to write poetry
about not talking to you for the weekend,
how the words bottled up inside an hourglass
the seemed to stand still
now time flies
and weeks pass while you forget me

i used to write poetry
about sleeping through sunshine
so i could stay up with the stars
worshipping you
now the moon rises
and i fall asleep in an empty bed

i used to write poetry
about star trek and bad ***
with words that rhyme with ****
just to make you laugh
now times have changed
and the metaphors aren't funny

i used to write poetry
about the beautiful, twisted mystery
that you were to all of the world
except for me
*now the pages are blank
and i don't know you at all anymore

i am a garden*
overgrown with wilted flowers once again.

i kissed you a kiss of
see you soon
and i'm gonna miss you;
you kissed me goodbye.
i soared away naively,
gliding on metal wings and
the lift from my own lovesick heart.
it took me months
to understand the sadness in your eyes
and that i was the only one who didn't know
i'd never see you again.

your art
you're art
a collage of beautiful brush strokes

you were a galaxy*
and i was a black hole

i have sat here
trying to describe to you the beauty
in all the shades of black;
from the charcoal that drips from my lashes,
to the shadows of onyx that tango with my thoughts,
even the raven stains of blood in the night
but your eyes are crystals that
reflect rainbows in every direction  
and no matter how hard you try, you
just can't see past the colors
and i'll always be Clara Bow trapped
in a grayscale screen

and i am caught in an anonymous place
somewhere between healing and haunting
between numb and seering with pain
decaying and blooming
somewhere where the future
looks dangerously like an exit sign
and where the broken pieces on the floor
don't quite make a mosaic

i ****** up.* the proof is
everywhere.
you won't say it but it's obvious and
we both know it is.
we both know it is and yet
neither will talk about it so instead we dance
around the subject.
tip toe around the tension. until
the silences are deafening and
the unspoken words threaten to choke us.
i've never been all that good
at this kind of thing. keeping quiet.
or keeping strong. the cold shoulder.
so i keep asking. and
grasping at straws.
hoping. that you'll tell me off.
or chew me out.
anything that admits that something is wrong.
that admits that i ****** up.
something that breaks this tango of tension
and silences the silences.
"i ****** up" i say.
i've never been all that good
at this kind of thing. keeping quiet.

you reach the breaking point while
the hourglass counts down
no time to heal. only time to carry on,
little skeleton of broken bones.
darkness like a shadow and empty rooms
lend themselves to sleepless nights
who lend themselves to
too many questions. too few answers,
little skeleton of broken bones.
a numbness that grows with time and
roots itself in trauma
scars you with bitterness
and fear,
little skeleton of broken bones.

it's all begun to wear away; the sentiments
now are paper thin
that feeling of safety becoming more
sheer than shield
hope's become fear and trust is danger
but you try your best and i
give you tickets to the show
you still want to be my
person
i still want four wooden walls
and a satin pillow

"you're strong enough to make it"
greeting card words
coming from mouths who should know better
generic decency.
enough to make your stomach turn.
you want phony and easy? i, too, can
lay it on thick.
here, have a fake smile. a promise;
"i won't cut."
now, don't we all feel better?
an arms length away, a comfortable place to be
nothing here to weigh you down
like conscience
or truth.
from the outsider's perspective nobody gets hurt
what happens behind closed doors
well it really isn't your concern.

it's awkward and tense. it often is when
every word is read and not heard.
but this is different somehow. it's
forced.
maybe you're busy or i
am needier than i would ever admit.
maybe i have done wrong
again.
i'm getting anxious.
primal instincts kick in. fight or
flight.
i'm getting weaker.
i'm pushing you away with hands that shake
flight.
every time it goes off it isn't you. so
i just stop checking.
flight.

it's finally monday. i survived the three days.
tomorrow
i can finally speak again. you will hear my words.
i will breathe new life into this
struggle.
it's finally monday. i survived you being
gone. tomorrow i can take a step
forward
because you are there again to walk with me.
it's finally monday. i survived your obligations
to the part of your life that i don't
belong.
tomorrow i can pretend it didn't hurt. i can
put the walls back up because
it's finally monday.