i want to love you
the way
i believe
that you should be loved.

but i can't.

beliefs and abilities:
often polar opposites,
rarely do they come hand in hand;
even the most devout Catholic
will sometimes miss
Sunday mass

but i do remember that Sunday,
so long ago now,
that you made me question
the possibility of soulmates

and i remember thinking
about how you bring me
closer
to religion than i've ever been,
your name
falling
(i'm not falling. i'm not
falling. please don't make me.
i hate that)
from my lips, like a heartfelt
prayer amidst our sin.

but that's the point, i suppose:
i don't believe in God.
i believe He is a possibility, but
i can't commit to Him.
won't.
can't commit to anybody—not even
myself.

so maybe i love you;
maybe that's true.

it doesn't change the fact
that i'll never be steady enough
for you.

it doesn't change the fact
that religion can't save me,
that the closest to the Bible i'll ever be
is a representation of
the Devil.

it doesn't change the fact
that i'll never be good enough
for you.

i want to love you
the way
i believe
you should be loved.

i just can't.

I dreamt—oh,
how I dreamt

that you were carrying
my child.

I do not remember who you were,
nor do I remember who I was
in this particular dream.
Perhaps a favourite character of mine
from a TV show I love.

But my body was not my body,
nor was your body yours.

In spirit, I knew you
and I knew myself,
and that's all that really mattered.

I still don't remember who you were, though,
my dream lover...

my subconscious desire?

We fell under peril and
ran
from some villain. Things
went wrong,
as things in my life are wont to do.

This villain, threatening
our child, our happiness,
was—of course—still less of a
monster
than me.

I do not recall how it ended.
But
I kissed you.
Soft, and sweet, and loving;
your lips were so warm
and your body, your hands—
they felt like
home.

That kiss...
it was perhaps
the gentlest thing I've ever done,

and so that is how I came to wake up:
because I knew it wasn't real.

I am not gentle. I do not love.

Today at the train station

A stranger came up to me

And asked for directions.

I had the sudden urge to give him the wrong ones

Or take him behind the stairwell and

Gut him

And let his family watch as stomach and liver

Flobber out over slipping intestines, or simply

Grab him and throw him onto the train tracks

As the half five train approaches.

It would give people a reason to

Remove their sunglasses,

And possibly even their iPods,

Headphones dangling uncomfortably

As they fumble to save a pointless

(As well as futile) situation.

Maybe they would film it with their phones.

Maybe I'd be famous.

Instead I just sigh and give him the right directions,

Tell him the correct train to travel on,

And slowly smile as he waddles off

And doesn't believe me.

carbon copy
******* kids
all square and full of holes
chasing
someone else's dreams
doing only as they're told

gaping wounds
conformity
it's useless to resist
grayscale thoughts
behind closed eyes
rainbows do not exist

follow the leader
play pretend
grown-up rules, abide
broken backs
and camel straws
there is no place to hide

technicolor
memories
it was just a game
forty years
of servitude
society's to blame

here and now
when youth is young
and colors bold and bright
uncharted paths
with neon skies
teach them hold true and tight

planets turn
and water flows
when dreams, have yet, to die
tomorrows
more than yesterdays
the young see bluer skies

Night fell around me
like a wounded animal
in a garden of statues
closing their eyes,
not dreaming,

they are blinded
by the moon
as it cruised by
like a ghost ship,
or a sack of ashes,

the only sound
the quiet humming
of sleeping souls

and a shovel
clearing ground
for digging
the deepest dark hole.