bless nighttime's slinking shadows
i look to you when i feel alone
you scare me and you keep me up
but at least you make me feel at home

you plagued me when i was thirteen
a schizophrenic possibility
puncture wounds and pale incisions
once a week at therapy

don't leave me now, can't you see
the way i wear you like eyeshadow
i've donned the bruises you leave on me
with pride and trembling fingers

five am in july brings yellow cloud
pale blue morning skies
i lie here on my dented ribs
with nightime's shadows under my eyes

in love, yes
with people, no

more inclined, i think
to fall for experiences

and animals and trees
and the taste of coffee in the morning

and the feel of accomplishment
after a long night spent writing

in love, i am
with maybe some people

no one personal,
two idols at most

in love, yes
with people, no

more inclined, i think
to fall for the sunset

and a relieving gust of breeze
on a humid day

and the art hung
on the walls of rustic cafes

in love, yes
with no one in particular

in love with life
even on days spent wishing for its end

a toxic sort of love, perhaps
perfectly suited for the likes of me

chemically imbalanced,
in brain and body

These days, I feel I've lost my spark
That flicker of creativity.
Well yes, I lit the candle;
I knew it was time for it to burn,
That eventually it'd burn out:
The dulling light emanating faint warmth.

But I think there's something poetic, too
About blunt truths
And being so honest it feels bland—
Bland enough to make you feel.

we made makeshift settlements in old, crumbling ruins
and we weren't homeless but we sure weren't home
so we sought out places as broken as we felt
with digital camera clicks and rough clearings of throat
(that hint of asbestos and ground-to-dust brickwork)
laying out soft blankets and forgetting they were too thin:
gravel digging into hunger-knobbled spines as we slipped under cosmic spells,
spying constellations in burnt out stars and speaking wax poetic
with slender fingers intertwined and your soft palm hissing softly as my callouses grated your skin

and when you told me you loved me, i really believed it
it was clear as the jewels that glittered on that midnight dressing gown the first half of the earth slipped on whenever the sun slid away to her lover's second side
obvious and inevitable and woman i loved you too
how impossible a thing it would be, to melt into each other's souls like wax on burning candles
without solidifying and finding a permanent fixture once the heat cooled off
through every wind and motion, all the weathers, where you'd go—there i'd be
but like candles, our wicks were time stamped and endangered
we faded out in a curl of dark smoke, and maybe that's when i turned to the nicotine

and i only feel safe when you speak first
my welcome's only valid from the moment you say the words
and each new day needs a new renewal,
'cause i'm never sure of just how you feel
and feeling like trouble is always worse
than never gaining the courage to tell you it hurts

when you're spitting acid on my unassuming form
expecting me to know what it was i did that's wrong
i look to you, i'm helpless, so if you're leaving just go.
my head is smart, sure, my heart is stupid, though
i'll ask you to read this and pretend you never read it,
an admission of a problem - pain? i'm an addict

at most, i'm sleeping my demons away
or so i say at three AM
another night spent awake

well i guess i'll never be lonely
shoulders perfect perches
for perilous shadows

oh hold thy holy rosary
beads between bitten fingers;
abandoned God forever ago

but sometimes religion
clings like a second skin
and it's nice to talk to the silence

on my knees
for sin or saints, to please or plead
i'm a fifty:fifty on morality

church pews and statues,
but if i don't believe, they can't hurt me
the devil can't do me harm

i abandoned confessionals
when it became clear to me
that apologies mean nothing when you

repeat and repeat,
unrepentant, really
'least i can do is be honest

and say to you
whoever's listening
i'm not sorry for existing

my hands are always shaking
but never when i play my guitar,
fingers always trembling
unless they're tapping frets and bars

always have the shivers
'cept when my baby's on my knee.
i've always been unstable;
she's the only love that makes me steady