Mirrored "M" slanted forty five
strewn along like makeup over counters
accessories
add a little morning color
flushed like newly applied blush
bright pink renewal.
A daily "happy" dosage
prescribed like an apple
to stay healthy.

There is a llama on the mirror, too,
made up of scribbled lines
drawn with a purpose
to propose a smile
and make a simile
as if there was rhythm to write by
as if it did not end,
as trembled fingers tried to suppress shudders,
and a wall was constructed with blacked out windows
and Tardis blue shutters.
"It's bigger on the inside,"
                                               it used to be.
what the heart endows,
or rather "whom" it is endowed to.
as they were combined
1                                      +                      ­             1                                           =                         2.

If swords, words, battles, done.
"Right, bye."

Cold bodies.
Devilish grins plastered over greyed faces,
dripping with glee
and dragging limbs.
As rotted flesh closes in,
yearning to grip and pull.
Bite into the sweets, ripened.
To break the seal,
bursting blood red to splatter.
Tear with teeth.
Wanting it, so badly.......
beyond the fence
topped with barbed wire
repeatedly pressing against.
How much strain,
how much push till it breaks
and falls to the ground
to release the horde.
To feast on the world.

Indecision
grips my thoughts
pushing me from room
to roam around
pace the living room
until a path is worn into the rug
flecked with dirt,
particulates of current and past occupants.
Is the scratch on the wall from me,
or did I never notice it until now?
My roommate broke a cabinet in the first few months
and one of the blinds falls whenever
anything
brushes against it.
The couch is sunken in on one side,
and hurts to sleep on,
it gets too hot under my flowered duvet
but too cold
as the glass sliding door
does not condone a well-insulated system
more of an open
with heat escaping in and out
positive and negative transferred through a window
to a parking lot, and a mellow wall.
What a view...
Staring out into the night,
fingers poised
teeth clenching
lip biting
I thought I was over this. I'm supposed to be over this.
Why am I not over this?
Because now I am crying.
Because now I drink in tears,
and spill myself,
crumbling past the defense I was building,
reinforced with concrete and friends,
distractions,
I am higher,
above the world,
on the rooftops.
Trade places with me?
The days will rewind,
like a vcr
until it pops up,
except it will stick,
because it will not let go.

Every day, I love you less.

Mindful..."Be mindful," the wind called. As the brackish water beckoned,
Inviting the small child over. "Come. Feel the sand. Stand in my tide."
"Release your being and fuse with me," the salty sea crooned.
It can heal your wounds, and be your friend surely, for its coastline was vast.
All called No. for the waves will inhale till only your footprints remain.
Missing.

A young child is lost, with only the wind calling her name,
where are you child?
and where was your sense, when I told you no, stay back by the fence,
Knee-high in liquid feelings, a body full of salted waters,
entering the open ocean with your arms wrapped round your chest, and your eyes...

Your eyes so sad, that saltwater swells
and matches volume with your cries.

As I look at me,
rounding face, less pronounced than past.
Tell: "Looking good hair."
Tired or sad eyes...both tonight.
Flat-lined lips,
pressed but not clenched.
This is now.
Now is gone, seconds ago, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years...
This was me.
-----------------------------------------------
Chocolate Mocha
in a small white mug
dappled around with
a fox that looks like a rabbit,
a baby blue elephant,
a bear with a red afro...or is it a lion,
around the bend
a cow,
a goat,
and there's the bear.
All present and staring with itty blue eyes,
watching me drink my hot chocolate.
This is me tonight.

All I can see
is what is wrong
with me.
-------------------------------------------------------------­-----------------
I wish I had my paintbrushes
nearly empty plastic paint pints
the gold is a dribble
the yellow has dried...
and cracked...
as if the sun has withered
and left the plants to die.

But the life,
dark forest green is growing
midnight blue flowing
out the top onto paint-glued wood.

I want to paint a landscape,
I want to paint the rain
I want to paint the moon
captured gleaming silver with slivers of cyan.
I want to paint my pain
rid it from my body
free it from my eyes.

Take a thought,
that only you know.

Trap it in an opaque grey bottle,
colored the clouds of a rainy day,
with whispers of rainbows,
occasionally, and instantly gone.
About a four inch diameter,
if it was cylindrical,
but while the neck is,
the body is boxed curves.
Rounded corners.
Before the neck,
its shoulders sit awkward,
one slumped lower as if a hot flame was struck too close.
Wrongly Proportional.
A chip in the lip,
and the color routinely changes to blue.
Not too deep a hue,
more like a blue ink has stained inside,
until it is washed away to grey.

Such a place to keep a thought,
why would you want to open the stopper?
A gorgeous obsidian plug with green wax,
that has dripped once,
onto the dark wood grain.
Two letters stamped to seal the top.

It is trapped. Inside...
Until one lets it out.

The Knife cuts through the supple bonding,
striking stone and retching out,
to unplug the bottle.
And releases.

Shallow,
but a rumble,
that scratches at the surfaces,
growing, growling, rumbling,
till trembling,
ricochets around the cavity,
building up,
bursting through,
up, out, everywhere,
outside shaking,
heart quakes.

Like a twenty-two pound hummingbird,
is beating, flitting,
inside.
Thrumming wings,
sending vibrations,
shuddering.

The flower,
once filled with sweet nectar,
drained dry,
sickly sticky,
a vivid hue,
turned grey.

As the bear hibernates,
it's snores echo,
sending rattles,
starting clatter,
shatter.
My heart thrashes inside my chest.

There is nothing left,
the world is cold,
Ponderous thoughts.

Life twisted into many knots,
Today may I be so bold,
as to look over the cleft.

Lean toward the chasm,
bring a smile to my face,
say hello.

Glare into the sun of yellow,
Stare into outer space,
Care to fathom....

The rain streaks,
down my cheeks.
Clouding,
In eyes of shrouding.
Dark days are ahead,
Replacing sunny ones instead.
Till the day that I will pose the question,
what are your feelings toward me?
It will end.

Precursor Feelings:
(Impossible
that it's raining here
that I wish I was crying
while I wish I wasn't.

I want to stand in the rain,
scream your name,
see you,
me.)

[I want something to happen.]

It's a roller coaster,
I was going up,
the cranking, clattering, goodness golly gee,
I was happy.
But then I got to the top,
and the moment,
of hesitation,
I was stuck there, stationary...
Now I fall.

I have fallen thrice.
Once was for you,
Twice was the end of us,
Thrice is now.

Now, I fall.
Because though I teeter on the ledge,
I lean forward,
in my seat,
and fall over the edge.
Down the track.

The sinking feeling of utter despair.
I pushed too hard and a wall was raised.
Simply put, I threw myself into a bottomless pit.
There is no light at the end,
where there was at the beginning.
There is nothing to touch,
what was left, has faded.
Tendrils, wisps.
Clawing through, around.
It is empty.
And Black.

I fear what I do not understand.

It is not a call to arms.
It was not meant to be bellowed as that of a battle cry.
The first of thousands.
It was not an arrow.
Strung tight,
released,
seeking to damage.
It was not this.
Is it knowledge on the upper shelf that only those who put it there can reach?
Because a turtle,
who used to be a girl,
would like to know.

His origins, unknown. (He cannot remember that far back)
The first light,
blinded him.
But he could feel the others,
always around him.
Jostling, cramped, comfortable.
He settled down,
further,
until he was close to the bottom.
There,
it was dark.
The noise was less.
But it changed.
He awoke to trembles and whispers,
that turned into a fearful clamor.
They were tipped and tumbled.
He struck the cold surface,
hard.
A jet stream tore his skin,
exposing his light tan under.
All round,
they were naked too.
His shame turned to fury.
Salt was blasted into his wounds,
and then he was tossed in,
he was no longer with his kind.
Others, strangers.
Some were bigger,
some were green,
a few smelled sweetly.
Thoroughly mixed.
Then poured into canisters.
Darkness beckoned,
but this change was new, unsettling.
............
Sudden jolts, and then he and the others tumbled into a clear bowl.
The words on what had been his holding for a month read: "mixed nuts and candy, eat by tomorrow."
He was surprised,
frightened.
He needed to survive.
Struggling to the top, he lunged over,
and toppled over the side onto the floor,
under the ottoman.
He was never missed.
The salt dried him,
cracked,
he thought about giving in and letting the curious schnauzer, Jeffrey, find him.
But, then he found the green bicycle.
A child's toy it was,
but then the game piece gave him hope.
He donned the high hat,
jumped aboard his vessel,
and stared ahead.
He was angry,
alone,
it was too dark here.
He rode out into the light.
Immediately swerving out the open screen door to avoid Jeffrey.
There he found a daisy,
reminding him of a field.
It was green there,
peaceful,
a field of his own,
anger.
It was gone,
Taken.

Beginning in a night,
and lasting through.
Shock.
Bitterness.
Few bursts of anger.
Talking,
sharing,
secrets told.
Sadness,
tears,
and longing.
"Why?" Rained down with other questions.
To the point,
of dismissive.

"I don't want to be a girl,
I want to be a turtle."

There were happy notes,
permitted as they were.
Amongst,
Friends.
Family.
Myself.

Back.
Up.
Beautiful was/is:
butterflies,
overturned and stuck,
ocean water confining them,
to a shorter life,
when the waves wash,
higher, higher,
plucked away.
From the wet sand,
lifted into the sky,
brought to a plant,
two,
maybe three, made it.

Of cats,
strays though they were,
with food and beds under the pier.
Of the lady,
who shared her lunch,
crawling under the deteriorating boards,
to fill their bowls.

Fast-forward.
To friends,
rejoined with smile.
Though sad with an emotional pain,
of laying there,
in self.
Best friend-talks.
Friend-talks.
Family-talks.
Person-to-dog talks.
All these.

Seventy,
in the dark,
with no music.

Then July.
Fireworks,
on the seventh,
shared on the third.
A slight battle for a chair,
settled with laughter as half went to one,
and other to other.

Of walking,
in the rain,
after and before,
not during.
The ground is damp,
music pulsates.
Removed,
then off.
Birds,
the name of the wind,
two ways,
beautiful.
The sounds,
remembrance,
of home,
of before,
of the present,
of the during that became the past.
A deep pit,
opened,
also happiness.

Beautiful things are,
the wind tousling short hair: present,
thunder and lightning rolling in: present,
wrestling on the floor: past,
filled with a sudden joy as soon as a presence (his) was spotted: past,
shooting games: past
first kiss: past,
first love: past.

Of remembering,
the good and the bad,
the tough ways of learning,
of forgiveness,
of a new experience,
of tears for new reasons,
of the word "olive,"
of messing up,
of being,
of beautiful things.

"In the sky,
above the clouds,
are more clouds."

(and release)

My head will split in two.
Drown my sorrows in the shower,
Immersed into a jet of fury,
cold, feels like ice.
Steam billows,
enclosed,
Drippings, stream down,
snaking over curves till linoleum.
Warm,
roast me like dinner,
till I'm pink.
Soft,
tenderly, fingers wrap around face,
curl, grip and pull.
Tension, stress
wash away.

Thoughts.
I think,
I dream,
I hope,
it will crush me.
Wash away.

Clean, reborn
epiphanies.
Drown my sorrows in the shower, I will.
Till better, I feel.

The whir of a VCR,
bzzzzzzzz
the automatic release is broken.
Pop it out,
into the case,
tucked away into a chest.
Dark brown wood,
dust.

Bear.
Crumpled rug,
goofy face,
he's from outer space.

Jealousy,
it doesn't belong,
because there is no belonging (anymore),
only longing.

A metaphor:
A barren hill,
is it greener on the other side?
I climb it still,
find a rock and want to hide.
Inside it's dark,
hollow,
off the tree falls the bark,
Yearn to follow.

It's over now,
both that and the before,
I need more,
But I don't know how.

I wish I was invisible.
I'd go out,
and wander the streets.
Perch on a wall,
and watch the world.
I'd meld with the rain,
and make indents into the snow,
"Ghost, phenomenon",
people would stare. But
I wouldn't be there.
I'd be gone, on an evening stroll.
Feeling the wind
wisp around me.
It knows I'm here,
and so does the rain,
Because I'm not.
I'm not see-through.
If I sit there,
and ponder my thoughts,
people would wonder,
a little, a lot.
And I would wish that I wasn't there,
that I was invisible.

Red spatter across green.
Ants sing.
Caterpillars pour eggnog.
A tree is raised.
Bug Christmas.
Strands of Brown tinsel lead up.
Carpeting a tan oval.
Over the ridge, and onto a bridge.
A deep, sunken hole on either side.
Devoid.
The crows have had their feast.
Lower.
Agape.
A cave lined with whitish stones.
Further, the ***** continues down.
Two mirrored hills.
Gouges are ravines,
creating flowing rivers.
Down,
the red till it touches green.
Above,
the sky is mesmerizing,
drawing me in.
White clouds transform.
The sun is gone.
Blotted out, but no rain.
Deeper.
A nearing roar.
Below is celebration.
Above the blades,
severity.
Paralyzed.
You ran me over with a lawn mower
and so the lawn was painted christmas.