Who do I trust?
When all of you disgust
Me
With your hypocritical
Analytical dissection
I'm guilty too
I'm just as bad as you
I look at you, you look at me
I cut you, metaphorically
Stick and stones may break bones
But words will destroy you.
And it doesn't matter if you don't know
If I sing a song but don't put on a show?
If a tree falls and no one hears it, has it really fallen?
If I break your trust, and you don't know, is it really broken?

Who do I trust
When all of you discuss
Me
When my back is turned
I know you speak in hushed tones
Passing the final judgement upon my saintly mind and sinful soul
The paranoia will take it's toll
You'll be the end of me, you'll be the fall
My mind will slowly unwind
until you find
my innermost thoughts
which you sought
to extract,
as if they were facts,
which would **** me forever.
Show my face, this I won't
I fear you will cast the first stone
Irrespective of your flaws which I respected, I accepted
Or did I?
Did you find out
I brandished my sword,
Sliced through your soul, sliced through your ghouls
There was no trial yet I banged the gavel
I dropped a bomb but you were hit by shrapnel
Oh dear me, what have I done?
Who can I turn to, where do I run?

Who do I trust
When I cannot even trust
Me
Stuck in past, intangible present
The future's bleak, like the moons full crescent
The horrors of yesterday haunt me
My evils of today taunt me
My future transgressions daunt me
I promise I'm trying to be good
Promise I'm trying to do what I should
But who's example do I follow
When all your actions are so hollow
And there I go again
Mr hypocrite, judging his friends
But who am I to judge everyone else
When I do the same myself?
I voiced my issues to a friend
That I feared I would never trust again
She dished out a few words which set me free
If I don't trust myself, the who will me?

Four years of hopes flung into the sky like clay discs
of a ***** shoot and foolishly, I think
that they are real pigeons with wings colored
in iridescent shades and cooing softly to me

“I am coming home.”

I do silly things, like clean my house, buy new
******* and his favorite foods. I push all other
men away and wait, so I won’t risk rejection or
inflict wounds by betraying this man who

does not even belong to me.

As the date approaches, the estimated time
of arrival becomes more and more obscure
like the day he left for California and never
came back. And the innumerable

broken promises every day thereafter.

“I won’t be here a year” he says. But year two
hides him safely in west coast crevasses. “No I
won’t come to see you” declares year three
“they confiscated my electronics,

I am not supposed to talk to you.

I beat myself in the head with a golf club, don’t
you see how much I love you? I am coming back
for you in year four; why didn’t you wait for me?
In rushing water I stripped naked  

37.83 N, 122.54 W and carved a poem

about us into a rock but I needed to prove that
I am normal, so I loved and ****** the autumn
haired girl. Why won’t you talk to me? How
could you hurt me this way? My song set

tells the story of you

but I cannot let you hear it because you have
abandoned me.” One by one, the hopes are
shot down, “pull!” cries his fears and erratic
behavior, because I broke his silent contracts

by moving on with my life.

How many times will I scold myself saying
that I never should have answered the phone?  
If your muse is tragedy, you must continually
feed it. Now is it he or I with the spoon in hand?

Mounded spoonfuls of clay pigeons.

She could almost smell the jasmine,
As the wind blew through her veins,
And she wondered in what world,
Does there not exist pain?

Her dress with roses red,
Did a waltz in the breeze,
And as she came to realization,
She crumbled to her knees.

The leaves were like birds,
Soaring through the sky,
With every vibrant color,
She watched them float by.

She inhaled all she could
With tears trailing down her cheeks
And with the weight of the world,
She came back to her feet.

Three hot tears rolled down my face
and I think they were what's left of you.

The sky darkened as we drove home.
Somehow, even the locusts knew not to chirp.
In the damp grass the ants did not stir.

I guess that's the trouble with memory.
It makes things static,
makes them malleable,
makes them like
one of those stress-relief stones that you carry in your pocket
and rub with your thumb when you're feeling
lonely or anxious,
all the while boring a whole straight through.

You were solid but not designed to give strength.

You were my favorite mountain.
Nobody could replace you--
Except a new version of yourself.
But even in your Everestine heights,
I did not know you.
A mountain, yes--that is what he must be!

I would have preferred a man,
because when I fell down
you could not bend to catch me.

I hope you eventually forgive me
when I make myself happy outside of your shadow,
but the whisper of a new light
is enough
to call me out.

As we pull into the driveway, I slip silently onto my feet.