"so, how does that make you feel?"

yes its all in your head
but who are they to say its not real?

my angel in red
Let's sing along
to songs only we know
I'll kiss your scars
we can smoke and read Thoreau
until we've forgotten time
and slipped under the moon's glow
my angel in red
you can stop the show
now we're alone
you were a missing thread
in my story
read and reread
trying to comprehend
what I was missing
my angel in red
welcome home

late night cravings
and spurs of inspiration
that kind of cold stillness
that makes you want to write

white noise, loud thoughts

get away get away get away

time is running fast
no one noticed that you stopped
overwhelming numbness
chills your nerves

losing momentum

slipping away
again
so soon

the sort of thing we take advantage of
is only remembered when it is lost

complete panic
                           shaking
                                         sobbing
                                                       puking
                                         gagging
                       cramping
      this is hell

hyperventilate into the spinning room
filled with the horrific sounds of sobbing and *****
clutching onto life signs

remembering how to breathe
blink
breathe
blink
....
pause
....
and it stops
and you sink
into
darkness

the melancholy you wear always
is becoming of you, albeit repeated.
I reminisce about last year
about the ethereal days
filled with pain yet,
                                           I felt... like, I was supposed to
does that make sense to you?

your furtive glances make me anxious
anticipating the moment
where you regurgitate your words
your unpoetic bile

that I drink in so willingly
so deep
our movements ripple
our murmurs trail off

to somewhere we cannot follow

Take one more drag
of your "last" cigarette

it wasn't too long ago
that you had your first

it seems like an eternity
you disappeared and came back again
traded in your old bad habits
for new ones

constantly making choices
between evils

maybe just one more
the smoke
                   tastes like bile

that space between conscious and
                                                            n­ot
I will meet you there
peals of laughter will echo
for we will have escaped
                                           finally,
we will hover in limbo
breathing pure paradox
we will be alone you and
                                               I
whispers will then creep in
through the cracks in our sewn secrets
we never listen to what they
                                                say
yet soon the whispers
sink into our spines
and up through our joints
out our mouths they say
                                            goodbye.