A cigarette. A ****** cigarette.
You discovered that I
was a habitual liar.
All from the stubbed cigarette
at my feet.
I didn’t blame you.
I would never want to be
with someone so filthy.
It’s hard, you know.
Your first lie is like the first injection
It’s the rush, baby.
And then you find yourself
unable to pull away.
Always,
eventually going back.
Lies are blameless
The liar is to blame.
I love you
But not enough to stop
And you discovered this-
this habit of mine
all from a cigarette.
A cigarette. A ****** cigarette.

Do you know what Death smells like?

   Very similar to Life, if I may say so.

      You really can’t tell a difference

        There are so many of us who walk around

           Living in these ‘casts’

             Can you smell them?

                I can’t.



                                                                       I wonder how long it will take

                                                 For us all to stop determining what is alive

                                                                               And what isn’t.

                                                      There are different degrees of death

                                                   Some are just a little less gruesome.

With Lilies as lips
And Heather's as eyes
She floats above the rest of us
In a frosted dream.

Her fingers dance
And her toes wiggle
Her laugh caresses the grass
The wind joins along.

Strawberries swing from trees
And cupids play games
In light sleep
Diamonds slip off her wrist.

She yawns bubbles
And breaths life.
For there isn't anything
She would want more.

Plentiful
It is but only Fool’s Gold.

The smell of freshly bloomed flowers sifts through the air
And I can't help but to see it drift cautiously through my home.
I follow it with my blind eyes
And reach for it with the tips of my fingers.

I can't see where it has gone.
But I can feel it's presence
Soaked into the very fabrics of my life.
It calls out soothingly.

I’m not really sure how to write this
For the pen quivers in my hand
I stumble and forget my lines.
It’s like getting a pearl out of a clam.


I have lived a little more than a decade and a half
Yet, I’ve seen you grow up as someone new.
With your confident stride, you have walked
Straight past me into the horizon of blue.


But that’s life for ya’
Friends do come and go.
Yet my feelings will remain the same;
You were the sister I once had long ago.

Oh romantic -
your era has yet to end
for spring has quietly slipped among the poppies.
Barrade me with the lashings of quick-witted tongues,
pull me from the peak that I so desperately cling to.
Evidence of autumn in summer
or is that the hues of a restless sun?

I would like to die, I think.
And no longer have to feel the constant ache
Of which has been sent upon me
For some irreconcilable mistake.

Judgment is a leaking faucet.

So natural it seems to condemn
the unknown,
but I’ve seen the unknown
and it’s never what they think.

This world has different tongues,
crawling over each other to be heard.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen mankind
so divided, so full hate
over what they can’t see.

Children, reflective of their environment,
guided to beat down their gavel.

“What is that?” they persisted.
“It’s wrong,” they said.
But mother and father always told me,
“They just don’t know, baby.”

But even if they didn’t know,
their ridicule was the constant whistle of a belt lash.

Modern times are the same as the olden days.
Babies are born with the inherent fear of strangers
and mankind is born with the inherent fear of the unknown.

For religion is something of a mirage.
From afar, it’s inviting, encouraging.

And then all at once, that image disappears.
Fallacies spread like cancer,
extremists manipulate the weak and desperate.

And every group tears at each other’s throat to have the last word.
Because that fear of the unknown
drives us to obliterate each other
whether or not we consciously know so.

Vain attempts to change our ways,
but mankind is of the flesh
and there will be no perfect union.

I cry for the struggles,
the wars fought in the name of religion.
How a father could look upon his son
and speak that killing is what his god wants.

Killing is what his god wants.
Killing is what his god wants.

Killing.

God.

Release the birdie that resides in you.
Open the cage that contains the humble creature.
And as you do, watch it fly
Over the heads of everyone you know

Straight unto the heavens
It sores.
Casting rays of delight
And love.

For a heart is a complicated little thing.

I remember my first love
And its wild, adventurous personality.
Where the freckles scattered on his face
Symbolized the stars he had named after me.

I remember my first night alone.
And the isolation that seeped through the walls.
Where the phone never rung
And he never returned my calls.

I remember my first love.
And how he triumphantly did return.
Where life was blissful and sweet
And he promised to never spurn.

I remember my second night alone.
And the isolation only continued to increase.
Where my tears would cascade down to the floor.
And my heart was no longer in one piece.

I remember my second love.
And how he was everything and more.
What happened to my first love?
Well, let’s just say I dumped him to the floor.

Changing moods like the passing tide
And you the moon, trying to grasp water.
And yet you will see me and be with me.
Unable to touch, but nonetheless, understanding.

I’m afraid of the ocean when its waves rush forward,
its translucent arms wrapping around the impressions of my feet..

The ocean is a mother giving birth,
life surging forward and then receding in the swirls of salt and sun.

Measureless
Its belly has captured the souls of sailors and broken ships.
Ghosts drag on the bottom floor choking on their entrails.

A 15th century wood-hulled ship is their playground,
And they gnaw on the golden coins that flutter down onto each floor
as the wood shrivels with the weight of plankton.

She is the undertow
And she is the rip current.
She surrounds us
And we will never escape her.

Like the wind that slivers through the curtains, casting out feeble dancers
               I glide to the window, casting out shadows of black and tears.
                     And loosen a ribbon tainted with a desolate cancer.
                                     I cry with abnormal fear.

Whimsical were the flowers
                              Their long eye lashes curling up in the wind.
                                         With every delight, they played
                                                       Their music
                                              Their listeners, the Earth
                                     They
                                               kept
                                                       On
                                                                Playing
                                 Until the moon told them it was night time
                                                        And they faded.

Icy fingers lay across the wind torn papers

                        Blood thickening over the most indulging words



                        Lifeless eyes stare upon the angels of discretion
                                    
                                   Her skin slowly peeling away

                                       Bones thicker than wood,

                                 Crunch under the feet of a giant.



                                   Whose heart lies inside a chest
                                
                                  Locked away in the head of a girl

                     Whose icy fingers lay across the wind torn papers.

Fear will make you a coward.
Pull you down and on your strings.
Did you know that you were a puppet?
Your wood is rotting.
And that dust, reminisces of your heart,  
Doesn't it make you cough?
Break me, you cry.
And my strength could not cut you loose,
For you were afraid.
You coil from the master.
Pity