sure glad everyone else found someone
i'm sitting in tornadoes of chaos and not making a sound
i’m full of all this undirected yearning which means i’m
full of ******* empty
and what a death-ridden paradox that is
everything seems like a riddle these days
but i’ve lost all energy for solving and its not like
anything could be worth solving when you are not here anyhow
open fields are caging me and i want a release
there are chains around my bare wrists and you need to take them off
where did you go anyway
i’m stumbling along clean swept paths
i’m tripping over nonexistent obstacles
i’m grabbing for a match because i’d rather burn myself
burn it all away so i won’t have to see all the things that aren’t there
namely you
and all the bleeding black that’s left
constant headaches like a companion and i’m begging to be blind
penny for the pained?
someone sit me down and explain the idiosyncratic theory
of why we make people into homes
and why we remember the nightmares but can’t grasp the dreams
where is the warmth to reside within
and why did you leave?

-*k.c.

do not fall in love with a poet
unless you can accept flickering candles at obscene hours
and ink stains that cover their fingers and clothes
and constant eye bags that they may need you to kiss

do not fall in love with a poet
unless you handle them dropping all and suddenly
composing
and then shutting you out in frustration of imperfection
sometimes words just do not do the things that they want

do not fall in love with a poet
if you do not appreciate paragraphs about your eyes
or if you do not have very beautiful prose
your simplicity will scare; they will simply hide their heart

do not fall in love with a poet
and solely be swept away by their mesmerizing verses
they will take you and transfix you in the dead of the night
leaving you breathless
but they'll be gone by morning

*k.c.

if you pay eighty cents for a lover
don’t be shocked when he doesn’t call
his life doesn’t depend on it
and neither should yours
don’t be upset by the blank stare in his eyes
his supports aren’t deep enough and anyhow
all he’s known is hell
and soon enough it’s all that you will think
your weary heart has ever chanced upon as well
don’t be surprised by the rough feel of his lips
his countenance
those weathered hands have gripped more weapons of the body and mind
than you’ll ever need to know
and someday it will remind you of the way you
sometimes hold a pen
like it holds catharsis instead of ink
he’s known more causes of pain than
all the days you’ve lived alone
and you think you know depth
you’ve hardly covered your toes
wringing your hands like they’ll give you answers
like they’ll cast off the shadows that live in you now
sweet release is not for people like you
and you should know that by now.

-*k.c.

for every day you did not come back to me
i placed a piece of myself on a toy boat
sent it down the stream two miles from my apartment
(you’d know that if you’d returned).
some are telling me it’s a slow suicide
but that started much earlier than this
and the cold air numbs my hands
which stops the shaking
(for awhile).

-*k.c.

it’s cold and you’re warm and the sun is
almost about to rise and you are
going to tell me you love me and i
am
sick to my stomach
because you’re filling voids i didn’t know i had and
it’s scaring me
it’s scaring me to be whole and it’s
scaring me to feel
it’s scaring me that you are growing this close
and i cannot even believe i’m letting you
and i am worried you are going to say i love you
and i am worried i am going to say it back

*k.c.

we’re sitting in silence and i can feel it somewhere in my bones
can feel it somewhere that you’re going to leave me someday
that you’ll look at me with eyes of strangers meeting for the first time
(and for the last time, as far as they’re concerned)
you’re whispering against my ear and it’s resonating at the base of my
spine and you’re telling me you’ll never leave, you’re so dead in
love with me and i know that you are, i can hear it in your voice
i can see it in your eyes
they way they light up when you think i’m not looking
but you’ve got bitter settled somewhere deep inside your heart
and sometimes it unearths itself, sometimes it
cuts me in places i’ll cover and try not to show you
i’ll dress the wounds myself, don’t you worry about me
and i know you won’t
one day, you really won’t
you’re lacing up promises to me and you think they aren’t empty but
they are, darling.
they are.

we’re sitting in silence and i can feel it somewhere in my bones
though you’re thousands of miles away and you haven’t held me in months
that you’re looking at pictures of me with eyes of strangers
meeting for the first time
and you’re looking for the last time, as far as you’re concerned
you’re whispering against someone else’s ear now,
and she’s thinking you’re moving mountains in her, i’m sure of it
and if she doesn’t feel that way, you get away fast
you think you’re so dead in love with her and i’m
sure you think you are
you were always so sure of things
so positive you had it right
and you’ve still got bitter settled somewhere deep inside your heart
have you let it come out? has she seen your hidden darkness?
i hope you have someone there to dress your wounds
if it ever cuts you in places you won’t show
and i’ll try not to worry about you
one day, maybe i won’t
i’m lacing up promises to myself that i’m going to be okay and i’m
swearing they aren’t empty but
they are, darling.
they are.

-k.c.
*10-03-2014

overload of senses like a hurricane
this town has never seen before
and i’m pleading for a sweet release
but no one tastes quite as sweet as you
(nor as bitter for that matter)
memories contaminating my dreams
and there’s smoke in my halls everyday now
as i light fires,
attempting to cleanse the air around me
from everything that breathes you
and i’ve cut myself more than once
on the sharp opinions you left me with
i wish you hadn’t said you still loved me
so that all the dim uncertainties
would not have built homes around my heart
feeding on my soft spots like it’s an occupation
building weight on my chest
inciting panic, though i have
plenty of that already
forbidden love like a ******* dramatic play
and you’ve left a light in your window
that i simply cannot keep
i’ll sing you sonnets as long as you live
but distance is a murderer in the quietest of ways
and i’m still digging through the dirt with my bare hands
hoping for a salve to the wounds we’ve self inflicted
and maybe with time the pain will subside
but you’re planted deeper than either of us could have expected
uprooting you would be the death of me
so i’ll settle for silent days and sleepless nights
ebbing aches in my bones as every inch
of me longs for you
and i’ll hope that every time your hand reaches out for something
it shakes slightly
wishing it was reaching out for me.

-*k.c.

they all ask the same questions
close companions with the triviality that sinks us all like stones
dust into whirlwinds, screams into storms
take a ******* breath for a minute
drinking your lukewarm love like coffee in the cold morning
savor every last drop now
caffeine still on your breath, don’t tell me you know misery when
i’ve still got wounds open under the floorboards.
you’re waving to the world like problems are a prize
hardly under your fingernails and you’re painting blood on your door
pray tell me the state of your bones;
are they ashy with defeat, years of torment you finally drew?
are they brittle
precarious
weaker than your resolve?
that spot right under your heart
where a warm soul ought to be
does it send tremors down your wrists, and into your hands?
AND WHEN THE SHAKING DOESN’T STOP
DO YOU CLAW AT YOUR INSIDES?
WHEN THE PAIN DOESN’T SUBSIDE AND
THE VOICES DON’T CEASE, WHAT THEN?
DO THE DEVILS TREAT FRIENDLY THOSE
THAT ADVERTISE DESPAIR?
IF SO, DO PLAY ON!

but if not.
by all that is good and wondrous and light
count your blessings, dear one.
there are some in this world that feel the pain raw
cold and biting at their insides;
they never say a word.

-*k.c.

i want to hold you until all the hurt fades from your chest
i want to kiss you until there is only love in your eyes
i want the world to stop for a moment and take in the way
you turn your head to the side when you
think you smile too big. i want the sun to shine
on all the days you wake up thinking you won't make it
because i want you to know that the sun shines
on all the days you tell me you love me
and on all the days you say that i am yours
as if there are rose petals balanced on your tongue and
you do not want to hurt them
i want the wind to brush your cheek the same way
your hand cradles my face when we kiss
as if love was a garden that sprouted from palms and fingertips
and the only way we could offer it was touch
i want the sky to paint the pictures that were
in my mind the very first time we kissed
and the first time you told me you loved me
so that the colors can calm your heart
when it races and you don't know why
i want the worst storm God has ever seen ****** upon us in the dead of night
so when you come to comfort me and bring the morning with you
all will be still and bright and warm again
and the world will know the peace you bring to me.

-*k.c.

how do you stop yourself from becoming a living contradiction? what do you do when no one has taught you the proper way to respond to the pain sprouting through cracks and seams and overgrowing the gardens of your mind, suffocating the beautiful because there is simply not enough room, what do you do when you’re trying to swallow the panic bubbling up in your throat? where does that heat come from, that builds in the backs of your eyes like all the hurt you bundled up for safe-keeping because some fights aren’t worth having, even when you can feel your heart breaking, a little at a time? why is the emptiness and the darkness always so much bigger than anything else? when does it stop feeling like a form of torture to leave the house and when does everything stop representing him in small and insignificant ways, every hour, every minute, every second? how do you stop the deep pit from forming in that area of your chest every time you accidentally stumble on a song that holds echoes of him in it’s crevices? echoes that escape like whispers of smoke and riddle holes in you, relentlessly and eternally? how the hell is someone both everywhere and nowhere all at once? when do you stop waking up in cold sweats because you are so achingly alone? where is the pavilion of shelter? when does it stop feeling like a war that you’re only fighting with yourself?

-*k.c.

it’s swimming below the surface
and feeling your lungs fill with water
but trying to breathe anyway
it’s digging your own grave
and watching the dirt cave in
but not being able to stop yourself
from digging
it’s running uphill
and discovering at each peak
that the hill was simply a mirage
and a bigger hill lies ahead
it’s discovering you’re choking
but no one is around
no one can hear you for miles
it’s standing at the edge
of a bridge
with no one calling you
back

-*k.c.

i am considering the smell the rain leaves in its wake. who is to decide the line between peace and entropy? between serenity and destruction? you’re just mist in the mountains now, but that doesn’t change the fact that you made me realize why they name hurricanes after people. you made me realize i can never draw the line between the calm and the chaos because my hands are shaking and they have not stopped since you left. but humor me this; where does it all come from? my surroundings are caving to tumultuous doom and yet i’m senseless in a dark room because you still haven’t called. the thunder is shaking my tables and chairs but the ringing in my ears has filled all empty space. I AM SCREAMING IN A VOID AND YOU ARE GONE, YOU ARE GONE, YOU’VE SLIPPED RIGHT THROUGH THESE FINGERS THAT LOVED YOU AND HELD YOU AND WANTED TO CHANGE THE WHOLE WOrld just so you’d have a dry spot to sleep. my soft cheeks are damp but that’s all white noise now; subtle and unremarkable, but it helps me fall asleep most nights. they say insomnia is like perpetual motion but the only subject i’m interested in studying anymore is the state of your fingertips and why they haven’t been tracing my skin, in places only the warm wind of clouds touches now, but all they do is leave me tortured. i feel restless at best. and yes; these days the rain seems to know me better than i myself. but don’t find comfort when you pull back your shades tomorrow morning, and all signs of natural disasters have (temporarily) subsided. for first i am in the storm; the **** eye of the hurricane; and when it’s had enough,

then the storm is in me.

-*k.c.

i won’t call because it’s best for both of us
a sickness isn’t sanity until you dress it
you’re a scalding shower
good even though it hurts
and the leftover steam in the bathroom is a
bright enough question mark to bring me back
every **** time.
the best things aren’t planned
but waiting is driving a knife into my skull
i’ve laid pieces of myself at your feet
i never even knew were there.
do you realize you never returned them?
and i’m not even sure i want them back
i’ve grown so accustomed to being riddled with emptiness
i might tremble to the point of destruction at being whole again
although that wouldn’t explain the tremor
that always works it way down my arms
and into the ends of my worn fingertips
fingertips that pound keys and grip ***** pencils,
that trace my face, like an echo of your return
but that’s just a sick joke that lives in the pit of my stomach now
dark and small and smooth like a stone.
how do you open yourself up to someone you hardly know
when the pages of your mind
give even you nightmares now?
there’s this riddle about letting things you love go
and it’s making me wonder if that’s why you never chased after me
but i can’t call you anymore
i won’t
because its best for both of us.

-*k.c.