Your heavy, hot air scorches my face
Bumpy, twisting roads lined with leaves of fall
Condensation on the windows
Keep going is the mantra playing in my head
You are fidgeting,
     you're nervous, but what for?
This moment we share is going well
You look swell, you always do

she held my heart in her cold hands

tentatively gentle she placed in her box

her box was filled with our memories piled high

something material of mine covered where my heart will be placed

I let her into my life so much, she became my life

the only reason I existed was to be in the presence of the goddess

it was her that ended me, I begged her to do it

begged on my hands and knees, tears flooding my vision

she was gentle with my request but she was vengeful for my fall

my head was picked up by her tugging on my hair

it was a short, sweet ending, swiftly but slow all at once

my love took my life from my will and served it chilled

frozen over like her own, silver platter or gold?

I wished for the pieced existence to be whole again

it was okay, I was dead and embedded in a box, wrapped in silk

she was alive and cleanse her need for bloodshed

her eyes seemed heavy and her will dripped from her eyes

Was she crying? out of shame of a more display of torture or of guilt for slaying a soul so loyal to her

I would never know because that box became my home

wrapped in silk on top of my gown, I lay frozen over



and she frowned

clock could you tell me,
if i could reverse time,
what day would i turn back to?

maybe the day i spotted a flower, blooming alone in a field
spacious silence for it to grow
ever so gentle movement in the breeze that spring day

or the day i met you
your smile shinning brighter than the crowd
eyes like the rich soil from which you grew
if only you'd learn to
                                      outgrow
                                                      the spaces  
                                                        ­                between us

maybe then clock, i could recall why you left me for the fields of silence

sunday nights at the house are brutal
yelling and being *******
taking our arguments and stuffing them in our pillowcases
to confront the next night

we go to bed angry
not at ourselves but at each other
but we don't care
we'll separate into our rooms
distance ourselves to our own space
think, breathe, and think again

we are not a family
merely people dependent on people
we do not share the same taste
or the same aspiration to exist

we are simply people angry at people in a house on sunday night