How do I explain that
today is a day I loathe myself
till red raw bones slip out of
their skin cages and bitter tendons

snap snap snap, ribs twisted,
fingernails gripping this bloodless face
white polka dot prints darkening
later to purple, I want to run away

but I cannot leave this house, I want
to forget but not to forgive, burning acid
sickening my stomach, I ***** hatred
at the mirror, there is nothing

good here, there is only
violence spinning a coin
and me.

One drop
and then another

rolling down dusty cracks in a windowpane;
as transparent as the clouds.

Here they fall, whispering widows
traces as substantial

as the autumn leaves
when the wind whimpers,

as substantial as your smile
when I'm not looking.

The drops simmer on,
down the desert of expression

fall down down down
and I will

make sure to look the other way.

I could sit and ponder,
how much longer
will I have to wait
until I'll see your face...
but I know it won't be forever
though I swear I'd wait that long.
You're the only one who truly sees me.
You make me feel real,
I'm not just an object taking up space
in this world I have a place, in your heart.

essences of fire
and ice
        keep wanting
to burst out of me
it is so hard to know
where to end
how to start
           the rivulets
    the torrents
           turn them on like
                   a waterfall faucet
they are there,
the opposing elements
lurking, ready
just under surface
waiting to ooze, pour
secret inner filth
spilling endless
crusty lava
onto the naked
rough-hewn floor
along with purest
of lightbeam

hard to pinpoint
the moment
I knew I loved you
what love
is actually supposed to be
bubbling and frothing beneath
              ice floes, melting
                         hot wax sliding
                      I do not know how
                           to prevent this
          dripping exhaustion
of elongated membranes
from imploding
into the truest
form of encapsulated longing
sharpened pangs
spit-roasted
upon the fibers
of my brain, of my heart
my pain in stop starts
stop no go on
I can't take it
I want it all
can you feel me?
I want it all, I say
thrumming hotly
down
      to
           the last
wild drop
of
  eternity

Not real people,
just characters,
defamiliarized,
playacting through
the stage dressing
of their
unconvincing, plywood
lives.
In one small spotlight,
one character
is deciding
not to call
the other character,
and a
second spotlight
picks out a
telephone
not ringing, and
the second character,
who could
call the first,
but doesn't.
Between them,
the few metres of
darkened stage
represent the cold,
separating sea, or
their emotional
estrangement, or
the shadowy uknowability of
the inner self, or
something.
They don't elicit sympathy,
these characters, only perhaps
an intellectual empathy,
critical and objective.
They are devices
by which we might learn
some abstract lesson about
the human condition.
They cry, or don't,
soliloquise about their fears,
their guilts and their woundings,
or are silent;
they damage each other,
themselves, and seem
incapable of learning
from pain.
But they are not
real people,
only symbols,
only the roles
they occupy:
Father,
Daughter.
It might be heartbreaking,
if it wasn't all so
far away.