"It's been less than a year."
He said with sincerity
Did he believe it?
Was the question
The answer was

I see the darkness of the world
in my reflection
a devil in each iris, fire in each pupil
and every intention
I have had in my possession
has been cruel
has been kind
has been fuel
to burn and bind
and every breath of mine
gives to take
takes to live
lives to ache
for twenty years i have hung upon the stake
asking heaven why my creation
is
Perhaps it is His infatuation
with watching unbuilt castles slide
off cliffs into the sea,
swallowed by the tide
of what I'll never be

Men who look like ferris wheels
every color representing different aspects of their personality

The first three words don't have to be beautiful
they just have to make sense
like connecting dots on paper

men who love with their fists
and hate with their mouths
who once were boys taking things apart
like remote controls their own fathers used to beat     Obedience into their small bodies.  Left them with a fury tattooed across their hearts
Just to give them the challenge of putting themselves back together

They buy their wive's flowers after
a four day bruise isn't so glaringly purple anymore
not so accusing-
kiss her broken ribs
and tell their children midnight stories

children trained as mood detectors
human robots
know when to shutup
speak when you are spoken to*

Men who speak like cutting boards
Every slice of the knives in their toungues leave
hollow aching missing parts
just to teach their children that not all
things can be put together once taken apart

whose daughter glues together the parts of old telephones
to spite the missing pieces
so every welt he beats into her bones
she sings herself unbroken
until she stands robust and imperfect
there are holes in her armour
but she holds it together

with her fathers fists.

these ruffled sheets don't feel like mine .
not quite the smell of my laundry scents either ,
but familiar , like the body pressed against me hours before .
and now again

I was afraid of opening my eyes until I heard his voice
The same soft whisper that came from behind ,
the whisper that drowned out all the other voices in that busy pool hall

I was down by two ***** ,
I was stripes he was solid
it was my game but that he didn't know .

I had been kicked out ,
they called me orphaned , homeless
but that he didn't know , or so I thought
until he whispered against my neck
"if you win I'll take you home"

so we played
I played the way my brother had taught me
learning him as I go , to have him against me
from behind , his rough hands over mine .
I could barely see my fingers , as he guided them
under and over the stick , until we sank a perfect shot .
And I did end up winning , but only because I played it well ,
a hustler they called me , but that he didn't know

He took me home and we laid together ,
the game was over when the eight ball fell in .
Now we both knew how this would go
and go it went until I came over and over again
and he touched upon me again and again
until he came as I did
and we fell to rest
our breathing still synced together
as the rise and fall

and I opened my eyes
this time to the whisper of
a sleepy "hey beautiful"
and those hands gently through my hair

this may not be my bed
but this is my place .
He knows me now

I always somehow missed your passing silhouette
but I saw your eyes cry thunder,
saw your sweetly shivering pen-scratching-paper
in the cold streetlight

I never thought I could feel so disconnected
                                                                I was wrong.
                                                                ­For that and for other things. I

meant to share things. With you, with anyone I
           meant to do things that are worthwhile I
                         meant to find the things worth living for I
                                      meant to grasp the hands of the world tightly and never let go
I didn't want to be swayed,
and I'm swinging at the whim of drifting cobwebs


I found myself on the concrete again, tonight, throwing questions at the sky
The parts of myself worth keeping are atrophying, I thought
So I thought some more.


EVERYONE deserves love. I'm tired of scratching the snow waiting for an answer. I want the world to change. And it's not me, it's the rules that broke me. It's the rules that bent me into un
                     rec
og
niz                able
shapes.

So then Why, I asked. One word. Crumbled as the cold set in, and I cried in the moonlight.

That was when I thought of you and the things left unanswered. Mostly I use you as a way to think about myself. When I was with you, I stopped asking questions, I think.
I need to learn how to be alone. I need to learn how to be with people and not stop being. I'm raging so freely lately that I'm dreaming again of you and of the times I kissed you and the times I should have, but mostly of the time I left you...
No regrets, hon, no matter how much it hurts.


So.
Here, again. Alone, again. The apathy is back.
Sun on my back, moon on my back, cracks
in my skin. You win.