Saturday night I dreamed.
I was roaming in my Nana's house
My fingers tracing the walls filled with
Hundred of photographs, each in a
                    (yo)u-
                   nique
                    frame.
I stopped at one of my mother
Standing at a beach.
Skeletal; she was gone. Skin drawn tight over ribs, tibiae, humeri.

I remembered Sunday morning when I washed out my cereal bowl in the sink.

It's a **** shame
I put you in my picture frames
Next to my bed
Where, every night, I lay my head.

It's utter irony
That you would lie to me
Every time you said
We would always be friends.

It's really painful
That we became so dull,
So distant in mind and heart.
We're torn apart.

It's rather sad
That all of the times we had
Dissipated, flew off far away,
Leaving us with no words to say.

It's crashing down upon me like waves on the shore
That what we used to be is no more,
That fears became reality and you changed.
So I'll take you out of my picture frames.

she onced too many times
and left

he took it pretty hard
and died

the kids were not alright
and learned

His charm was venom,
Fangs, and bite
Strong drinks and no fight
An easy prey
A breezy day,
Turned sour night
Taught me what isn't right.

Just venom
Makes me an untouchable ghost.
My death is what I loved the most.

Your car was perfectly warm
with a chill that wouldn't fail.
My hands strong enough to know
not to hold yours frail.
And that bottle of wine haunted us both,
longing for a sip.
Me, like that bottle,
unsafe in your grip.
But anyway,
I drank.
Partially to remind myself of what we'd had before,
but it tasted different,
sipping it became more of a chore.
And you were nervous to be beside me,
I could feel it getting worse,
when you brushed my leg and said sorry
with an uncomfortable amount of force.
It's okay
I remind you
it's just me.
Quick to fill the silence I reached for a CD,
but no track seems to fit the mood.
All of our favorites sounded wrong,
too much tension in every song.
Fumbling through the tracks,
I ignored the breeze
to fill the unending silence,
of friends turned lovers turned enemies.
And before I could muster a new conversation,
a tear hit my lap,
because between me and my best friend,
not even music could fill the hallow gap.

I can't blame you
Sometimes its the only way
Running from something
Because of the honest reality of it

I can't blame you
I've done the same
Trusting my leathered skin
The souls of my feet
To carry me past these horizons

I don't blame you
But know this
I'm still here
I'm not upset
I'm not hurting
I'm still waiting
For the beat of my heart not to call your name
For the breath in my lungs to stop sighing at the thought of you

I'm still waiting
For the skin of my hands to stop tingling from the feel of you
For the memories of us to subside

Remember I'm still her
I'm still the girl that embraced you when no one would
Still the girl that showed you things you hadn't known
The girl that broadened your horizons
I'm still she that carried your heart
When you thought it would fall from your chest

I'm still here
I'm not going anywhere
I'll stand on this hillside
Whispers of you lingering on my ears
Legs quivering at your proximity
As your eyes probed mine
And your lips uttered words
That left me standing here waiting

"I can't do this anymore"

But I can
I'll be yours until the cows come home
Until the endless machinery of humanity breaks down
Til pigs fly
I am yours

I'll be here
Where you took the ground from under me
Waiting for the day you realize
You need me
Maybe not my lips
Or my heart
But my spirit
My friendship

You can find me here
Where I lost my heart to you
Here
Until the rain that falls mutates my skin
Until wildlife roots their life with mine
Until children come and stare
Having heard the whispers as I became this urban legend

I'll be here
Waiting for you
Here

Infatuation.
It’s a girthy, 5-syllable word and you’re
In a fat, juicy, situation.

It’s a swollen, darkened fruit
That begs to be taken completely,
Flesh devoured entirely.

But it’s a trap.

The sweet and tangy blood of it
That dribbles down your chin
To your neck
To your *******
To your heart
To your stomach
To your hips
To your groin
To your ***
Down your thighs
To your nervous toes
Is not love.

Nobody wants to hear that.

But some day
- If you are incredibly lucky -
You will look at your maroon-stained palms
And the dry, sticky rivers of years running down your wrists
And laugh until you cry when you realize
That you could wash your whole body
Because love is not in the juice.

It is not your addiction,
Your summer picking,
Your hungry belly,
Your well of adrenaline,
Your rushing of heartbeats,
Your tangling of bodies,
Your jealousy, yearning,
Nor pride.

If you are incredibly lucky
You will suddenly know love.
As silent, simple, and strong
As the fabric of the universe itself.