Every morning I look at the same **** skyscraper
Nothing changes about it
Except the lights

Sometimes four lights on the top are on
Once in a while 2 on the bottom
Never is the entire thing illuminated

Why can't everyone be home at the same time
I always wonder.

As the cold wind blows the rain across the street,
I still wonder what it would've been like if you were here.
I wonder what it would've been like if I hadn't lived in that dirt floor house,
Or if my parents had actually been around.

Now you’re sealed in wood and mortar,
With nothing but a picture of you in my mind.
Followed by the image of you hanging in the air,
And your father crying over the defibrillator.

I wonder what it would have been like if I had had a home,
If my first memory wasn't a father covered in blood of his own.
What I would be like if I could forever remove the memory,
Of me laughing in a tub covered in crimson of my body.

But in the end I have to be grateful.
From dirt floors and misery, to the doors of a university.
And a solemn promise to my future children,
That they won’t have to see the things I've seen.

In love they wore themselves in a green embrace.
A silken rain fell through the spring upon them.
In the park she fed the swans and he
whittled nervously with his strange hands.
And white was mixed with all their colours
as if they drew it from the flowering trees.

At night his two finger whistle brought her down
the waterfall stairs to his shy smile
which like an eddy, turned her round and round
lazily and slowly so her will
was nowhere—as in dreams things are and aren't.

Walking along avenues in the dark
street lamps sang like sopranos in their heads
with a voilence they never understood
and all their movements when they were together
had no conclusion.

Only leaning into the question had they motion;
after they parted were savage and swift as gulls.
asking and asking the hostile emptiness
they were as sharp as partly sculptured stone
and all who watched, forgetting, were amazed
to see them form and fade before their eyes.

I dance to the beat

That life flings at me.

I am a bit foolish

And suicidal,

But nonetheless

Your grace

Inspires me

To be calm;

And yes,

I confess,

A bit sloppy.

i don't need a lack of clothes.
i just need your indifferent glare.

So soft and so warm with her hand in mine,
The time has not been kind
So young and so wise with death in her eyes
The darkness burns her skin
White and smooth, her arms reach up
Touching the stars with every stretch
Gently my hand grazes the scars
Tracing, tracing, tracing
I feel the star, the heart, the lines and the words
Reeking of pain with every stroke
I hold her tightly
Her eyes shining brightly
Yearning for something more
Peering, peering, peering
Through every unwelcoming door

Touch the stars,
Burning amongst the black

I see the stories poured throughout every red, poison-filled drop

Touch the stars,
Offering life amongst the scars