i told her she didn't want
to get involved, but she
told me that she was
going to be,
anyway.

and i was a little
relieved that someone
had gone through
the trouble of making
that decision
for me.

you scare me to death,
like i'm the one to be
scared.

but when you show me
that part of your thigh
that you haven't shown
to that many people,
i start sectioning off
my body with the tiny
pencil i keep in my
nightstand to
keep score.

i told her she knew
she'd regret it.

i knew i could
prove her wrong
if i wanted.

And there you are
You bask in your little pool of golden glory
Dark eyes, they shimmer in that light
All you want is your little pills
And your little finger down your little throat.

The allure of those bones
They tantalize your enthrallment
And they shimmer with those eyes
In your little pool of golden glory.

And there you are
In your dark little dream
All you want is your little pills
And that visceral little finger down your little throat.

In your clairvoyant depth you reside
Extrasensory you are in your perception

And there you are.

Don't forget those little pills.

...Where are your little pills?

*****.
and how it smelled on your breath,
it was a miracle if the scent didnt linger,
within closed walls,
tight spaces,
they scare me to this very day,
all because of how you became,

Fights,
fought to near death,
I remember you with a knife in your hand,
threatening to end it for yourself,
as well as him,
there was anger in your voice,
behind your drunken slur,

All I could do was watch,
helpless and scared,
I was only 5 at the time,
No Wait! Younger
I was no more than 3 and a half or 4, yet, the memories, they don't leave me,

There was no mommy to run to,
she was the one creating all the fuss,
and, daddy...
well, he was already gone,
kicked out for my mothers selfish reasons,
she claims he hit her,
but my dad? no,  he would never,
(despite his tempter)

People are quick to wonder,
why I am the way I am,
Always forgives,
but extremely hesitant to trust,
ever again...
It has always been a problem I've had,
never thought to solve it,

Thats what happens,
when you grow up too quickly,
surrounded by violence and promises,
that only turned into lies,
as time  went by,

No babygirl,
mommy hasn't been drinking,
she's just tired,
Yeah Right
Wasn't that what you said the last time,
I caught you in a lie,
when I found the liquor bottles,
stashed in the cabinets,
you said you wanted to change,
For me
For Family
For Everybody
But I find it impossible to leave,
as I sit with my recollection of childhood memories
*worth forgetting

"He ought to be home," said the old man, "without there's something amiss.
He only went to the Two-mile — he ought to be back by this.
He would ride the Reckless filly, he would have his wilful way;
And, here, he's not back at sundown — and what will his mother say?
"He was always his mother's idol, since ever his father died;
And there isn't a horse on the station that he isn't game to ride.
But that Reckless mare is vicious, and if once she gets away
He hasn't got strength to hold her — and what will his mother say?"

The old man walked to the sliprail, and peered up the dark'ning track,
And looked and longed for the rider that would never more come back;
And the mother came and clutched him, with sudden, spasmodic fright:
"What has become of my Willie? Why isn't he home tonight?"

Away in the gloomy ranges, at the foot of an ironbark,
The bonnie, winsome laddie was lying stiff and stark;
For the Reckless mare had smashed him against a leaning limb,
And his comely face was battered, and his merry eyes were dim.

And the thoroughbred chestnut filly, the saddle beneath her flanks,
Was away like fire through the ranges to join the wild mob's ranks;
And a broken-hearted woman and an old man worn and grey
Were searching all night in the ranges till the sunrise brought the day.

And the mother kept feebly calling, with a hope that would not die,
"Willie! where are you, Willie?" But how can the dead reply;
And hope died out with the daylight, and the darkness brought despair,
God pity the stricken mother, and answer the widow's prayer!

Though far and wide they sought him, they found not where he fell;
For the ranges held him precious, and guarded their treasure well.
The wattle blooms above him, and the bluebells blow close by,
And the brown bees buzz the secret, and the wild birds sing reply.

But the mother pined and faded, and cried, and took no rest,
And rode each day to the ranges on her hopeless, weary quest.
Seeking her loved one ever, she faded and pined away,
But with strength of her great affection she still sought every day.

"I know that sooner or later I shall find my boy," she said.
But she came not home one evening, and they found her lying dead.
And stamped on the poor pale features, as the spirit homeward pass'd,
Was an angel smile of gladness — she had found the boy at last.

Water

First come the small waves
Light turquoise color
So pure
She can see right through them
As they are washing over her
She

Forgets

words, herself, the ocean,
The waves

Grow

Now being carried by them
She laughs
The laughter is heard only

Within

The silence of the waves is
The sound of her

Heart

She breathes in
The fresh
Water
So pure
Light turquoise color
Then comes a light breeze

Air

It was deep April, and the morn
Shakespeare was born;
The world was on us, pressing sore;
My love and I took hands and swore,
Against the world, to be
Poets and lovers evermore,
To laugh and dream on Lethe's shore,
To sing to Charon in his boat,
Heartening the timid souls afloat;
Of judgement never to take heed,
But to those fast-locked souls to speed,
Who never from Apollo fled,
Who spent no hour among the dead;
Continually
With them to dwell,
Indifferent to heaven and hell.

she sat out my doorway
elusive, mysterious
a quaintness that I couldn't help but to admire
existing truly in a self reclusive reality
speaking rarely
and listening even less
possessed fierce gray eyes
that instilled inexplicable emotions within me
with little to no effort she touched my soul

she didn't do anything unusual
*I only wanted her to.

...

I will not write about love.
No sooner than I had you,
Did I lose you;
You chose to go.
You chose,
You chose.
No.
I will not write about love.

No more tendrils,
No more pain.
Just sleep,
shh, just sleep, My Dear.

I beg you,
Do not wake.

I will not speak of love.
To have it,
Yet know nothing of it.
Just murmurs in the night.
Secrets.
I will not speak of love.

*No more hunger,
No more need.
Just sleep,
shh, just sleep, My Dear.