Insatiable appetite.
For all the wrong things.
Who defines right and wrong?
WE DO.
Our perception is our reality..
It is the only reality we know.

Insatiable appetite.
I long to feel something other than a memory.
My today's are filled with memories of yesterday's.
All of my present moments..squashed.
My mind jumps and leaps through fields of
dreams.
A life of the unknown.
An insatiable appetite for what lies ahead.

In a revered Tibetan tradition,
I read aloud to my father,
the dead are borne to mountains
and the bodies offered to vultures.

I show him the photographs
of a monk raising an ax,
a corpse chopped into pieces,
a skull crushed with a large rock.

As one we contemplate the birds,
the charnel ground, the bone dust
thick as smoke flying in the wind.
Our dark meditation comforts us.

I ask if he’d like me to carry him—
like a bundle of sticks on my back—
up a mountain road to a high meadow
and feed him to the tireless vultures.

"Yes," he says, raising a crooked finger,
"and remember to wield the ax with love."

the blurry words of men ring through my ears as my eyes struggle to see dancing letters shift upon the screen
i am numb.
i have been up for seconds that turned into minutes into hours.
almost a day
almost a night
i am up for you
for hot metal on cold thighs
for fingers with chipped polish pushing keys.
for l o n g lines and space bar hits
page breaks and  enter keys
i am awake for you
for As and Bs and Cs
i am awake for you
awake for months worth of paychecks signed away in a single pen stroke.
the blurry words of men ring through my ears as my eyes struggle to see dancing letters shift upon the screen
i am numb.

Please stand by
as I set fire to my past,
because the past is never
how you remember it to be
and the future is never
how you want it to turn out.
I hold our story over an open flame
and hear no objections.
It was never torn
but you scribbled over it
the moment I turned my head.
Friends don’t let friends fall apart
but I watched as you watched me
turn to ash.
One day you’ll come,
searching shelves for our book,
only to find that I’ve disposed of it.
Time turns all things moldy
and the cold, damp space we left it
just drove it to completion faster.
Keep standing by
but you can’t get it back.

Why is it when you enter a room, I'm not the first you see?
You scan the room and always last your eyes will fall on me.

You make me feel invisible, as if I'm not really there.
Would you notice if I left? Or would you even care?

Why is it when you look at me there's nothing in your eyes?
But when another comes around your attention seems to rise.

For just one day I'd like to feel like your eyes were only on me,
And that even in a crowded room I'm the only one you see.

Why is it you seem so interested when others are around?
But when It's me who seeks your attention it never can be found.

I don't know how much longer I'll be able to take this pain.
All of these feelings and insecurities are driving me insane.

So why is it you don't notice that I'm sad and miserable?
Probably because every time you look at me I'm still invisible.

Your hand reaches down
like a thousand raindrops to
outline my tired skin

let's go on adventures, it's
   the simplest things that stick in
       your mind and hold us together
              like a well-wrapped Christmas present

He takes your breath away, he steals the night before you, constricting your sight and your eyes, he lies, next to you but his mind is a seafare away, in fact his presence is valid only by the point you feel lost and dejected, hands rejected. He moves in your head, your head, he waltzes in slow motion, grasps at straws, gasps for air, because you drown in his heavy stare. A thing of beauty, you paint him a picture in your mind, he takes control, changes the colours of the mood, lost you find yourself to be.

Two feet on the ground, the stars collapse and combust under the pressure of his gaze. He holds your hand, your hand is not your own, it is fragile as glass, an extension of your heart, your head, your head. Can you move your feet? Step, two, three, four. I am lost in your smile, it steals my eyes, stings to the touch, cold as the ice I walk upon. Are you there, where is he, going? He laughs and dust settles, He laughs and you are mute, he laughs with her mouth wide open, he will steal your breath. He wears a novel in the brim of his hat, he wears a footprint on her hand, he walks, he talks, he moves, in a language unknown to me. You lie still, belie me, tread a little carefully, dance a slow jig to my music. Listen carefully for I will say this only once.

Do not hold my hand, my words are dissatisfied with the mark they make. A beauty unsurpassed, sur-passable by my standards. Do not make me a mirror, I have no vision left to see, my head that you walk in, is running away with time. Smile, you make me. Tear your gaze from mine, I lose you, you are somewhere else, not here, I am blind, dumb, deaf and numb. Forgive me, if I know not what to say, sometimes I can do nothing but think analytically. Your touch mystifies my soul, I lose all sense of control, with no reproach I start again at the beginning. Of time.

An introduction to me is to be made. He is a thief by only the most awesome standards. Your muscles contract as his words, her mouth moves to yours. The taste of air, is sweet on your palate, shapes are made by candlelight, his scent is of positive delight, he feels like the night. Dark, endless, fulfilled by the moon. Delighted by the sun, you go on the run, not looking back but you drag your fingers behind you, longing to let go. Ready for the show, you undress with minimalist perfection; you take all but his direction, and watch for his musical face. Nothing is something, when it is not even there, because you can feel it, and you don’t even need to see what I mean to understand. By my second hand, I unwind.

I am not here, I am not there, I am not, anywhere. He seeks me out, I hear him call. I hear him shout. Each movement is a ripple, I feel him like a butterfly in my hair. Turns my head, makes me cry, makes me wonder why. Each breath tells a story, each kiss is a new chapter. He will write you a novel in a night-time of passion without a desperate loaded ending. He will whisper your name so that it no longer sounds like air through his pursed mouth. Blondie plays in the background and the candles dance in tune to the beat of the song. You move your fingers like they need to grasp his words. And nothing comes to your touch. Drowning in happily ever afters, forevers and forget-me-nots, love becomes a thunderstorm in a teacup....

The trees don't transform
like they used to.
Hills don't morph into
dragons.
These empty boxes
no longer soar through
the clouds

The trees are just trees
the hills, hills
the box, a box
if this is growing up
let me
          stay a kid
                          forever