If you do not leave my bed,
I will not leave your side.
Just stay,
Please, please, please...
Just stay.

You've always been here,
And now they say you're leaving.

No.

Foreword: I wish the notes were at the beginning. This poem is very long and tiring. I wrote it 'in an altered state' and posted it in case I wanted to read it while 'altered' again to see if I could follow it. Have fun if you do wish to read it, though. It makes zero to no sense.

I thought about writing this out,
Or seeing it on a film.
I did,  I did wonder about you,
And screens and things to look out of,
Then suddenly, ****!
I always wanted to exclaim in a poem.
Rhymes stop me at the kees, though.
Cut off I go back to writing about you...
Or why the connection is so off.
How I only have an hour to fix it,
But not an hour to tell her that I meant to get in touch.
I'm sorry to sail on hypocrisy.
With no wind, I can only watch the flow.
Streaming her words as she flies,
With her silhouette somewhat like a bird's.
Pause, and reconnect?
Under the bed of my nails... A cave.
Where my punctuation looses the track in my mind.
Or path.
Down, I'm less taken when you're gone
I'm less far gone.
I come back.
Your collar itches and I need to scratch.
Though, it rings my neck.
Another disconnect, rooted words,
Trunk of thought,
Branches grow from letters that spell.
Pull the words and gone my thoughts.
Now long are the days of a good segway.
Do you get it?.. or hit.
A drift that blows or spreads,
And burns our throats,
Like a rug, a ring, an indian.
This is crap,
I see it, I follow, and I say crap.
Taking the road less taken wouldn't work.
Everyone has done everything in the suburbs...
In my mind.
A disconnect.
Did I mention the disconnect?
A cancer generating until I run out,
Of the cells, pumping,
My mind, throbbbing.
And my fingers click,
Click, click, click, click.
I could right that all day.
For whom the bells toll!
Us!
No, a food fight won't work.
Yet, naked we came on horses.
I bought your album. It fried my hair.
I need a cream.
Smooth down my throat,
Wet like a slide...
Slip into the smoke,
And dance with me in the headlights,
Our shadows fall in line.
We've been to that party,
With tea and 3D.
Whoo, but back to class,
Where the tank is full.
And how many times must I say...
The tank is full.
Twice isn't enough.
Though it is round, but we exist in corners.
I'll never remember the sparks that lit each line.
Or why, which is,
Like that and this.
Or why can't ladies dance for me...
Why can't I yelp from rooftops?
I am woman.
Make me moan.
Any man that can and will,
Let him ***.
A mirror? No, I don't need that.
You'll judge me as I am, and I'll go from there.
It's never a ten, but I'm not a two,
And I don't stop at twice.
The speakers won't stop either, no matter how many lights we run out of for our porch.
My phone screamed again and I know that their food is important...
But so is this connection,
To me.
And paper, but we don't really need that anymore.
We don't really need me.
A green glow in your pocket.
But as long as you think you do, it'll be there. I'm always here.
Until I love you, but not in that kind of way.
Because I don't want to sound like an alarm or have the desk be written on anymore.
No, these are not metaphors or nuances,
And this couldn't be found in a mold, because no one would eat it.
...
Up until then, it was reflections.
That keep losing or failing like the kids,
Who look at the stairs to 100, but only climb til 60, because **** it.
Why should you care?
'It all comes full circle...' she said looking orange,
and like a new born millennium...
'But not like death.'
Or maybe like death,
If we're here and not there.
So build a bridge, because it's always about connections.
Or math, and numbers...
Or sweat, and long legs, or black bangs...
Or just bangs.
Or loud bangs,
That produce a black milk.
Bleed it deep, stir it seaside.
We serve with cream and call it economy,
or the hair that shines and makes us a star.
Right there.
Where I'm coming back to, always.
Because of type.
The type.
The smoke.
The grades.
The eyelid cartoons,
Or mental notes taken about them.
I almost lost it there.
But boom!
A scale tips.
Feeling worse than 9.0 points on a bulleted list,
print on my chest.
Connections may have fell down,
Where I'm putting down my head now.

I seem to write and not compose,
These songs lips and bodies are so fond of,
Things ears listen to and without squinting...
The heart can hear.
But I write and not compose,
So that everything becomes more difficult,
To understand.
And the ink drys but never stains the brain,
With what I want to say...
Or a point I wanted to get across.
It's a price to say,
Everything.
When holding back,
Will make them belt out...
Or hold up the little flames and rise together.
Yet, here I am writing and not composing.
You can not dance to this.
This is not a community.
Only singular thought escapes a scene,
To follow a thread,
Down to the seam,
To reach the hem.
But I still just write, not compose

Who else felt the night coming off the tracks,
When we first stepped into that crowded, 1 bedroom apartment,
For the 21st birthday of a guy we knew (his friends, we didn't)?

Strangers derailed and built up drunken tension.
That settled once he found the smoke,
You found the beer,
And I brought the ***.

I know my regrets.
But do you still enjoy the white line you crossed...
Off the counter top,
Before we left for IHop?

You hit me, held my hand, and made me promise in the stall,
(where I held your hair just last week)
That I won't tell.

I won't.

We loaded up in the car to go back,
But got stopped along the way.

Two pipes, one baggie, and an open container later...
Maybe birthday boy became a man,
Sometime between when he got cuffed...
And when he apologized.

Was it just me or....
Were the State Troopers cutest when they lined us girls up,
Looked at us,
And let us go?


Just in time for Mother's Day.

I've heard that my eyes are endless.
Pools to drown in...
And that my legs are thick, and soft,
And warm like home.
It's been said that I
Play with poetry like
Finger paints.
And that my laugh is a ferris wheel,
Or honestly.
And apparently, I'm just too cute.
Apparently, it's just too hard not to love me.

When you took my face into your hands,
                                      I  felt  the control a
                                      kiss    could    have.

I wanted to unfold, as flowers
                                 as Spring
                                 as you.

But I'm still not certain
            about living life
                on my knees.

Despite the beautiful view.

I saw him neatly fold his life away and stuff it next to his watch,
In his front pocket,
The room lost color, so I went downstairs...

To the kitchen, red as a solo cup,
Where a group of my friends had drank their lives away,
I couldn't stay to watch them wipe what was left from their chins...

So I sat outside (I love the green),
And dreamt my life away in little puffs of smoke,
That I sent home to the clouds.

My wash gives me options
To click
For warm or cold water.
To click
For darks or brights...whites?

My wash expects me
To know
The soil level or spin cycle.
(low, medium, high?)

Its buttons give me structure.
Its buzzer gives me time.
But as long as my clothes get clean,
I couldn't give a ****.

My mind keeps deceiving me,
Convincing me to believe,
That there is something more,
Than what there is.

It wants, more than anything, to keep dreaming.
I want, more than anything, to wake up.

This distance,
Your face on a screen,
Blinking occasionally reality,
Flickers, shatters lucid dreams...
               of you close come nightly,
               come close to me tonight.
Your voice,
Solid stern oak, shaking leaves,
Calls to me on broken lines,
Sings to me on clouds in dreams...
               of you close come nightly,
               come close to me tonight.
Bed empty,
With single, lonely pillow sees,
No resting, tranquil head,
Next to mine to make peace dreams...
               of you close come nightly,
               come close to me tonight.

You waited for the storm to pass
By sitting in your room.
What did you see?

An empty dresser with empty drawers
Open to a cluttered mind.

Then, the calm waters boiled over,
and spilled onto your floor.
Drop by drop, the crack of your door
Gave way to an ocean.

You stared at the legs of your end table,
And watched them drown.

I have scarlet cheeks and the hottest hands
Once your firm lips press upon translucent skin
A dizzying reality, a crashing universe
That compel my blood and thoughts to race, all for you
My heart beats and beats

These forrested roads pass as streaks of rust and green, magnificent
Only one turns to reach a destination
The rest we take lost in hope of a journey
With dripping ice cream and melting passengers
You drive and drive

I feel tiny icey shatters through me
With each touch from strong hands callous from art
And each bead of sweat or water is a tear
Shed for the beauty of our braided bodies
Entwined, shooting impulses electric
We love and last

One day, soon...
I will drive off that overpass,
Just to prove that I could.

An alarm sounds,
Suddenly,
You're not quite alright,
Suddenly,
Everything is wrong.

But, you just fall back down inside your covers,
Pull them tighter, drown yourself under their lavender scent.
You've never been more cold.

Now, you'll only move for the promise to shake, freeze, or feel.
Now, you'd welcome an icy bath to wake up what is real.

Apparently, you set everything from yesterday aside to watch the sun rise,
Or could it be that you forgot to take your meds today,
Again?
Either way, to care would scare you.

Later, you'll watch as the pills slip through the cracks in your floor,
And think to yourself... what's there to bother searching for?

The one you love(d) can't even shatter your glassy eyes.
Sharp, you can stand still in the shards of their voice,
Shaking to ask...Is something the matter?

You are fine.
You're honestly fine.
Because nothing could ever matter.

Maybe tomorrow.

I'm writing right now.
I'm writing to write, now.
I'm writing to write for me now.

No one reads here,
without wanting something,
(besides what we give them)
in return.

And no one else reads what is here.

So, instead of not writing now,
Or writing in hopes of enlightening others,
I will be honest.
I will write for myself.

And I will read it, too.

You cornered me between the book case and the wall,
And whispered something like...
"Wordstastebestfollowedbyakiss."
I thought the same thing about cigarettes.
About Georgia, about falling.

.... And then I thought about the jammed arm on the record player.
And if the dog needed to go for a walk.
And how I really don't want to clean the bathroom at work.
Or any bathroom, ever, really.

Thought after thought came and left my mind...
And now I only think about going back.

I smell the ocean.
I feel it cool my skin,
Baking in the sun,
Or from your stare.

My hand parts from yours,
And travels west to meet the sand
That melts golden, molten,
Through the cracks in my fingers.

Thoughts now flow to the back of my mind...
Where they will crash onto hot rocks,
And sizzle, steam away.

We were the cake conspirators,
During lunch.
Beginning with an empty moment,
When we asked Ben to fetch Emile...
And waited at the table,
For the cake to meet his face.

And I thought, wouldn't it be funny...
Wouldn't it be just freaking hilarious,
If I were to pretend to slam it in yours instead?
...But, as soon as I got near you...
You went up in arms!

Your small hands grabbed as much cake as they could,
And my hair suddenly became a sticky shade of white!

We had no time for disbelief,
We had no time for anything,
But to fight!
Now was the batter battle...
And I had to throw the second punch.

Two girls,
Laughing, while reaching for more.
Squealing, then wiping it from our eyes.
Two girls,
Answering the cries of the cafeteria to,
"Yeah, get her in the face!"

One nice, hot, long bath...

To melt from my skin,
All these flakes and imperfections.
Shameful red bumps and blemishes.

To boil this fat,
Off my thighs, arms, and middle.
My overflowing flesh, an unbearable jiggle.

To drown my self loathing,
Self centered,
Self conscious ***.

To steam up the mirror and hide.

To shine up those back seats I grew up so quickly in,
To soak up those long necks I spilled the rest of,
To wipe off those windows I fogged up or snuck out of,
To cleanse me of each late night with every guy that made me his ***** little girl.

One nice hot bath...
To relax and forget that I'm only worth getting you off.


ps. No, I don't think you should join me... ****** bag.

Uneasy, queezy, no breezy feeling,
On currents that carry you home.

Settle, Swallow.
Love him, Sparrow.

A nest shouldn't be so cold.

When I do finally find myself...
And the one thing that makes my heart beat faster than you..
Can I call you home?
And pack all that I've learned in crates, and stack all my new found knowledge like books on our shelves...
And hang all that I love on our walls?

When I do finally find myself...
Not wondering why I had to walk this path alone...
Can you take my hand?
And promise me every forked path from here on on out won't keep me seperated...
From the only destination I now want to reach?

When I do finally find myself...
Driving on my own to where I need to be...
Can I turn around and come back to you?
And spread my journey out upon your desk in photographs and stories...
And look into your shining eyes like a mirror, reflecting me complete?

Rewritten, rewritten, rewritten,
Rewritten is the story of us...
With the intent of making it beautiful.
Honest.

But as with this distance,
Adding more lines can make a poem complicated,
Until I can't quite remember why I'm writing anymore.

Why must I tell you that once time passes,
I'll spend it with you in the arms of love,
When every moment is another mistake,
Spent by me with another in the throes of passion?

And how sorry I am,
For not being a happy have-not,
Though I know that I will.

You deserve someone who writes as beautiful and as honest as she is.

Sound can only stretch so far,
And you can only lie awake for so long,
Before you are revealed,
Completely vulnerable.

You, your sheets, and the threads that make them
hold steady eyes upon their shadows.

But in the dark... what can they see?

My thoughts will twist your words until they say what you don't mean,
To say,
That you sound mean, that you don't mean until they say,
The words,
To me they twist.

At 4 am
He tried to talk about the stars
For some reason, you told him it's because he's never ****** before
And we all acted like that was okay

After he stumbled his best away from us
I told you how wrong you were
Then you asked if I could 'maybe help him out a little'
I haven't told you just how wrong that was

Waiting, standing, or sawying on the porch
We were joined by the others
To move on upstairs

Light it, smoke it, pass it, drink it
Now count them
Two, three, four, one after another
The bodies that dropped and rest where they fell
Producing a sweet slumbering silence
That I tried to take advantage of

But no, the guest bedroom is open
And you're awake
And you're drunk
And you smile at me crooked
I know very well your twisted pursuit
I know I'm not taking advantage of anything

We finish.

Back across the hall
To where your brother, among the others, slept
And I hoped he was dreaming about the sky
Or the conversation I would have liked to have with him about it

Almost 8 in the morning
Time for me to leave
But you had to lose your keys
And wake your brother to take me

In his truck, in the mirror
I examined myself
And said I looked like ****
He didn't even laugh
Instead, he told me that I never could

I lit a cigarette
Wondering
How he could say that
Not wondering
Why you never have.

We pass the construction, the apartments, and reach the house
I hugged him
'You're better than us.'

It's 10 pm the next night
And I hope he still wants to talk about the stars.