she's in the
those pine
floorboards
that cry to you
when your
feet whisper
to the door,
she's in the
backdoor
hinges that
weep when you
clinch your jaw
hoping she stays
asleep

she knows
but she loves you
and she's tired
of being stepped
on and shut out

and soon you'll
find yourself
dragging
cinderblocks on
pine needles
leaving through
the front door.       MJB

time, love, and art--what illusory concepts
undefinable and immutable
we meld, over and over again, the borders of our bodies becoming unclear in defiance of the defined space we transiently occupy. teenage rebellion.
A most primal ritual, mother to a sentiment most sophisticated--
the bites you left on my neck lasted longer than your interest, which faded with the early sun like a dark cliche embedded in my skin.
How curious it is to feel time, evade love, and be art--
how bitter to know the hollowness of each one, a lesson imparted by the weight of their meaninglessness.

Sometimes you wish you could just go back
Take away all the pain you caused
What you did
And what you said
The mistakes you've made
And the person you became
Sometimes you don't see what's in front of you
You don't realize the importance
Then it's all gone
As if you just flinched
Your life passes before your eyes
But you're not on the brink of dying
You're on the brink of life
You're now aware of how you have nothing
You let it go to waste
All because you were just bluffing
You were fake and you were mean
You ruined people's lives
You acted obscene
You deserve to be lonely
Deserve to have nobody
What goes around
Comes around
And you can't take it back
You can't go back in time