i'm weak
weaker than i used to be
or at least that's what they tell me-
thin and white,
a pale white, which will fade into pink.
but never red,
not anymore.
but i'm still happier now
sitting in this dark room, alone
the light from the small lamp
crammed on top of two boxes of apples
and below my fathers old, untouched, dress coats
in the right corner of my closet,
creeps past
the silver handled blade on my floor
past my pale, hairy, white-lined leg
past my empty, unmade bed
and dies, quietly, on the wall
behind the TV, which, in humming
disintegrates every word,
every word, which i want to,
need to
communicate to her
in some way
even if it it means tapping them out
on that screen slid under the TV.
it's red light is flashing, facing me- it's charging.
But why?
To reveal more **** disappointment?
To reveal the last thing she sent me?
"stop sending me stuff".
and right above all the,"i love you"s.
Right above all the **** lies,
because, if she loved me,
she'd be here,
the closet door would be closed,
the lamp, off
the knife back in my desk drawer
and my leg would be unhurt,
it isn't



©Brandon Webb
2012

I used to find myself in the reflection of that water,
And cleans myself of troubled thoughts
At rivers bend , claim name as abandon daughter,
I whispered into every tear my shame and greatest fears,
That after all these years that I had made it clear
That no love was real, and that I should persevere.
To have my heart torn out, torn before me.
I soothed it’s hot wounds in the lapping wake
In the ripples that my teardrops make
Examined as the flesh grew mark,
Record each pain in pink puckered scar.
I used to find myself in the reflection of that water,
Strip bear my inhabitations lay bare to naked skin,
Laugh at indiscretion, death, and fear when I dove in.
Dove down into the waters where silence overtook,
To noise and sleepy slumber of the flowing living brook.
I used to concentrate on beauty and the confidence life took,
And drown my insecurities and grin at boys who looked.
I used to find myself in the reflection of that water,
In the moons bright light astride the bank
when summer nights grew hotter.
I used to let the water pull me to the center of myself,
Let it hold onto me when I was lost to everybody else,
I used to sing it lullaby’s , until I found myself,
Now I’m getting older, they say the waters gotten cold,
And I have gotten harder but that I have gotten bold,
And I know I’m apt at swimming but there are some
Bridges I have known, but sometimes I think of running water
Over my frayed and frazzled soul.
But a storm is coming closer with terror in its clouds,
Hiding in shrouds of chaos , with rain that’s falling down,
It’s tearing away the sandy banks and washed my water out.
It took away some part of me and held it tell it drown.
I wonder what I can see of myself in the wake of all this change,
Now all that’s left to do, is start wading through the pains.
And fallow thoughts that whisper “if I see myself the same”,
And I’ll remember I used to find myself
In the reflection of that water,
How much she cared for me
And how much I was taught there
And how everything has changed.
But I have left my mark there.