my eyes are drying out.
time to put them to rest for awhile.
I should've stopped you, but never did.
we can't control ourselves, we can't stop this.

when I am blind,  I will be able to guide you.
I don't need my sight to bring you home.

when your voice gives out, I will still hear you.
loud and clear,  as if you're speaking in my ear.

my eyes are drying out.
at this hour they are so useless.
I should've slept, but I never did.
we can't take back this curse we cast ourselves.

so when you fall,  I will be there to help you up.
no matter how many reincarnations,
or centuries have passed between us,
my soul will wait to take you home.

and when we our blind, our hearts will see for us.
in shades of summer and youth, we will map out the great adventure that lies before us.

and, oh, how it lies.

the smell of gasoline was making its way,
through my childhood home,
from the oven to the hallway,
to my bedroom, coming to stain my lungs.

somebody is going to wake up.
somebody is going to regret this.

my hair is still pink and blonde,
but the roots are coming in.
the paychecks getting smaller,
my lungs are getting darker,  
and so are my sins.

finally we found ourselves a drinking spot.
four of us,  two and two,
him and he, me and you.
packing bowls, crushing beer cans,
lighting up the dark.

I never asked myself for this
and I never accepted it.

but I found you by your voices.
by the smell that lingers
underneath our lamp post,
by the feeling that pulls me out of the dark,
and into the last summer of my life.

"I'm so ******* tired."

can I tell you a secret?

I always tell you the truth.
the closest thing I have to the truth anyways.
I sometimes even surprise myself.

you don't need to know this.
I don't tell you when it's bad.

I only tell you when it's worst.
I pick these little tiny words.

we liars have to stick together so we can show each other the people we knew we could be, before life happened.

now, I don't know if I love you,
but these feelings never change.
I've never had to ignore them,
and I could make them go away.

can I tell you a secret?

I already have.
because you ask me,  don't forget me,
never have and someday might.
but I don't expect you to stick around.

you never need to know this.
I only tell you when it's worst.
I always pick these tiny words.

thinking about giving away your secrets,
because you haven't for awhile.

and for each and every one you smoke a cigarette.

a drag of confidence gone.

it's four days in and I'm the girl at the mailbox.
5 a.m and already earning stares from the neighborhood joggers.

"hello mr. tomani"

another value tarnished.

call in the dogs,  shut the door,
in the end, you go back to your bed,
call off the experiment,
declare that side of you dead.

you would like to know what it is that you want.

the buzzards have found my gut.
hello again, and welcome back.

let's stretch this day out, me & you, together.
I'll ignore that ****** up sensation,
that all my feelings are being eaten away,
if we can grab some coffee,
if I don't run out of cigarettes.

the buzzards have found my gut,
hello again, and welcome back.

we know I spent this weekend hiding,
living on a borrowed pack that's running low,
packing bowls I knew would soon be empty for awhile.
but they couldn't find me, not in that bed.
yet they pace the staircase outside my door, and guard me.

the buzzards have found my gut,
hello again, and welcome back.

so we have lunch, and I smile across my last meal,
pretty sure that I would've preferred the cash,
to spend on something that could spoil my lungs.
but it's the thought that counts, it isn't the end quite yet.
and they wait for the scraps I toss beneath the table.

I wonder how no one ever notices me feeding my demons.
I wonder what each emotion tastes like,
I wonder which ones I'm giving away, 'cause I can't look.
I wonder what's left in my body.

the buzzards have found me hiding.
the buzzards have begun to swarm.
they are coming to give me back my emotion.
they are coming to let me know I'm wrong.

hello again, and welcome back.

I called you
and I said,

"I still don't know what happened."
"but I think that it never mattered."

I could hear you breathing on the line,
picking out just what to say.
I drank a lot of wine this morning.
I haven't gotten out of bed today.

3-3-2013

nothing to say, not today.
my notebooks are blank.
my conscience isn't clear.
let this be another day wasted.
another sequence of hours,
so soon to be forgotten.

nothing to say about today,
nothing worth writing.
no imblance of emotion.
no observation or commotion.
just another quiet day.