Deep down Sand Man shakes
my mighty mind, controlled,
~
that phantom dance moves, takes
my shivered spine, ahold.

Skitters sweetly- with a kiss -
ethereal to my sullen-soul,
~
that phantom dance, oh the bliss;
my hopeful heart- it stole

Silver-tongued sun arose my eyes,
burdened body- cold as stone;
~
that phantom dance, oh the lies:
lost lover dreams atone.

Stick a hook into my heart
Barbed end piercing arteries
Reel it in and
Yank the ***** out of my chest
I'll scream until I cannot feel
anything
  anymore.

  Shove a needle into my brain
Thread on the end drifting through gray
Sew up the weeping chasms
Where I have gone mad
I'll scream until I cannot make
a single sound
  anymore.

  Pierce my skin with a blade
Shining silver coated in crimson
Slide it through the thin white and
Let scarlet rivers flow
I'll scream until I cannot hear
the words they say
  anymore.

  Stab sharp-edged swords into my soul
Vicious syllables tearing me to pieces
Rip me apart and scatter the shreds
Across the roiling ocean
I'll scream until I cannot live
in this cruel world
  anymore.

Every time I opened the door,
You were there.
You smiled, laughed.
Cared and hugged.

You were there
To kick me up,
Pull me closer,
And silenced my inner demons.

I was here.
Clinging to said promises,
Breathing sweet air,
Your authentic scent.

Now where are you?
The cold air kissing my nose,
Hugging my body,
Emptying the warmth of sweet hope.

Shall I keep
The spaces
Between my fingers
Warm?

I'll wait 'til I find you.
'Til I find my own solace.
Reunited in my arms,
*Your sweet embrace.

don't ever let
the hand you hold
hold you down
rip your underwear
turn a deaf ear
to your crying
to the way you say
no
over
and over
don't let your boyfriend
take it
he is not
entitled
get away from him

hurry

I'm feeling your hands
trickling like sand,
fingertips ticking
across my hour glass hips.
I'm feeling your lips
with its gentle kiss,
tickling my neck
and shoulder bits.
I'm feeling your chest
your heart beating so fast,
a tiny rib cage drum
making its music.
I'm feeling your love
the way it fills me up,
and like a tipping cup
it's too much.

*I'm feeling too much.

Some converted industrial uptown space
$20 brunch at a table for one
Nice and filling it seems, no room in my gut
Nor wondering why I walk gasping for breath
Pouring water, wishing it were alcohol
Too dumb when the check comes to add a figure

Some deep lasting sustenance from that, I figure
Stumbling home down block past shop and vacant space
Nothing sanitizes quite like alcohol
Great to see strangers holding hands one in one
Except I'd claw them and beat out their breath
Wrenched and stuffed I'd kick them in their stupid gut

That's not very nice, I know it in my gut
But somehow don't care much more to figure
Which story to tell or the smell of my breath
When tables for two require just as much space
And a spot at the counter suffices for one
Despite the sadness and lack of alcohol

I think lager, Malbec, other alcohol
And there is some deep craving still in my gut
For drunkenness or eternal truth, which one?
What luck, I'm rescued by a dashing figure
Some vibrations in my pocket fill the space
Imagination comes up to catch its breath

But that's about it, no handsome man with fresh breath
Just me standing in line to buy alcohol
Squeezing past the register makes for tight space
But maybe it's all the sausage in my gut
There's no lasting sense in minding my figure
So long now resigned to the comforts of one

The alternative is an uncertain one
And to explain I feel I'm wasting my breath
But there's no harm in ogling a nice figure
And there's no harm in a little alcohol
Oh, poor decisions, I feel them in my gut
Forgetting prescient matters of Time & Space

Perhaps there is one, sipping on alcohol
Inhaling deep breath, with a fire in his gut
Awaiting a figure to write lines in space.

You cain't go back
to yesterday's dawn
by adding another verse
to an old song

When time was by my side
we galloped through the years
Now the time shows and slows
and disappears

"Where has time flown ?"
is but an insult to youthful plea
protagonist to the old
and just echoes in me

While love was delegated ,
regulated , copulated . . .
it became sedimentated ,
heated , then pressurized

It became cold marble
entombed in ways
that now are just
memorried