Sticks and stones
May break your bones
But words can
Rip your heart out.

All of the sudden, I was conscious.
I felt the light on my skin before it penetrated my eyelids.
It felt wrong, unnatural, unwanted.
I can't remember dreaming, or even falling asleep.
Then, one by one, in a blurry procession, the night's horrors danced in front of my eyes.
They came in to focus as the sleep fogging my lenses cleared away.
Devastating words, invisible blows, open wounds dripping with despair.
I remember it all, and the pain sets in, my skin crawls, my insides twist and churn,
my heart....

                    my heart...
                    it...
I reach for my chest, hands shaking.
And as my hand passes through the gaping hole over my left breast,
I feel the rest of my body go numb; I don't feel a thing.
But I can feel the hole, the bright light of day illuminates it, making me open to the world.
I grip the sheets, pulling them over my head to create a faux cavern.
I am a cave dweller, and the darkness fills my void.

ripping shredding stabbing scratching burning
churning spinning flipping falling slipping
punching kicking fighting screaming crying
Falling apart at your words
Every particle that completes me is on fire
Anger streaks through my veins, red hot
They melt at the heat and my blood boils
It's so viciously painful
I feel my heart battering against its enclosure
Demanding revenge, revelation, relief, rest
My skin is crawling with a sensation I have never felt
I hate it, despise it, loathe it
You are every thought in my brain and every gasp of polluted air I take into my lungs
Your name, your face, your words, your smell, your existence...
it
        is
            killing
                 ­       me
Every sweet whisper, every nose-to-nose embrace, every soft touch of your lips...
they flash in front of my eyes like a horrific montage of lies and nightmares
I find myself stumbling to find solid ground
Everything beneath my feet moves
Everything in front of my eyes rotates
I lie flat, motionless
Everything stills and I can see straight
I can't feel the ground beneath my cheek as I lie there
Then like the lights dim before the movie starts, the darkness creeps in
I am left with my thoughts, ravaged
Tell me, what do you mean you found someone else?

I've never seen sad eyes like those.
I want to kiss them dry,
still those moving lips,
and calm those trembling hands.
You're broken, I know.
I'm broken, too.
You're fixing yourself, I know.
I'm fixing me, too.
I can't help you win this fight.
But I'll be a step behind,
holding your hand,
or pressing my hands to your back.
This is your battle.
You may push me away,
but I won't be far behind.
It hurts, sure, to see you
looking straight through me,
while I peer through the tiny
keyhole, into your heart and mind.
You keep everything locked up,
hidden.
But when the nights get late,
and the alcohol numbs your veins
and brings back every
bump, bruise, and cut in your
poor soul,
you take my hand,
and I give you pieces of my heart
to fill the holes in yours.
I may not be the center of your world,
I may never be.
But I would never want to watch someone
orbit around me, day after day.
But, oh, what I would give
to be the stars,
the moon,
casting a soft, warm light
onto your dark world.
I want to hover over you in a
billion shiny pieces.
I want my heart to be the luminous moon,
full of craters and shadowed valleys,
but steady and guiding.
A solid fixture for your eyes to focus on
when the rest of your world
is turned upside down.
As the darkness descends,
I'll cover you with my light,
scaring away the things
that haunt you at night.
As I wrap my arms around you,
your heartbeat slows,
your breathing deepens,
and you drift into a place I will never know.
I'll be holding you when the sun comes up.
And when you kiss me good morning,
I'll savor the sweetness in your eyes.
These moments are fleeting,
because night comes so fast.

"Transference is a phenomenon characterized by unconscious redirection of feelings from one person to another."

It's funny.
My addiction is coffee.
Or *was coffee.
Now the person who makes my coffee
occupies my thoughts.
I need him.
I mean it.
Or him?
They say coffee is a powerful thing.
Or is that what they say about love?
I like love.
And coffee.
I'll have a Venti,
with an extra shot to the heart.

Slow
motion -           one side
                          then
                             ­                                  -another
pull the blanket
        over
                     my
                                   head
-look-
                     we're in a tent
                     our tent.
No one else can come in.
Your fingers go all the way
          down
                            my
           ­                             spine
                            ­             then
                            back
                   up.