I don't pretend to be a closed book.
I'm so open my spine is loose, falling apart.
I've been opened and slammed shut more times than I can count.
Pages are falling out of me and I can't put them back.

You asked my poison,
as we stood at the bar.
Your wallet in hand,
paying my way into your car.

Give me bourbon and I'll sway to the music
and lean my shoulder against yours.

Give me whiskey and I'll show you my passion
in the backseat of your car.

Give me beer and I'll be one of the guys,
feigning detachment, remote.

Give me ***** and I'll show you my youth,
tears reflecting my innocence lost.

Give me *** and I'll whisper I want you
as we fall into your room.

Give me any poison you like,
I drink them all without  a wince.
I tried them all to forget things,
one after another 'til I lost sense.
Choose what poison will have the effect,
how do you want me before you tonight?
Set it in front of me and smile sweetly,
I'll down it, my every cell feeling it's bite.

I can't sleep, she said, *tell me something.
"What do you want me to tell you," he asked.

Something that doesn't feel like knives, something that makes me believe that a burn can be soothed, something that doesn't sound like the way brakes screech right before the worst accident you've ever seen, followed by the gut-wrenching collision of metal on metal, like two hardened hearts trying to soften each other, but only further denting one another and spilling gasoline that ignites a fire, consuming the cars and their prisoners, something that feels like sunlight on skin that is tickled by a breeze, something that grabs my mind by the hand to slow it down, something that doesn't remind me of what will never be. I just want you to tell me something that softens the moonlight and keeps the dark parts of this room hidden. Something that will keep the sun from coming up. Something that shows me that my world hasn't stopped spinning and fallen off its axle. What do you tell yourself when you need that? Will you tell me the truth, or just something beautiful?

"I can tell you that both exist in one word I whisper to myself every night."

Then he said her name, barely audible, and her eyes closed.

I open windows every day,
to let the wind air out my room.
Blowing out all the memories,
clearing out the lonely gloom.

The smell of flowers covers
what lingers of your cologne.
And in the fall the smell of leaves
masks that I am here alone.

The sounds of outside drown out
your voice echoing in my head.
Trees rustling and birds singing
ring in my ears instead.

The breeze feels so familiar,
slightly cool across my cheek.
It replaces the touch of your hand,
saying things without having to speak.

But I wake in the dark of the night,
shivering from the cold.
The wind has crawled in my bed,
and you're not here to hold.

I push down on the window,
but it's stuck, and so am I.
My sheets are frigid and foreign,
I can't sleep but I still try.

The sounds are now haunting,
crickets and howling at the moon.
I touch your side of the bed,
and pray I fall asleep soon.

There is a whole world of words in my mind.
At night, they dance around,
waltzing with each other.
Entangling themselves into sentences, into thoughts.
Spinning at their own fancy,
the music never ending.
And I, kept awake by their frivolity,
am terrified by the dust disturbed by their dance
on the floor of my subconscious.

I could trace patterns in your skin,
erase it like sand and start drawing again.
My hands would never get tired,
they would chase the sun and moon away.
Caressing you to sleep is a productive use of time,
muscle-memory repeating the designs of infatuation.
Lulling you into dreams with my fingers,
then waking you when the light creeps up the sheets.
Fingertips replaced with lips,
space between bodies closing,
skin is so addictive, especially yours.

as im typing this im thinking a million miles a minute, miles past the stars that i see whenever i look up at the night sky when im smoking because if  i dont have your lips on mine i want something that tastes like you do. you. you with your whiskey lips and ***** tongue and absinthe eyes and *** hands that warm me and drain me and knock me on my back from the overdose i so eagerly crave. crave you like you crave everything and everyone, you cant just have one you need them all because how could someone like you ever be satisfied. satisfaction flees from you and you reach out with broken hands to grasp it but your fingers no longer work from all the walls youve punched and hearts youve shattered. theyre dry and cracked and blistered from the fires you started and leave behind everywhere you go. you create and you destroy and you abandon only to come back and apologize and try to build again but nothing will be as beautiful as what you have destroyed. the foundation is shoddy and the door gets caught sometimes and wont open and the floors creak and the windows arent sealed so the cold wind flows throughout chilling all who try to live there. and the chiminey is blocked so fires built to warm only create smoke that choke the visitor and make them depart wondering how anyone could have created such a house and who in their right mind would ever live there. i was a beautiful victorian estate created by your hands from the ground up. i was in pieces when you found me but you put me together and showed me my beauty and my spaciousness and grace and loveliness and age old charm. i was demolished in the wake of your destructive force and now no one can unlock my door but you sneak through a window after you break it with a rock that says im sorry and i always let you in but the fires you light envelop the house in a black cloud that stains and ruins. you escape before you choke and i wait for the smoke to clear and replace my window but never with bullet proof glass like i should and i sit and wait and listen to the sound of the door **** turning unsuccessfully and another person gives up on trying to come in and i sit and i wait to hear the sound of breaking glass and the sound of your footsteps across the creaking floors.

I put on my favorite song,
the one that makes the world spin.
The volume goes up, and my heart rate goes down.



My drug of choice courses through my body.

Take, take, take my heart,
take it while I scream.
Scarily, scarily, scarily, scarily,
Love's a heartless fiend.

The ghost of your hand rests on my skin,
Raising bumps on my flesh while I'm perfectly warm.
The echo of your words continuously whispered into my ears,
My heart skips a beat at the sound of your voice.

You're not here, but you are.

We talk of the mornings in the sheets,
Daylight streaming through the window,
Tired eyes blinking,
Sleepy smiles saying, "Good morning."

That is the past, but it's not.

"Do you remember? I do."
I wish I could forget, memories lead us back to each other.
I wish I could forget, but, then again, no.
For I would hold you again, happily.

We are not "us", but we are.

The butterflies in my stomach
are nothing more than dust,
decayed wings
crumbled to oblivion.
Once caterpillars, fed on smiles,
caresses, laughs, and
the stars in your eyes,
they grew until they blossomed.
They wrapped themselves up
in the warmth of hope and the
promise of the sparkling future
you whispered to them.
Out burst their brilliant wings,
colored and magnificent,
fearlessly beating and tickling
my insides, making me blush.
Oh, how they fluttered and danced
in my cavernous torso,
almost flying out of my mouth
to kiss your cheeks with their wings.
Imagine their surprise when you left,
their wings slowed, they landed, slept,
quietly waiting your return,
but you never came to wake them again.
Skeletons of beauty and joy,
they lie at the pit of my stomach,
their weight is so light,
yet miserably heavy.

I stood, smoke twirling around my fingers,
Cheeks tingling from the cold,
Eyes turned upward, toward the magnificent and bold.

Ice was melting off the branches,
Dripping onto my face, shoulders, hands.
The trees were crying, and time slipped away like sand.

The lamp post glowed and my cigarette burned,
The sound of cracking ice and water droplets echoed in my ears,
I stood there listening as I was baptized in cold tears.

I hadn't cried in what seemed like ages,
And tonight I believed the trees were weeping for me.
Thawing from their icy burden, it felt like an apology.

Sorry that you like how the cold makes you feel numb.
Sorry your sleep is haunted by things that were and have ended.
Sorry you are at war with your heart which you left undefended.

I silently nodded, thankful for their sympathy,
Flicking my cigarette I walked away from the dripping sorrow,
Hopefully like the ice on those branches, my worries will be gone tomorrow.

As I take another drag, I realize
just how stupid these things are.
Cigarettes: toxins you can buy.
Add fire and you have a death stick.
When I was little I swore I'd never smoke.
It's stupid.
It smells.
It can **** you.
It can hurt the people close to you.
Sounds like a lot of other things people do.
We do stupid things,
we **** ourselves slowly, other times instantly,
we hurt the people closest to us.
But we keep doing these things,
warnings don't phase the narcissistic and
oblivious human species.
We voluntarily choose bad habits
that are disguised as social interactions.
So while you voluntarily throw my heart around,
wavering in your affections and intentions,
I'll stand here, voluntarily killing my lungs.
At least I'm the one doing the damage.

though my dreams are haunted
and my every step daunted,
i still am

though your memory brings me pain
making me cry out in vain,
i still am

though you're no longer mine
and my sun has no shine,
i still am

though my nights are cold
without your warmth to hold,
i still am

though my heart feels frozen
because it's not me you've chosen,
i still am

though daylight seems dark
and my eyes lost their spark,
i still am

though i want to give in
et je pense que c'est la fin,
i still am

i am
            i am
                     i am

and i believe that is enough
though every day is tough,
i am, i am, i am
and i always will be

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.