In the morning
There was blood in the bed.
I thought maybe it was a dream
But then you're awake
and the sun is bright through the blinds
and your heart is still shouting his name.
I wish I could say it wasn't real.
I wish it didn't hurt today,
Saying I love you.
But truth is a starved dog
Just off its chains.
Can't ******* wait
To sink its teeth
Into anything that thrives.
It's gonna clench its jaw
Until you're blue,
Right when you thought you knew everything.
And you'll be left
Sleeping with eyes open
Because you were wrong
To think
You had it so good.

white delight is a hard train seat, a ***** shirt, and used dishes in the sink. it is hot water in a dark tub; the animal in your arms; the empty bottles over there. white delight is pure and quick but also slow. it shows up late and stays, most times, too long. white delight is the taste of bleeding lips; it is the sound of a voice whispering a name. white delight is a family's past and a greeting's future. it is the feeling of hands on skin in bed. it is the twang in the truck; the distance of cities; the beating heart of every lover ever loved.

Admiring the past
Belonging to the bottle
Cowering behind written word
Down my throat you go
Enough to make them gag
Feeling lonely, new, and lost
Growing in reverse
Hoping for rebirth
Inside, I am hollow
Just waiting to be filled
Killing myself slowly, but it feels so warm
Let love find me here
Maybe someone new
None other than him, even now
Only that gapped smile, with me on this couch
Pulling me back
Questioning mistakes
Recovery     can     be slow
Still, I wake up every day
Talk to me, I dare you
Until wasted eyes are shut
Vows I took, I broke, 100 times again
Ways I want to forget
X amount of times I've tried
You will grow, please know you can be more

i found your bicycle key,

iron black rusted

heavier than ones I own,

a nice weight to my frame

i was going to toss it,

along with other older things


of
                                                           ­           here


but it looked at me through stain,

like the way i saw you leave

i'm not sad yet,

i know i will be

so i’ll keep it around my neck,

the part you said


tastes sweetest in your mouth

White line, bare bridge, small talk, smoke.
Two nights, bloodshot, park bench,
toast. Dead girls, dead rose, swing set, laugh.
Our clothes, this day, street kids, trash.
Bed time, still strung, sit still,
move. Your arm, my mouth, my goal,
proved.  

Inhale, late bar, clear ****, down. Breathe out,
too much, cut’s blood, brown.
Thigh highs, hide thighs, bad mood, ***.
Taught tongues, dark room, light sleep,
none. No sound, turned down,
sharp teeth, moan.
Long lies, said truth, ropes tied,
known.



**This piece is a mimic exercise based on Saeed Jones' poem, Thralldom II, from his book, "Prelude to Bruise."

I had a friend once say in passing conversation that the best writing is spawned from the love making of heavy drug use and light sleep. Light as in none, none as in absolute zero. I guess I got it then, but I think I’m getting closer to it now.






- 2014