She called me




She called me
a little *****

in which five knuckles
and four spaces
were the only faces
that ever turned a light on for me.
Or off, as a matter of fact.

Write it on a flier, or
tie her up in the back of a limousine,
ask her to give you some sugar
and send you to sleep.

Just don't be weird about it.
And seriously,

pay attention,

you just might


burn something.

I think my voice is changing.

I press four fingers into my forehead
and smoke a cigarette like that one writer
I was too cool to ever read. You know,
they treat you like a ******* drug?
A ******* drug!

Past lovers,
and their coat hangars,
I don't wanna talk to 'em,
I don't wanna touch 'em.

But I do;
it's easy to cut into
those veins once you've
found 'em.


*I'm sorry,
so prone
to wasting time,
I love when my head
spins on an axis
all of its own.

The distance is ever widened.
The time still marches on.
The lover's gone sick and frightened
our bonds will break anon.

The minutes charge life a hour.
Hours take even more.
The ticking beats grow louder
And marches ever forward.

What is this silly game we play?
This dance of laissez-faire.
No further than a touch we stay,
yet speak we do not dare.

Say none of time and space, my dear.
I will no more of love.
If that is what you truly fear,
silence I’ll keep thereof.

the memories you find
at the very bottom of
your brain
from when you were
just a little seed of a
person
it's like looking at the world
through a kaleidoscope
colors
shapes
they almost seem to fit
together in a
puzzle like way
but mostly it's strange
to see that you've
changed so much
it's even stranger to
find that you
haven't changed
at all

Remember this? Remember this.
When I told you of Parameters.
Built around to self protect?
Well, those walls are not fixed,
The world is wont to move, to change
And how they change!

Sometimes a man shows you his heart's part.
You take it and see; you give your same's key.
Then sometimes you have no choice,
the heart alone breaks down your walls
as the heart wants to do, to break.
And how it does break.

The heart's a glass dagger, and in its struggle shatters.
But even broken glass still cuts and bores,
after a cup, built of diamond shrapnel shivs, falls
and finds a home in a little boy's tender foot.
But even after the offender has been removed,
whenever he steps down, he feels it still there.

And he's afraid to walk ever again.
And the floor is like his personal enemy.
And any glass is like a bomb mocking him.
And he wears double socks when he's at home.
And he sits in the tub and he picks and rubs.
And he lies in bed all morning wondering,

"And when will my heart stop aching?"
And he hobbles along in the world.
And he puts on a strong face.
And he wants to move forward without the pain.
And he wants so much not to fear anymore.
And he wants so much just to love at all.

She held his palms,
rough against the cool air
passing through small gaps of skin.
She breathed the frost
through her rasping throat,
curling it with her tongue
as it left her lips.
He watched her with intent,
his eyes unable to leave her.
They moved with each other
under the dim street lamps,
their mitten covered hands
bound tightly to one another.
Finally,
she managed to mumble those words,
so soft and sweet
as they wafted into the night sky,
filling the stars with a drunken glow
in their deepened atmosphere.
Finally,
he was able to receive them,
take them in
and feel his bones rattle,
his heart race,
and his mind pulse.
They were in love,
wandering on a bitter December,
unable to comprehend the enormity
of what they had tumbled to.