it's amazing how much we talk
how many times a day
we let words and sounds escape
through our heavily filtered lips.

different people talk
in different ways, different voices
and with different meanings
some, meaning nothing at all.

it's amazing how much we talk
but I still find myself in awe
of just how little
we actually say.

peel away the strands of grass
from the mother blade
one at a time
one slender green piece pulled from the rest
as the leaf becomes smaller,
smaller
a thing of beauty
nature's most abundant
reduced to pale shreds
and loose strings
dangling in the air
curling, reaching for something
what I can only guess to be
their lost companions
so close but yet so far
as the wind stirrs
and the remnants of life
dance away
into this sweet summer's eve

i still write you letters
purple ink stains my fingers
and 3 pens later i haven't got it all said

i talked to a girl you know
she says you got tired of me
before i knew your middle name

it makes me sad to think you'll never know how much i love you
even though we both lied that day
and you lied every one after

and it makes me sad to think that you'll never know how bad i feel
because i promised you i was mean
but i can't bring myself to say i told you so

you were right,
we weren't
and you deserved better

but i couldn't let you go
cause all i wanted was a friend

it's okay
now i know i didn't deserve one.

you always loved yourself more
than you could ever love me
it's pronouced made-lin, not made-line.

as the clouds cover the moon
on one last summer night
i'll watch the stars die
before they dance from my sights
i'll lay here in silence
and i'll feel you wash over me again
because in this moment
i feel celestial

I find it so interesting
to think about hands.

to think that the same hands that guide, nurture
a loved one
could be used to beat, break,
abuse
another weak, fragile
human.

to think that the same hands that cooked pancakes
for his mother on her birthday
could be used to build a bomb to
******
the recipient of someone else's
breakfast.

to think that the same hands the hold yours so tight,
a lifeline to this drowning me
are used just hours later to tear, cut, burn,
destroy
the skin and bones you say you
adore.

to think that the same hands we use
for love and compassion
are so easily misused for
evil
and that no matter what our hands have touched, they will always look the
same.

your body was painted in
     red
     white
     blue
bracelets and longsleeves to cover
     stars
     scars
     stripes
like an american flag

because while some wave their flags
     proud
     strong
     brave
you found yourself fluttering
     torn
     half
     mast
except no one important has died

     just
          you

i was told once that
playing with fire was
dangerous
because someone always got
burned.

all i know is my body
is charred beyond
recognition
which begs the question - who lit the
flames?

i remembered the rose
in the vase on my desk
dried up but, somehow, intact
and when i picked it up
to toss it outside
a few petals fell away
drifted to the floor
and all i could do was sigh
and say
i know.

one day I return
to the island amongst the trees
hidden away behind the blue waves
buried in fine-grain sand
I don't know I'm looking for something
but somehow I know it's not there
my memories tell me alive
but my eyes tell me decaying
my memories tell me beautiful
but my eyes tell me dying
because a child's yellow dress
hangs from a tree
a gentle breeze tugging at the ripped fabric
and I don't need memories
to tell me that the child I once was
died long ago
with the boys who promised her infinity

I was thinking about wills
what we leave for those we love
(and those we don't)
when we die
I've always been a little too materialistic
that's what happens when you've got nothing to cherish
"where it counts"
I have my guitars
my collection of snow globes
some dusty glass jars
expired makeup
a row of empty pill bottles
but of all my material things
that I guess you could say I hold dear
I couldn't think of anything to leave for you
so I thought, and I thought
and I realized that I didn't need words on a paper
and a signature in black ink
to give you
my heart

my frame sways in the wind
the breeze lifts the shingles on my roof
years of precipitation slowly wear away at the brick
I'm tired of the plywood covering my windows
sick of the empty chairs
I can't breathe under the 6-inch layer
of dust and neglect
these patchwork remains of home
don't satisfy me any longer
they say you can't help others
if don't help yourself
but these four walls mean nothing to me
so let me do what I can, while I can
and when my foundation finally crumbles
I'll let go of what I have
sell my sewing machines
give you my collection of glue guns
so maybe you can hold your own when I'm gone
peel away the duct tape
that's kept me in one piece for so long
and throw it to the wind
I'm falling apart at what's left of my seams
and I'm gonna let it happen.

if you talk a little louder
and hold on a little tighter
and focus on the smell
of the ****** soap from the
girls' bathroom at school
that lingers on my hands
even after showers
maybe you won't notice
that the girl in your hands
has been a corpse
for quite some time.

night and day
is an abused expression
but you abuse me
so it's okay for me to tell you
that that's exactly what you are
your day is bright, sunny
100 degrees
too hot, too bright
and I never have enough sunscreen
but your night
well
it's beautiful
gentle rain against my dry skin
a chorus of thunder in the distance
followed by an honest flash
of lightning
I wish I could say
that these glorious July midnights
were worth peeling the flesh off my arms
after your hideous noons
or that watching the stars in the sky
were worth the burns
the cancer
as your fiery sun ravages my body
but I can't
because nights aren't meant to be enjoyed
when we live for the day
and I'm tired of waiting
for the clock to strike twelve
only to watch you turn the hours back
before my eyes
I used to have it in me
to appreciate the blue of the skies
but all your days bring me now
is summertime sadness

my eyes are shut tight
tears locked inside by a little green pill
meant to suppress the "bad thoughts"
I haven't thrown up in ten years
the contents of my stomach churn, unable to be free
nausea, induced by your secrets

I want to let them out
my contraband emotions
but I cannot
they'll ravage my insides
growing, a cancer
until they steal the last breath
from my chapped lips

for now I'll escape to the shower
with water burning the skin off my back
clean my body with broken nails
scrub myself raw
reopen old wounds
with a fluffy pink loofah

and when the water runs cold
I'll turn it off
lie on the floor of the tub
let the cold tile rattle my teeth
and I'll stay there in silence
until the faucet stops dripping

if I weren't on these meds
I might've cried
felt every time I said the wrong thing
or didn't say anything at all
roll off my face
and stain my laptop
with a tinge of mascara

if my esophagus weren't opposed to vomiting
I probably would've met my lunch again
would've been left heaving
gasping over a blue ceramic bowl
mourning my plethora
of mistakes

if I'd been home alone
I might even have screamed
howled
cursed your name
cursed my name
anything to get it out
of my clogged-up system

but I am on these meds
I haven't thrown up in ten years
and my mother sits on the couch across from me
so, instead, I'll escape to the shower
clean my body with broken nails
scrub my skin raw
reopen old wounds with a fluffy pink loofah

and when the water runs cold
I'll turn it off
lie on the floor of the tub
let the cold tile rattle my teeth
and I'll stay there in silence
until the faucet stops dripping

any other time
I would ask you to stop saying things
we both know aren't possible
but lately it seems
I've been living only by the sustenance
of fragile promises
so tell me again that you'll never leave me
and if I fake it long enough
maybe one day I'll believe you

hold the silver over a flame
turn it, twist it
let the metal soften
mold it, bend it
dull the sharp prongs
blend away the etching
and the nicks and scratches
from years of abuse
with your rough fingers
press it's extremities together
to fill in the gaps
between it's teeth
make it slick
make it shine
replace it's maker's signature
with yours

now, stand back
look at what you've done
forks are just spoons
without the holes
but when you went to fill them in
you forgot that
there wasn't enough material
for them to patch over smoothly
so in your hands
you hold the mangled remains
of a broken masterpiece
that you thought you could fix
but forgot
you didn't know how

we tie ourselves into knots
around each other
begging, pleading
curling tighter
suffocating one another
until there is nothing left
but dry skin and bone
a corpse that smells
of desperation and decay
our names forever seared onto the remains
and we decide to call this act
of brutal destruction
love.

you said you were the man
who fell in love with a star
and you couldn't understand how
a mere mortal
could fall in love with something so far away

maybe I am a star
but stars have no substance
I am nothing but chemicals
so big, so bright
so distant, so empty

here I am, adrift in orbit
of a black hole
of illness and self destruction
dark, haunting
waiting to **** me in

you wonder how insignificant you must be
to all of us above
but I think you look quite
enormous
and it makes me feel small

don't come closer, dear
or you'll burn
and if you wait long enough
maybe it'll be time for me
to burn up, too

you pried open my clenched fists
placed the colorful glass into my palm
and pressed my fingers closed
too rough, too fast, too soon
and i squeezed
and i squeezed
and i opened my hand
to find the shattered remnants
of something that could've been beautiful
surrounded
by a pool
of blood

You were my summer love

Kisses in the bus loop
And sweaty palms in July

You were hope,
you were safe,
you were home

You were burdened by my transgressions

You were love,
you were love,
you were love

And when you slipped through the cracks
Of my cruel, violent hands
You were lost

they've got an edge going down
and at first it feel good
it feels right
but then the edge becomes a burn
a slow burn, dragging your coeherency down with it
they catch in your throat, choke you
you can't breathe
you feel like you're drowning
but you don't stop
can't stop
and suddenly
it becomes an addiction
it's wrong
it hurts
you feel like it'll never end
but eventually you've thought yourself to sleep
and you wake up the next morning with a headache
and a bad taste in your mouth
that tastes a bit like forgetting

you told me that this
is who you are
hope
you chose the word to define you
for now and eternity
and to be honest
I think it's fitting.

you told me that,
by telling me your word
you were showing me your
trust
in me, and that it would be a secret safe
between us.

what I didn't tell you, though, was that
all hope comes with a certain degree of
naivety
and I'm just sorry
you gave your hope away
to me.

this time's different
'cause now I'm worried about me, too.

I've found that the saddest people are the most eloquent poets
so it's okay that your phrases don't flow quite right
and that you use words that don't really fit
because the day your childish scrawl matures
will be the day I know you're gone

how much longer until my
corpse
is too broken
for all the kings' horses and
all the kings' men
to put my body
back together
again?

I think of you
and your poem from February
whenever I wear the blue and white dress
and though I'll never be your china doll
I still hope you think I'm cute

I could tell you why
you can never get the mailbox to close
but it would be a waste of breath
because you never listen to me anyway

I believe I've become a bit disenchanted with my life.

Words are toys
except more dangerous
Only fun when used
for the sole purpose of
destruction.

***** filled to their
brims with C4
Dolls with fantasies
to make your mother squirm
Trains driving fast,
out of control, off the rails
Games with just one winner
and a graveyard of
loss.

When you grow up
you expect the fun to
fade
But instead of fading
the game simply
changes
Your face becomes a year older
and your toys become a year more
deadly.

the gold reflected in your hair
from the sun dancing off the ocean
will never amount to all he's searching for
when you wake up alone in the morning

you grew up on hip hop
and he was sort of punk rock
and I bet that's what he told you
when he walked out the door

let him go, love
know he'll never come back
I believe you'll love him a million years
just don't expect the same

so put on your heels
and play your games
and find yourself a heaven
somewhere new

mis demonios parecen cicatrices
y el sabor como el suicidio

I went to therapy
to feel human again
but now I find myself feeling
less alive
than before.

dragging
heaving
crawling
finally i learn to walk
and then
i fall
again.

painted faces
scarred skin
weary arms and quivering legs
you asked for an army
and this is what you got
walking corpses with empty eyes
that you'll scoop out with plastic spoons
singing the songs of our breathren
in abused voices and sore throats
selling our bodies for boys in other countries
doing it all in the name of love
congratulations
you created us
now let us welcome you
to our black parade

the sermon today was
                                                  a story.
you've probably heard it.
a preacher and a butcher.
the preacher mistook the
                                                  butcher
for a poor excuse for a
                                                  shepard.
but the story's
                                                  irrelevant.
what's relevant is what
a woman told me
after --
that it is so easy for
christians to be led
                                                  astray.
from shepard to
butcher
and not even know the
                                                  difference.

and
i thought
this happens to everyday people
too.
how long until your
                                                  loving guidance,
                                                  gentle prodding
                    turns into
                                                  angry demanding,
                                                  violent shoving?

how long until your
                                                  love
                              becomes
                                                  forced?

how long until you
                              become
                                             a
                                                  butcher?

the process of finding a lifelong love
is pointless
human psyche is still guided
by primitive instinct
to find a lover
to procreate
and when the individual
finds something better
she leaves

i should make a tally of every time i've lied today
oh wait
i already did
with a steel pen and red ink
on my hips.

oh, love
I'll keep my doors closed
but never locked.

these words
make me sick

lost musician
failure of a poet
and lover of things I cannot afford

my greastest fear
is forgetting

because when you said
you felt like you hadn't
     seen me
          in forty-eight
               hours

all i could think was that
i felt like i hadn't
     seen you
          in over
               a year

and as far as my eyes can see
i still can't
     see you
          at
               all

have you ever thought about
the similarities between
united
and
untied?

read one and
mistaken it for
the other?

felt like one
but found out
you were
the other?