You are the warmest winter,
Keeping it just warm enough to never snow.
Sitting somewhere in clouds above my world
Holding back the white flecks from encircling my globe.
But that’s what we’re doing now,
Trading a good thing for maybe something better.
Out to replace normal with an iceless ground
So that we don’t have to tiptoe around the weather.
And you don’t mind intertwining our lives
Like the temperatures are doing with seasons.
The borrowed days from autumn, newness of spring,
The connections from summer, and a million reasons.
Whatever we were doing then
Was a nice, natural time line, I guess.
More like a buildup than a countdown.
Less like accomplishment and more like success.
If it ever gets cold enough again,
It’s because the outdoors will finally understand
That by then we will have weaved blankets from comfort
And made hot chocolate with a richer feeling
Than being friends.
Until then I’ll be blowing on the fire
That I’ve been watching since I felt its heat.
Surely it can melt the plastic walls of my snow globe
That have been in the way of letting you
Make me feel complete.


*-Makenzie.

Drugs, except you were much more strong.
Withdrawals, except you hurt much more often.
It was all a trip through a time when I belonged.
A warped corner of our minds when
right was just as euphoric as wrong.
Can't say I miss you, can only say I wish for you.
Twist the straight lines in my head
that lead me back to when I cried at the truth.

Lines, except burning my chest and not my nose.
Cravings, except now I can't satisfy those.
You where so expensive, but I was never broke.
So I became broken instead,
confessing to the faces of people I can't know.
Days compared to feelings, some kind of unfair trend.
Straighten the twisted motives in your head
and then maybe you'd find us again.

Shots, except I'm more wounded than drunk.
Hangovers, except I remember everything you took.
Stumbling through night, seeing without having to look.
I pumped through you and wore off,
but promises are caught in my bloodstream like clots.
Can't say I need you, can only say I breathed for you.
Hallucinate my smiles and drown them in tears,
I'll never know when you were telling the truth.

*-Makenzie.

Laying in beds I'll never sleep in again,
I think of all the people I could be.
But if I started new,
I'd probably still end up being me.
So I could clean these sheets,
but I'm still the same mattress
underneath.
I trusted myself to know where I am,
but where will I be taken?
I'll never know what life to fall into
when I'm busy jumping around in my head.
Checking into hotels I can't call home,
I think of all the towns I could see.
But if I lived there,
they'd end up being somewhere different,
completely.
So I could paint the walls,
but people still think I'm that first color
even after it all.
Well, who's following who,
and where does it take us?
Away from the old cities we've
tried to crush?
I wonder how far nowhere can get me
when my future roommates
don't know where they see themselves living.
So tired out of hotel rooms,
I want nothing this temporary.


*-Makenzie.

You don't think she knows that she's a thief?
Well when you leave your door unlocked,
you make it so easy.
And since you're her lawyer, judge and jury,
she'll return your heart
in a
hurry.
Innocent or guilty,
both of you should know that this case
can never be buried.

*-Makenzie.

Stop making me write
of only the sappy tree stumps
that aren't what they used to be.
Just dripping with lust
and longing
making the whole **** thing
sticky.
I want to make words worth while,
of bigger problems,
like a dead forest or two.
But my world has been burning also
with everything
that has to do
with you.
So I guess I'll plant a seed,
water it and leave it be.
Don't cut me down,
or be there to hear the sound,
there's already enough bleeding.
I believe you can make it better
steadier, and tall.
Maybe then these words will live a life,
instead of hearing the sound of
my tree stump mind,
waiting to grow through it all.

*-Makenzie.

I am here
with all the extra legs I hate,
perched above the spider web
my life has so cleverly created.
And ******* it,
I'm in an open doorway,
I'm watching the ones I love
fly this way.
While I am here
in such a perfect place
to entangle the good with the bad,
to mix the living with the prey.
Is this really a life?
Working hard
on something so strong
that can be caught in a breeze
and be gone.
I am here
with a web, and every one of you.
I want to believe in surviving
without tangles and traps,
to write to you about how I feel
without holding back.
But ******* it, I'm not Charlotte.
No warning signs from shiny thread
will make me honest.
No, no, no,
I don't want to.
I will never have enough time
to weave you a message
in some invisible writing
before this doorway is no longer mine.


*-Makenzie.

My hair has tangles
from running my fingers through it.
I can't stop messing with the things
I know are mine, because I don't know
what else I'll get.
Can you tell?
My body wants someone else to notice.
To notice the nails being bitten,
the eyes when they're blinking.
I don't want to ruin myself
before you see what I'm missing.
While wiping colors on my eyes,
I wonder if my face is really mine,
when all I do
is dress it up
so maybe I'll become an object
of your time.
But more than the knots in hair
that tangle my impatience,
I want you to see the reasons
behind the clothes and under the limbs
that reach out
for some sentimental fairness.

*-Makenzie.

I can feel it,
I know you're all trying
to drill these truths into my brain.
But a hole is a hole just the same,
and the truth can fall right back out
of the place it found its way in.
Sometimes, I think I'm losing more
confidence with each compliment.
I'm not fishing for
your washed up arguments,
I just can't catch a real break.
At times it can be hard to tell
with each short lived side glance,
but my ego's just a man made lake.
Drill, drill, drill
only if it scares the fish away.
But even if you scattered them,
it doesn't mean they won't find
a way to stay.
All truth is subjective,
just like how I look in a reflection,
and how safe can I really be?
My head has holes from
every pessimistic approach,
yet optimism has never really
suited me.

*-Makenzie.