I have always been drawn to destruction;
air too thin to breathe-
I carry a pain eyes can't receive.

life and evil are only a letter apart,
and I've come to believe
this was no mistake;

the devil wears sweatpants and a rosary.

he weaves his fingers
through yours tightly
every time he holds you down-

and he shines-
stolen halos line red wrists,
they bang against the drywall-
its four in the morning
and he's come into the room again-
he forever invites himself in

maybe this time God will hear the ringing,
clinging together,
the halos,
the angels
will flee to ****** back
their innocence.
brilliance.

and the motion will cease.
the clouds, close.

claiming "possession"
is out of the question
for he did not seize my soul-
I extracted it, split my skull
all for a taste of the afterlife.

he loves mirrors and other pathways
of reflection;
the evil only seem to love themselves.

I am used to blinding confusion
and bittersweet illusions,
I crave the burn that follows pain.

he likes to leave a mark
beyond scarring the skin,
but I promise,
the worst is within-

life and death are only a day apart
and I've come to believe
I am stuck in between,
and the devil continues,
blissful and free.

There are no Apaches
With flaming arrows and piebald ponies
There are no writhing jungles round here
There are no lost temples
Hiding untold treasures
There are no damsels to be rescued
By a knight on a white charger
There are no pirates on the high seas
No skull and crossbones flying
Above a deck bristling and glistening
With cutlasses and flintlocks ready
And hook hands and black eye-patches
In the sunlight of the Spanish Maine
There are no interplanetary wars
With hand-held laser guns
And weird creatures from strange worlds
They just do not exist
I learned this when
I was very very young
And I really wanted to be a pirate

                                    By Phil Roberts

I found my voice in a pocket of oxygen buried in my gut,
it was a hot air balloon
backlit by the aura of my lungs,
my chest was the sky that coughed it up.

Knowing that we are water-based creations
spread thin
like the last spoon of pancake batter,
I wear my impermanence like Jupiter wears her red spot.
I wear my fears like continents wear mountains,
pointing them toward the sky,
hoping to someday adhere a sticker to my chest that reads,
THIS CAR CLIMBED MT. COMMITMENT

I have the scars to prove it.

My mother carried me like the last drop of water in a desert canteen,
there was no need for a soft spot; I was headstrong.

I brought the kitchen to the gun fight.
Held my hands to the stove top
turned my back to the knife rack
kept one foot in the door jam and my mouth to the bedpan,
just in case these words washed my mouth out.

Most people never get close enough to recognize
that the smile on my face is written in Braille--
but you've always been there with a blind eye
reading my innuendos
and holding me to my words.

When your marathon feet hit the pavement
it's a lot like Buddy Wakefield at a typewriter
striking the first letter of the word benevolence--

You taught me how to b b b b b in the moment.

Even at my most negative
when my body is a hearse,
this heart is a corpse
and this life is a road-trip from funeral parlor to graveyard,
so that I may have spent my entire life in the company of mourners,
who loved me.

Even at my most positive
when my body is a universe,
this heart is Hatch Shell located on the south bank of the Charles River
swelling with the sounds of the Boston Pops
and this life is everything leading up to the Big Bang,
so that I may have spent the entirety of my life in the company of creation.

Even on the night we met—same night I found my voice
we stayed up to watch Lake Michigan come to life in a pocket of oxygen
under a Chicago sunrise so inescapably underwhelming
it was covered by clouds.

But we were not disappointed.

Even though all of our rainbows have been stitched into flags,
draped over coffins
and buried by the same people who taught us to believe
in optical illusions.
Our hearts were not drawn by Jeremy Fish,
we're not weighted in fiction,
we did not have heartstrings rigged by Geppetto.

No, we were not disappointed,
this was nothing like (I still remember) when we learned
that we couldn't all be Mouseketeers.

Disappointment is a pastime that we reconciled
when we laid our grandmothers to rest
and recognized that their tombs did not believe in resurrections.

The past is a hot air balloon hoisting us up to a sky we'll never see.
I get it.
I'm not lookin' down.

We are old enough to know the truth.

The light at the end of the tunnel is behind us,
that's where we came from.
We are not running from it.
There's no looking back.

Blue eyes! Blue Eyes! Where might my blue eyes be?
I am stranded in this situation, so I look for them frantically.
Oh, those eyes, they’re always so blue yet warm.
They mend my wounds and easily repair the torn.

The repetition has made me grow dependent on them,
so I face no challenge without them ever again.
They hold my hand and support me when I’m weak.
They hold my breath and even expel the words I cannot speak.

So now I search helplessly in darkness, blind,
because in this moment my Blue Eyes I cannot find.
But behind me they speak- they’ve been there all along!
Forgive me! Blue Eyes, for I once doubted you, and I was wrong.

In a world of chaos you were my only hope.
Your blank, pale expression stared at me,
with your faded blue lines running across your perfect emptiness.
Your untouched, untapped potential for relief and sanctuary begging me to splatter my ink, my blood across you.
It invited me to share my sorrows and woes, my happiness but most of all my lows.
So, paper, pen, poem-
I spill my guts to you.
I pour my soul out to you, knowing that you’re always there to listen.

But the truth is, this chaos cannot be contained in such a few lines, in such a few words.
The complexity of Life’s twists cannot be shortened or summed up here.

I could never think of a word to describe the…. empty?.... feeling I got when he returned home, only to repack his bags and leave again.
I could never think of a word to describe the….apathetic?.... feeling I got when they told us it was about change, but at the same time they told us what we could and couldn’t say.
I could never think of a word to describe the…despondent?... feeling I got when he said he was in love with me, but that we could never be together.
I could never think of a word to describe the…?... feeling I got as I hugged her and brushed her tears away, knowing that were caused by me,
I could never think of a word to describe the...?... feeling I got when I begged them to trust me, even though I couldn’t even trust myself.

There are no words or phrases that can capture the irony of day to day living,
of hating life but being afraid of death,
of wishing them to go away but praying they would stay,
of wanting to move a thousand miles away but being unable to take the first step.
I can not capture the way I feel on these days when Life smiles in my face as she holds a gun to my head,
When Life tells me she loves me and holds me close,
but watches as she fills my eyes with tears because she has loosened her grip and is letting me slip away.

So, paper, pen, poem-
I spill my guts to you.
And I beg you to listen, cause I can’t even hear myself.

I am paralyzed.
My body will not move.
It's locked here, in this exact position,
Fixated on you,
resting on you but not dependent on you.
Simply… fixated.
Juxtaposed to where your limbs fit perfectly around mine and mine within yours into this perfect state of paralysis.
Paralyzed by you.
Stopped dead in moving existence and forced to cease all other activity
at that exact moment
so that all my body knows how to do is breathe in,
out,
breathe you in and out.
Taking in every second of this moment with or without choice, regardless, reduced to this state of complete paralysis.
Although everything inside stirs, warms, and moves I am still paralyzed by you.
I am restless and excited, aching to touch you and pull you even closer, but still it’s impossible for me to move.
To shake this hold that stops me and paralyzes me.
Caused by your touch, gaze, eyes, breath, beauty, lips,
absolute perfection that paralyzes those who it touches.
I, too, have been paralyzed by every ounce of you.
Your presence in this room
the image of you in my mind.
It forces the world to stop so that in my paralysis, all that matters is you,
and you here with me.