Broken conversations,
empty lungs,
doors half open,
hearts almost out of love.

We used to talk of how
we used to be infinite.
But now every second now feels
like a stroke against an unforgiving current.

Our conversations broke
as the flaws of our souls
fell through the cracks of this glass foundation.

These upset words that escaped you
left the air around me a little sad,
a little awake,
and with a lot of echoes.

My lungs went empty
talking you down.

I left the door open for you.
So you can walk in
and slip in quietly-
I won't say a word.

And this heart could never go empty,
not mine.
Yours,
at this point,
I know not.

Flowers never lost their color
as long as you walked this earth.

If I could I'd spend
a little bit of this
forever with her
underneath that
streetlamp.

I'd stand with her
there as she leaned
against me with her
fists clenched together
at her chest.
Her Whiskey dressed
breath warm against
my neck.
The moth shadowed
light enhancing her
cheek bones and
proving to me that
there is indeed artistry
in our creation.

If I could I'd spend
whatever is left with
her drunk and troubled,
broke and incomplete,
in Love and alone.
Together but still longing
for that loneliness that
always seems to make
things right.

If given the choice I'ld
probably pick alone.
Or maybe a moment with
her beneath that streetlamp
on the corner of some
numbered street and
Hell itself.

For now I'll fix whats
left  of my stash.
Pour me a wine.
Then fall into a nod
as my opiated mind flashes
a  memory
of her smiling grenadine
stained teeth.

And when the sun decides
to return,so shall
I continue on my way
without her.
Ill slowly pass these
numbered streets
in this lost and broken form
that I've chosen
for this world to judge.

Thimble

Darkness rises from beneath,
small, ugly and has no teeth.
Crawls out from the slime,
gets more creepy each time.
Only happens once a year,
one long day makes a career.
Wanders out and wonders why,
one day is one day to shy.
Determined to make a day two,
this isn't Horton hearing a Who.
This is one mean creature,
you student, it teacher.
Only the size of a thimble,
has no name just a symbol.
Dug a hole through the pond,
it's like a miniature James Bond.
Rules the pond like no other,
looking for his missing mother.
Interviewing anything swimming,
dodging every single skimmer.
As the puddle starts to sink,
not an inch or a drop to drink.
A whirlpool circles in center,
into the whole that it enter.
Back down into its hole,
one day a year, it will patrol.

Darkness rises from beneath,
small, ugly and has no teeth.
Crawls out from the slime,
gets more creepy each time.
Only happens once a year,
one long day makes a career.
Wanders out and wonders why,
one day is one day to shy.
Determined to make a day two,
this isn't Horton hearing a Who.
This is one mean creature,
you student, it teacher.
Only the size of a thimble,
has no name just a symbol.
Dug a hole through the pond,
it's like a miniature James Bond.
Rules the pond like no other,
looking for his missing mother.
Interviewing anything swimming,
dodging every single skimmer.
As the puddle starts to sink,
not an inch or a drop to drink.
A whirlpool circles in center,
into the whole that it enter.
Back down into its hole,
one day a year, it will patrol.

I always knew that I couldn't
spend the rest of my life with you
but I knew this when we met:
I was prepared, it would be fine.
then love happened --
the kind of great poetry
and esoteric novels,
the transcendental kind
that people write songs about.
it was the kind of love that made me think
the excrutiating goodbye would be
worth it -- that every kiss would compensate
a sleepless night thinking about you.
I was wrong.
they say it's better to have loved and lost,
but I have watched heaven burn down
and it was heartwrenching and terrible.
I knew I wouldn't spend my life with you;
had I know I'd spend it
missing you
I might have reconsidered.

sometimes, I
forget
to miss you.
(but whenever
I'm so drunk
I can't remember
my own name,
yours somehow
comes
to mind)

(I wrote you
the same **** love letter over
and over
and over again
and I will keep
writing it)
(until one of us understands)

I only closed my eyes for a second

The death forest surrounds me.
Ghostly white trees mocking me in their silence
Woven bleached bones of all the fallen
bound together, glowing under a pale full moon
Empty eye sockets peering at me
as I weave in and out of their grasp
Inside the mist, stumbling without guidance

There’s an old man, sitting in one of the trees
laughing at the insanity but oddly distressed,
smiling at me. Cackling with glee but weeping
as he reaches out to touch my hair and sweep it
behind one ear. It’s comforting in it’s creepiness

He’s whispering to me in a smoke scratched voice
Comfort is as comfort does
Redemption is not at the foot of a hill
Catch a tiger by the tail
and it’s your blood that will spill
All I can hear is booming laughter
that shake the leaves of the bone dead trees
and as I watch them fall to the ground and turn to ash
I realize the old man never even opened his mouth

Then it’s all gone*

I’m back to sitting in front of a stone cold hearth
ripping pages from the book of my mind
and watching my Memories feed the fire
as I poke it with a red hot piece of steel
It was all the fodder for the fire I could find
Sipping from the crystal goblet filled to the brim
with Lies mixed with Deceit with a slice of lemon
and a dash of Arsenic just for a kick
The fire casts prisms of light bouncing from the crystal
onto bare walls to show a slow waltz of torture
that bleeds down the bricks in sinking desperation
A rainbow of colors from a ***** oil slick