I felt like I cried too much just then, with my head in your lap and my cheeks stinging with salty tears.

I want to die today, but I can't bring you with me.
I can't bring you with me in the bleak narrow curvings of my soul absent doubt.
I hate hating myself so much.
When I look in the mirror I judge from predisposed and painted self doubt.
I trim my frame with unrealistic absurdities that make matters worse by setting them self up for failure to begin with.
I do not think one should continue to prevent them self from cutting off their own airflow to preserve another being's feelings.
Though the act of suicide is selfish, and abstaining from the act to keep others from blaming themselves is in fact selfless; however perpetual self loathing is almost as demanding a lifetime of guilt that comes out of wishing you could have done something to help.

I sit on the inside looking out. And more of the time I am perched in there, I am looking around, from within.

Disolving the interior and remembering the good old walls.

What happened to those willful walls and forgiving storage areas? Nothing is ever good enough; like a mingy white room-once coated twice, but over time has been repainted in folding colors, creating a texture that was not meant to gain, nor pleases as a result.

I want all of the excuses and laziness and hastiness to melt away and the chaos that sits with darkness at the corners of everything, to fall away as toxic as they are, and I want to sit outside of myself and watch in praise and humble patience.

Somewhere off the coast of Nova Scotia
on an island called
Cape Breton
where the sky is only gray there is a black dog that is running in the snow
towards something in the distance

I want to know if I have enough will power.
If I have enough strength to actually go through with it.
I know we'll be so much happier, and I think I'm going to start today.
Less and less everyday.

Here. What now?
Driven by swift passion and desire,
driven by destined taxi,
that chooses its own road.

Steering close to the edge,
closer and closer,
until attractive embrace towards the danger,
and unknown, pulls in with violent tug,

Finally – fall,
Tumble down, in drunk state of mind,
unawareness of destination,
Just fall, and fall, and fall,

Until you land on hellish ground,
like new born child, you have no place here,
direction and time are  non-existent,
but you must go on,

Like new born, take first steps,
they’re always the worst,
sharp gravel piercing tender skin,
scars remain on toes, for world to see,

Once rhythm starts,
feel accepted and comfortable,
but wear a disguise,
so they can’t see it’s me.

I often glace towards them,
at the peak, I see them laugh,
together, hand in hand – united,
high on ecstasy and joy.

Here. What now?
What I wanted, to be so sure,
yet – be so very wrong,
no turning back, this is where I belong.

Unhappy on both realms,
bitter boredom never overcome,
individuality illusions, still to be found,
not happy both up with them, and down here.

So where shall I plant my roots?
Perhaps, it’s not the destination,
but the journey of my fall.

I kiss you, I
  kiss you, every night, I
  kiss you;

in a dream that makes this 3-dimensional reality
seem flat:  I touch your face, and
speak my thoughts out loud.

     [and the sparks are there: red, orange, I swear]

I sigh -
breathing warmth into frozen words I
keep locked up in the light of day; oh, but
at night, I dream of
            -  the nevers
            -  the what-ifs
  ­          -  the if onlys

Sustained by these solitary hours, and
under deep cover of moonlight and stars, these
evenings become my playground, and I
              become what I could never be.

  I dream; and when
  I dream —

I kiss you…

All my life
I sought
an angel.
And he appeared
in order to say:
"I am no angel !"

last night scraped painstakingly
from the fissures in my brain
scraped like ink from wood-latch boxes with
fancy carved roses on the top

chewing apart memories with
your nails clenched into my hand
I am falling out of love all over again

clicking keys and snapping wrists
ripped strings and fractured minds
slipping into different facades
of distances that felt closer
six trembling months so
long

touching your palm
with a face that isn't real anymore
pillow cased fingertips touching cheeks
bumping elbows ripple through ponds of
tension seething just under the skin and
details throb in my temples

I have vanished from the city skyline
I am taking back my couch, I am stepping on dried roses
pilfering paint from butterfly wings
frankly darling sweet pea
there were these picnic baskets and sunflowers

bitterly lamenting to everyone but printed on both sides
of your business card it says "heartbreaker"
and printed on both sides of the fortune cookie it said
"not your business, move on move on"

stitching holes in my cheekbones, I
haven't got the heart to put up walls
haven't got the nerve to break them down
still painting you into my sunflowers and I am
so wary when I scrape elbows