My feelings are
Nipping at the heels of
My thoughts, which are
Nipping at the
Heels of my actions
And

I've never felt
So

Strange

In a race
Only with

Myself,
It's dragging on


Forever

The silence between us is an intricate detail. One apparent in all of our conversations. Its a detail woven in to our relationship, won by quarrels the heart rages. Nerves chattering over raging pulses. Things you hear better in the silence.
The silence we do so well.

In it we sit still with all the tiny variables, shifting and consuming the minutes.
Our atoms shift between compressed palms and we calm our nerves.

The silence gives in to the pressure of pleasure and in the still air,
We feel forefingers following follicle outlines,
Sense skin slipping,
Softly setting sculpted
Hands.
Softly and
Its silent.

Like we do so well.

Eyes lock and dread,
Knowing the silence speaks millions of moments all at once and
Dreading,
The moment the silence breaks.
When we split for now and feel the air alone and heavy.

Funny how we do it so well,

Because when I leave I feel that silence still, lingering over me.
I feel those eyes on me, those fingers and those arms holding me.
For a few minutes I'm still lost in that haze, never really wanting to leave,
And always wanting to go back.

My love for you is quite substantial
Just enough to get us by
When I'm with you, I never panic
My stomach knows no butterflies

My feelings for you are adequate
I kiss you like I do my mother
Politely, cordially, out of duty
Plainly and unpassionate

There are no ups and downs
No disbelief at what I've found
Our love is completely logical
Solid, steady, and sound

My love is understandable
Laid out, and well defined
My love is clearly tangible
No need for even trying

My want for you is sustainable
And well under control
My desire is easily satiable
Like a dead tree that no longer grows

I'll love you this way until I die
Or until the day you leave
And on that day, I will not cry
Nor shall I ever grieve

Because this kind of love is lacking passion
And without true belief
It's the kind of love you're better off without
It will never satisfy your needs

I've seen introverts become the center of attention
I've seen extroverts go ignored
I've heard complacent well-adjusted human beings
Cry out for something more
And there's a million and one things to do with life
So don't you dare be bored

Because there are three types of people in this world:
Those who do
Those who don't
And those who didn't, but wish they had

At times it's wrong to do what's good
Sometimes you've got to be bad
So don't you go on second guessing
Lest you end up with regret
Follow your instincts
Don't look back

'Cause there are three kinds of people on this earth:
Those in the future
Those in the past
And those in the present, so make it last

At times it happens all so fast
You forget to examine the extent of the impact
But don't you worry about forgotten things
They'll find their way back to you in your dreams

And there are those who will tell you that it's false
They'll comfort you with broken arms
To drag you down to into the swamp
Trying to stop you before you even start

Now there are three sects of people on this planet:
The leeches
The dreamers
And then the true believers

Examine your head to find the truth
Don't worry about what you can or cannot prove
Nothing matters nearly as much
As the way it all matters to you

You see, there's no right or wrong way to live a life
It all depends on how it makes you feel
The miraculous fact that you exist at all
Gives you the right to determine what is real

And there are but three animals in this pen:
The sheep
The wolf
And the Golden hen

We drink to make each other more tolerable.
Whiskey washes over the painful memories of broken trust and promises.
I don’t remember the last time we didn’t fight.
It’s like I love you too much to care anymore.

I’d give you the world if I could,
but that’s easier said than done.
You don’t want me to be so kind to you;
and that’s something I’ll never understand.

Don’t forget who I was before you tore me apart.
I was a pieced together puzzle;
until deconstruction became your hobby.
You became my demise.

Tears trickled down my wrinkled shirt the day you left.
In our life wine rhymed with love
and water tasted like sacrifice.
There are only so many wounds liquor can heal.

New stains painted my shirts,
not tears or wine.
Red cuffs covered up memories of you.
Blood washed down the drain just before you came back.

Now it’s too late to save us.
Maybe we were doomed from the start.
But I’ll refuse to believe we weren’t perfect for each other.
Not until God tells me otherwise.

I suppose I’ll see him soon and ask for His opinion.
Your embrace has never felt more soothing
as my vision blurs to black.
You whisper sweet thoughts you should’ve said before.

We drank to make each other more tolerable.
I couldn’t think of someone I’d rather tolerate.
When I embark from dark to light I’ll remember you.
I love you too much to care anymore.

I packed you perfectly
like one packs organs in ice
to preserve them--
to keep the memory breathing
in a box of souvenirs from our six years
fragmentally put together,
until I'd need to relive them again.

I scanned our pictures like x-rays,
the bones glowing silver linings,
blurred and blue.
You always light up.
In any recollection,
you will always be the clarity
I connect to.

I have my moments-- Don't you too?
Nothing is what I thought it was.
I feel you pulsate like blood
under a bad bruise
I packed you perfectly.
You didn't move.

We sweat out the holy stuff.
You used my ribs like one uses
the rough side of a matchbox
striking up your fingertips
to light the rest of my skin on fire.

I'm glad I was just another burnt tip
in your collection.
I'm glad it was an easy discard.

I took a mental photograph
of you in that moment--
Bare chest, pulling down your boxers,
holding my face like one molds a statue,
bite marks on my jaw line.

I smoldered in your sheets,
you kicked me out of bed.
This must be what Pompeii  looked like
after all the ashes cleared.

I'm glad I was just another pretty girl
you liked to watch go up in flames.

I'm glad you didn't ask me to stay.

she is a flash
across the wheat-field
a tribal dance of light
across the grass, even
her shadow is thrown
across the sky.

the witching hour is upon me
my eyelids are heavy
but never drooping
for the past two years I've been tired
but unable to sleep
without jane or jack
but **** man
those jokers will only take a man so far
and in my case it was to a lot of nights
in a bad situation - dead to the world
or waking up in a haze - unable to remember anything
but I know this double bed feels continents wide
and in it I feel small and vulnerable
there's a fine line between independence and loneliness
and I already used that line on you
trying to get you to keep me company
no ***
or fooling around
deep rapid breaths and the sweet smell of sweat in the air
just somebody to sleep with
to feel their warmth and my warmth reflected back
God
I am tired

My father is a handsome guy, or so I’ve heard. Mommy and daddy split, with just the white sheets left in between their lives. Some unimagined darkness spoke with accuracy. These were her gifts, that primal lesson. It is a beautiful and terrible fear; like I have been balancing on the edge. There are no jobs, and snakes inhabit my tent. I pretend, she pretends, we go out life pretending. When at the end the hero dies, the luxury of growing up is not given to me. She has been going bald, but what do I know? She is her mothers daughter. It would be a logical conclusion, but I never realized the emptiness.