You can't stop saving the people
you know you shouldn't help.
They are the shadows on the walls at night
that call out your name in your dreams.
There are no tomorrows for them,
just the insecurities of yesterday.
You haven't learned to say "No."
and it kills you every time
the words don't come out.

Taken out of context
this is an end.

The light of a half
sun has spilled over
the horizon, caked in peach
and the cream of clouds
that the trees in our yard
have bruised the bottoms of.

But what if-
the stars are glowing in
the canvas sky
and the light flickers through
the blinds to pierce
our drowsy eyes? If
the birds are ruffling their feathers
on the fence outside and
the grass is starting dew,

is this still an end?
taken out of context
this is the beginning.

The last rays of starshine broke
up the northern skies
shoved their finger
into the crevices
the horizon cut into the land so
that tomorrow could hide
from yesterday on back
there had been some inconsistencies :

the sun beat the moon to rising
waves stood stock still in rows
of porcelain twilight and - -
The last rays of starshine broke up

i'm afraid to fall asleep
to your faerie lullabies and
find you in a dream, just
whispers in my ear.
can you see the
sorrow on my breath?

i can only taste the rattle
of your bones like sulfur and petals,
like poison.
you are wilted and rotting
in my arms,
the decay of an orchid.

your beauty spent, but
i'll still pillow the pieces
of you that I find in my
hair and under my sheets,
against my tongue and pray
you're still warm.

there are bodies in the water
again palms turned up like lilies
petalled fingers curling for the sun

his face has started to turn
blue as the shadows on the banks
greener than the sides of the fish
eating at the hole his rib left

she looks like eve with leaves
caught in her hair and her eyes sewn
shut mouth cut in a smile

and I pray god isn't watching
their decay as I push another
off the pier

There is a war in his bones, &

the violets have lost their colours

between gunfire & shrapnel.

Like petals in the sand, roasting in the

sun’s stare,

the photograph of the woman

he met in Chu Lai has faded.

He can’t remember what her face

looked like once she was buried.

Vô danh was carved into her headstone.

The final sounds of trumpets fade
in the wake of Horsemen's hooves
after the day of Resurrection,
making way for Adrianna & Edgar.
The last woman & man.

Only this time,
Lucifer made man
from the skin on the bottom
of woman's feet.

She could not decide
whether that meant she was
allowed to tread on him or not.

Instead of creation,
in seven days there was destruction.
The earth tore and buildings crumbled,
leaving spindle arms
like the branches of so many fleshy trees  
sticking out of the rubble.

Adrianna pauses here & wonders
if she should imitate the gesture,
throw her palms to the sky
and wave at the shadows of dying sun.

heat blurs the evening streets
like waves across asphalt oceans
it all blends into nothing
a mirage,
highway hypnosis,
they won’t notice her
on the side of the road,
long white ears dyed carmine
and the light fading to her eyes
angels will come for her eventually,
with buzzard wings and beaks
they'll steal the secrets
from her bones and leave her
empty like the memories of july
she would have had
if she'd lived long enough

I see the cracks in my stars
and yours
and they look no different
from all the mistakes:
your lying and cheating,
all my broken promises.

I don’t have a reason
for every day like you do
I’m lost in the passage of seconds,
in every pause before your heartbeat

Closet full of wax
skeletons I can’t get rid of
They tend to melt
in the cold of your heart
and shape into the only worry
I've ever had:
what will I do when
the spot beside me is empty
where you used to sleep
and the sheets are cold?

His dreams are told through the eyes of an honest liar
and those eyes are black like respiratory failure
and sleep paralysis, his passions are inflamed
in monochrome and cream his nights are longer
than evenings in August, the sheets cling like the arms
of a past love, and he feels as though he is drowning
in pools framed with lashes.

Extaticly shining
Weightless -
- We are flying -
Tell me another lie
More wind beneath my broken wings
-  I'll give you a reason to sing -
Last lover lost
In the gale of tears
- She wasn't crying for * *you ** -
Another stitch in my side
I don't need your last words
- Save them for someone that can hear -
Your yelling in the attic
He won't come this time
- Can't you save yourself by now?  -
We gave in once but not again
And who will start the whispers
- When tombstones make me think of you -

My sleeves are stained red
by all the truths that I've shed
through these jagged lines on my arms.

I've seen my last shooting star
and traced the last scar
on this tattered heart of mine.

I'll just lay my head down
while I listen to the sound
of my dreams all fading away.

If I had one thing to say
it'd be : don't mourn the day
that this phantom said her farewell.

Her eyes were the color of solar flares
and the remnants  of super novae,
eyelashes damp with Venus’ acid rain.

Body in the curves of the Northern Lights,
there were stars at her fingertips,
galaxies twined in the star dust of her hair.

Constellations lined her dress
as she danced in the celeste of red ribbon clouds
the storms created.

She travelled across the icelands of Neptune
though days never passed through the tail of Hailey’s comet,
only sulfuric nights on Io.

Is it bad I wished them dead?
A silver bullet through the head?

Splatters on the wall
no more running down the hall.

Scarlet blood turning black.
Pretty faces going slack.

Heavy metal in my hand.
Legs were shaky, couldn't stand.

Screams pierced the rainy night.
Just wanted them out of my sight.

Crimson tears always burn.
Though my head I'll never turn.

My boots hit the street.
Their bodies leak heat.

They say I'm insane.
Truth is I'm in pain.

Is it wrong I killed them dead?
There are no more whispers in my head.

The evergreen is burning again
the ashes transcending up into tree heaven
or tree hell,
in other words the fireplace
painted up in festive Christmas colors,
not including the My Chemical Romance posters
singing on the walls.
The only decision left for her to make
is whether or not to let the house burn down.

i am
three days past
an expiration date
already lost
more than just
the starlighting
seven shades darker
than your ethereal silence
and two missing persons
reports, more than your four

The twelfth time he
willow than others
and old spring breeze
sat in silence
the closest tears
he didn't want
watching his face
"Did you know I cry blood?"
would have called
hazel eyes for tears
a little smile
tugged the legs
was trying to hide
this stupid lovely boy
flesh in several places
broken up
like crazy
we were together again.

There are things there
he'd never noticed before.
The crack in the wall
just behind the bed,
that dark spot on the carpet,
the chip in the balcony railing.
She's left again,
the wrinkle on the pillowcase confirms it.
There's a ***** missing, somewhere
that he doesn't care to find.
Another woman warms his bed and
he'd found a scare on her chest.
She didn't seem to realize
she was never there
even when his hands left their watermarks
on the ceiling.

Phantom footsteps
thrusting bodies into the lithely changing
lights of winter.
A melody of pastelled green,
leaping past the first Spring
into the swirling colors
of neon petals blooming.
When the acrylic shades of night
set, the Summer's nightingale sings
the lullaby of amber afternoons and the decay
of Autumn leaves resting on the ground.

I used to cook for her all the time.
I wonder if she remembers. Can she?
Ramen noodles and toast
at 3:30 in the morning, churros at 8:15.
Sometimes in the middle of the night
she’d cat call my name and I’d always
run to her wondering- Is she hurt? and then
She better not have hurt herself.
I knew better though after the first few times,
yet I always went willingly enough through her
open bedroom door because she wanted me to.
But mostly chicken noodle soup on Sundays
and rice and jambalaya on Wednesday.
mmmmmmmmm.... Carminolas with a kick.
Pop pop pop and her buttons would fly across the room
and other times she’d be under the sheets, already
ready to press my hands against her caramelized skin.
And if we add a pinch of saffron, a dash a sumac,
and a teaspoon full of ajwain she will taste like
heaven and for those cherry lovers add a bit of mahlebi.
But I remember. She tasted like homemade chocolate and
marshmallows. Go make Mama something tasty.
She’d say afterwards and send me from the warmth of
her bed, a Saturday Night Live rerun echoing after me.
I’d bring her dumplings and udon and watch her while she ate,
wondering- Can she taste the arsenic?

Some days when the sun doesn’t
come out in
the morning and the sky is dark and

grey, sometimes she just wants
to run out into
the storms with her arms out to the sky.

She wishes she’d be struck by
the lightning that
tickles the tops of the trees towering

above her and that her ashes
would fly out
over the winds to some faraway place.

There she would rise like the phoenix
in the stories her
grandmother told her about when she

was but a child and she would
be herself again.
Or maybe for once she’d be

someone else, one of those people
that have enviable lives.
The ones that were like her

mother, or the way she thought
her mother was
because she’d never really known her

in the first place.

Camel Crush.
A blue pack or red.
Squeeze, click,
different taste same effect.
Smoky circles that drift and fade,
a yellow smile traced with shaky hands
and shallow breaths.
Too experienced to cough,
just hold it in and enjoy the burn.
Is there a synonym for cigarettes besides death?

IF you hold this poem up to the light.
it will interpret your dreams.
Just beneath the surface,
the dead use this poem to claim lives.
That is an orphan.
It says this psychic reading may cause it to bleed ink.
It detects irregular heartbeats
by the accidental, the psychological.
This usually means three things:
***, *****, gambling.
When certain people get special powers
dial 1-800-F-O-R-T-U-N-E for only 99 cents per minute.
The mystery is, this poem can crack all family secrets
if you put it under your pillow,
processes that seem to be outside
the physical and natural laws.

I remember I was the new kid again when I first met you.
I remember a flash or bright orange hair and tan freckles
as you stumbled over my bag.
I remember the exact shade of crimson our faces turned
as we rushed to take blame.

I remember the dusk blue smile in your eyes as you helped to gather
the scrambled contents of my backpack.
I remember avoiding you and the rest of humanity for the rest of the day.
I remember sitting alone on a cold bus seat and suddenly feeling
someone warm sliding in next to me.

I remember the smell of oranges crawling through the air as you introduced yourself
and apologized again for being a klutz.
I remember struggling with shyness for a moment before I could whisper a reply.
And I remember sitting awkwardly in the corner of our seat,
catching a little grin from you out of the corner of my eye after every bump
  that made our shoulders brush.

A blow
dish a blow
in its pace,
colors.
Marry the horizon.
Right a curve,
navigation.
So immense in a soul
see and pray- repeat.

A blow
dish a blow
In marriage
dont they love-
Roses,
tiny forms
of sable petals
flying through the wind.

A blow
dish a blow.
All aching
no longer
cones of Carnival.
Retracted,
cake crowns.
Those veils
they part solemnly.

A blow
dish a blow.
Paces,
they amble on
tracing the incalculable.
Love, the perfume
is lethal.
They lost and lost.

Can we go back to the times when we could escape?
When we would run across the neighbor's field to the tree,
OUR tree, overlooking the river.
I want to smell the gritty bank mingled with your citrus scent.
I want to hear your secrets again, the ones you'd slip into my mouth
when we kissed.
Do you remember when we held hands and watched the leaves speckle our
skin green and gold?
I want your ocean eyes to warm me more than the sun,
for the grass to bend underneath our weight as skin touches skin.
I want you to sneak home with me again, lock my bedroom door,
and crawl under my blankets to kiss me for real.
I want to run my fingers through your satiny burnt umber hair,
look into those sapphire eyes as my lips mold to fit your pale pink ones,
perfectly.
I think I just want to love you again.

Bathsalts,
Oh bathsalts.
How I love to smoke you
and get so high.
I swear sometimes I bump my head on the clouds.
Epson's your hard sharp crystals
sift through my fingers,
stick under my nails
when I scoop you out of your bag
and dump you in my pipe.
I love the sandy sound you make,
the gritty smell you give off when you burn.
I'll hold you in my lings like a lover
and cough you back out.
I'll embrace the munchies
and eat everything in sight.
You make everything taste better,
especially my neighbors.

First off I am the ****.
I slap ******* in Target
and steal them electric carts
to get away from the popo
I start low speed chases
down sidewalks on three wheeled motorcycles.
I got arrested, but that's a'ite.

I am the ****.
I start bar fights
with pool cues
and hit ****** with beer bottles.
I throw rocks
through car windows.
I got arrested, but that's a'ite.

I am the ****.
I threaten Subway employees
with my ******* gun
while Suge gets mani-pedis.
I get my motherfucckin' sandwich anyway.
I got arrested, but that's a'ite.

I am the ****.
I got fo kids and I keep my guns in a box.
I smoke ****.
It aint a drug.
Its something you smoke when you want to feel good.
I got arrested, but that's a'ite.

Around the christmas tree the family gathers.
Wrapping paper litters the floor
and giggles trickle through the air.
Pause.
Everyone has wishes for christmas.
Marie wishes for her boyfriend
to leave her alone so she won't lose her baby.
Anne wishes for forgiveness
from her husband because she has suspicions
about how her lovers left.
Marcus wishes he  knew
just where his wife's last affair had run off to.
Jason wishes for acceptance
from his parents for him and his boyfriend.
And little Katie wishes she had someone
to talk to when she thinks about ending it all.

Be a silhouette
                                                                                     Of you, of me
And together we could be
                                                                                      Reflections.
We can stand
                                                                                      On opposite sides of the mirror
While our shadows dance
                                                                                      On the walls.
Black and white imitations
                                                      ­                                 Of our silently screamed whispers
Through slightly frowning smiles.
                                                                                       And when we fall through the floor,
Thicker than helium
                                                                                        We could be
Chalk outlines
                                                        ­                                 Of imagination.

I feel like I have the right
to cuss like a sailor
because I am the descendant of one.
I can remember the stories my mother used to tell,
of the man who made perfect pancakes.
It was all I knew about him besides the other story
about their first kiss in the rain,
then she married him.
And when I braid my hair
I am Pocahontas,
because if my great-grandfather whom I've never known.
I wish I'd been there
when my family lived in Morocco or Puerto Rico,
I wish I was foreign.
Even though,
it takes forever for my mother's files to go through anything
because she is not U.S. born.
I think I just want to know what box to check
in the race section of applications.

Shut up
SHUT UP!
Let me think
about something else
besides your problems.
I am only human,
let me breathe.
Quiet
QUIET!
I just want to sleep.
Leave me alone
for a little while.
I just want
to live my own life,
for once.
Shh
Shh....
Let me be
myself for a minute.
I want
to take care of me,
not you.
So do me a favor
and ****.

((By WAffle and SÜryp))

I hate this time of year.
Everyone's always singing
stupid christmas songs
and wearing even stupider sweaters.
People say 'bah humbug',
I say **** it.
I hate the cold and snow.
The getting totally twisted off of disgusting eggnog
and falling into bed with your best friend
only to regret it in the morning.
I hate that everyone's so giggly and rosy cheeked.
The old men in the malls posing as the
overweight **** that watches us all while we're sleeping.
I hate the gaudy wrapping
paper hiding pointless gifts
no one really needs.
And the people who're usually *******
kissing up to get something good.
I hate how lovey-dovey everyone is,
holding hands and snuggling in public places.
And how everyone has someone to kiss
when the ball drops on New Years.
Everyone but me.

A pale reflection of yesterday
I sit in my corner,
smothering myself in sighs.
I promised not to do drugs,
so I will only smoke the colors.
And trace the cartography of my skin
with the sharper edge of you.
I wont be afraid anymore,
of telling lies to hide my feelings.
I'll smile,
to the world when it crumbles at my fingertips.
And I'll wrap myself in blankets
to keep myself warm when everyone is so cold.
I wont be anyone's Little Matchstick Girl.

Let me tell you
there are things you'll want to do
before you die.

Kiss
every family member
even those you wish
eight feet under.

Tell that family
that you love them.

Tell them not to mourn our death,
to celebrate it.

Make your great nieces and nephews
promise to be good,
even though you know
they'll break that promise,
sooner or later.

Look through those family photo albums
that make you remissness
while you drink wine straight from the bottle.

Take a trip
to those places
you dreamt about,
the ones  you talked about to your spouse
for hours on end afterwards
because they'd felt so real.

Straighten out you will
and leave that obnoxious relative
your ****** sweaters and cheap trinkets.

Take another walk on the cliffs
where you lost your virginity
and had your heart broken,
yell your frustrations into the wind.

Spend the nights
in the arms of the one you love,
every time its better,
impossibly so.

And now that you've done all
the meaningful things,
the things you wont regret doing;
die happy.

I.
Heatwaves rise,
from the grey ashes that used to be your home.
Wind blows,
a sorrowful song through the trees.
Failing to dissolve the thick black smoke.
Embers burn,
royal red and gold
and sparks fly into the night after a stray beam falls,
crumbles,
as it lands on your singed teddy bear.
The only thing left.
You were almost three.

II.
Little laughing child
you were so sweet in life.
Your fawn colored eyes were always dancing,
your round plush cheeks always rosy,
your tiny doll's feet always running,
your chubby dimpled hands always reaching,
your frizzy chocolate hair always bouncing,
your tiny rosebud mouth always smiling, laughing,
flashing small pearl teeth in your miniature pink mouth.
I will always remember your smile.

III.
Oh honey child!
You didnt get to see much of life.
You never got to shop with friends,
or drive a car,
or go on your first real date.
But you did get to make those friends
you'd eventually have gone shopping with.
You got to run, eat ice cream, throw tantrums,
and love the people you came in contact with.
You got to make your mom and dad smile.
You lit their world like no light could.
And even though you've gone and your papa's gone with you,
your mom and your friends, those closest to your heart,
will always remember you.

Lets ruin ourselves.*
She'd whisper,
a silken silver siren's song.
I just couldn't resist.
My Di, Dian, Dianna.
She was perfect
In all her savage sateen beauty,
even though she didn't think so.
Her pale chalky skin
stretched over her sharp bones
and her grey-blue eyes
always hidden by her curtain
of inky black hair.
I remember when we would have contests
to see who could overdose first.
A bowl full of little colored pills
was all we ever needed.
And one night
After our potpourri party,
we lay on her bed
In the bliss of oblivion,
Overdose heaven.
Dawn came,
too soon for either of us.
I woke, numbly, but she never did.
And I looked at her, but I didn't cry.
She was my everything
my nothing,
but this was the life we'd chosen
and this was just another night in the ruins.

I am weightless,
Zero gravity.
My ears pop,
No chewing gum.
Synthetic leather squeaks
Under the pressure of my little hands,
Take off.
The city shrinks outside my window.
Lights like stars blink on the ground.
Generic food smells mix
With the feather soft voices
Of flight attendants.
We're almost first class.

The family sits around the table,
freeze-frame their laughing faces.
Everyone is thankful for something.
The eldest daughter, Marie
is thankful for not having any bruises to hide,
this time.
Her mother, Anne,
is thankful that her husband hasnt found out,
about the seven men she's been sleeping with.
Her husband, Marcus,
is thankful for the gun he bought yesterday
to take care of the men his wife thinks he doesnt know about.
His son, Jason,
is thankful that his 'good Christian' parents
dont know that he finds men attractive.
And his little sister, Katie,
is thankful for her happy family
and that no one can see the cuts she's made
on her legs.

I promised I'd never forget you
It'd be impossible if I tried.
You were my third love.
You will always be the tall thin boy
with silky curls the color of sunset,
eyes of liquid atmosphere,
and crushed coral lips
you'd only kiss me with
when we were shrouded
in the saftey of my blankets.
In the night you taught me to love.

Sleeping Beauty never slept
she waited for those men.
High up in her dusky tower
she would sit for years on end.
Cigarette butts littered the floor
around her curtained bed,
and as always a Prince Charming would come,
find her sleeping, dead,
her lips painted red.
Seduction and abduction
no one saw them again.

How many beats can you hear
in the stutter-still arrhythmia of my heart
as it slowly fades away?
Could you tell me how warm my skin is
just before it turns to dust?
Do you remember those softly serrated words
You whispered in my ear…
Like a lover’s last promise…?
I couldn’t help but think that you were beautiful,
Even when you hated me.
Then again I think everything is beautiful
right before you die.
The way your eyes burned
as I slipped under the waters of consciousness.
Six feet under.
As I hate you and I always will
echoed through my head the way footsteps do
in an empty hall.
You know they never hurt,
Those words you’d whisper to me
While you stole kisses that never belonged to you,
But I swear they killed me.
Agony sweeter than love itself
It wouldn’t go away.
If you’d only let me fade
Into the nothing that awaits me…
Maybe you could love me again
The way I will always love you.

Her eyes are hollow pools
Through which you think you can see the bottom.
What you think are the glittering
Smooth pebbles on the grainy bottom are really
Just the backs of the horrible monsters that swim
On the surface of her tattered soul.
Just. The surface.
Farther down, past those horridly
Beautiful creatures, in the darker,
Colder waters even more things swim.
Blind to everything, but the destruction
Of the few drifting remnants of
Her true self.
And even further down are the
Bones of her lovers,
Her family,
Her friends…
The people she never wanted to be
Dragged down,
Drowned. Along with the emotions
She never should have had.
They sink, slowly, in the silt of her consciousness.
Some with grim-bone grins and silent screams,
Others with spindle fingers reaching
for a surface they’ll never see again.

From the inside out I burn
For eternity I yearn
To be normal

Not to need an escape
Just so I don’t break
To be normal.

Not to feel like something’s consuming me
Entirely.
Whole.
To be normal.

Not to see the worse before the best
To forget all the rest.
Not to tell another lie.
Not to wish that I could die.
To be normal.

Stars in the sky.
That we put there for once.
Ones that don’t last long like our lives.
Bright sparks, explosions, excitement.
If only for a moment.
Colors that promise happiness that fades like everything else
Only leaving pale imitations of things that once were.

After making love we hear footsteps,
Quiet patter of bare feet on the finished oak floor makes us freeze.
No more after-the-act pillow talk.
I feel her skin prickle with fearful goosebumps, her breath catch in her chest.
Her husband doesn’t know.
As the slow beat of our hearts becomes erratic,
They stop.
Silence.
The door creaks as its pushed open
Ever. So. Slowly,
Making me think of a bad horror movie.
The greyblue sheets whisper
Over our sweat damp skin as she clutches them to her *******;
Her impenetrable shield, leaving me cold and exposed.
I want to hide.
Every atom in my body screams at me to do so.
But I lay here, waiting for the creeping door to reveal the intruder.
I listen to her whimper as he looks over us, sprawled across the bed.
His eyes, her husband’s eyes,
Are pinned on me and his face is flushed
I assume with anger as he stalks towards me,
Reaches for me.
The bed sinks as he leans over me,
Not saying a word.

In the murky grey-brown water she floats,
contained in a porcelain pool.
Plush and soft
Decorated in a riot of colors,
Splotches of red, green, brown, blue
Spattered along her graceful body.
Bits of her are missing,
Lost in the depths of the smoky water or floating alongside her.
Her long pale blonde hair streaked with fading red drifts by her pale fattened cheeks
And a wiggly white maggot tumbles from her empty eye
Making ripples in the water.
The front door slams.
Family’s home.
More ripples.

She was sad.
I didn't know why.
So how could I have helped her?
Eased her pain?
Her worry?
I didn't know how
Couldn't know
Shouldn't have figured it out
But I did.
I saw through the layers of steel
Of years filled with torture.
She couldn't see
Herself for the names she was called
Blocking the reflection in the mirror
On the shattered pieces of glass that litter the floor
In the puddles of tears she cried.
Her blindness slowly kills
The beautiful creature she really is
What I try to make her see
Through the chinks in her armor I've made.

Let me tell you of the day that never came.
The one we thought we’d see
So soon after the night.
Night of fire, day of searing light
That burned all the sinners
All of us,
And dragged us all to hell.
Hell.
Always hot and dry
We can’t wait until it freezes over
Freezes all of them.
All of us.
No more stench of charred flesh
No more black and crumbling bodies
With dry water eyes.
But the day never came
When we’d beg for water-
Ice.
Something other than
The lava forced down our throats on a daily basis.
We are tired of this!
No more, never ever, ever never forever will we
Finish burning
In Hell.
But we never did now did we?
The day never came, and
We
Are forever living.
Maybe more a torture than fire and brimstone.
But the day won’t come when it will all end
Or has it come already and this is our eternal punishment
For being sinners,
Sacrilegious in the way we moved.
And in hell we trudge up hills of spike rock
Carrying boulders the size of pandas with the attitudes of great whites
And all the stripes and teeth of rabid tigers,
Jagged claws of koalas and the ability to scent fear like no other animal can
And they are always afraid
All of us
That maybe one day
the day will come
and we will burn.