life takes one off guard.
like standing behind a wall made of dark stone,
living as prey waiting to be tackled by its predator.
i’m an innocent song bird with honeycomb bones,
and you are the green eyed tabby cat about to pounce.
your claws rip out my feathers and the pain feels like boiling water running through my veins.
my wings are wilted and i cannot see to peck at your soft eyes.
you pierce your fangs into my neck and take me home to sit me on the doorstep.
my blood is diseased and i’m tossed in the road with hands clad in blue gloves.
you, the tabby cat, lick your paws clean of my filth and hunt for another.
my sisters and brothers all sit in the branches along the trees waiting to hear my song.
but, my song is crushed upon asphalt   and my remains are scattered before the doorstep i was once laid upon.
the maggots infest my brain and it’s almost as if i can feel their microscopic teeth.
but, this isn’t me.
this isn’t who i want to be.
a maggot infested game.
the prey for a predator,
slain on red brick steps

the slow build up of piano
plays on the radio,
you sing along in your tenor voice.

your big hand is in mine,
resting on my lap.

the road outstretched before us, under the ten o’clock moon.

i have a few drinks in me,
but that doesn’t mean anything.

i never thought i could truly love again,
then i met you.

it's funny
how quickly you can be discarded
when something better comes along.

deep down you know it's your fault,
but you decide to pity yourself.

you flip through their photos;
smiling faces gleam back at you.
"why wasn't i invited?"
that small and jealous child
that lives in my mind whines at me.

this child quickly becomes a glooming figure.
a figure of some black fog
that seeps through my veins
and swallows me whole.

this is the autobiography of a second choice.

the choice they forgot about.
the choice they see
when all the smoke is clear,
and one sad, sullen apparition awaits;
wanting to be chosen.

with my head down,
and my hopes high,
i walk with them.

i’ve never considered myself a woman.

until i was in bed with a man
i had only met that day.

“you are a beautiful woman,” he says to me.

how dare he?

how dare he call me a woman before i’ve called myself one?

there is something about me
that needs love.
i need love.
i have never admitted that to myself
but i need it.

no one wants to stay around for long,
maybe I’m too abrasive.
i’m not for everyone;
an acquired taste.

my family thinks it’s hard to love me.
the love of my life wants nothing to do with me.

i like keeping people on a string.
pulling them behind me like a pet.

i never believed my father when he called me a user
but i guess it is true.

i use people.
i use my body,
to get the love from other people
that i cannot find in myself

the same red spots obstruct my vision,
the music fades from my ears.

the image of your burning brown eyes
stay locked in my mind.

it feels like i am slowly sinking,
sinking into a shallow tub of cloudy water.

my eyes feel like they are about to pop,
i unwrap the cord from my neck.

take a breath of sour air,
and start again.

i walk across the asphalt,
a path i walk for centuries.

i catch someone's eye,
but they turn away.

when did i become an apparition?
a poltergeist, sitting on the wind.

"take me where i can go," i tell it.
"no one will know a thing."

i stop when i realize
the rustle of leaves,
are only speaking to the clouds.

and so my mind ventures,
cutting a deeper wound
from which i cannot heal.

words seep into the opened flesh,
like salt tears;
they sting and sear.

my eyes are open,
yet closed all the same.

they close like a stone sepulcher,
held within are the murky waters
that splash against my skull,
leaving an ugly mass of hatred.

one day,
my eroded forehead
will split open
and out will spill the fault of who i am.