the outcasts came to me
and i sat in the back seats
of all their small cars
chain smoking
and i pretended
to feel at home
but i never feared the world enough
to truly let them in

and the envied came to me
and i sat on their made beds
in their big bedrooms
drinking grey goose
and i pretended
to feel at home
but i never was fearless enough
to truly let them in

and the scattered hearts
of girl and boy
brave and tired
came to me
and i held their hands
in movie theater bathrooms
and hotel swimming pool steps
pretending to feel at home
but i never tricked myself enough
to truly let them in

i always sat in the middle
feeling too complex for the simple
and too simple for the complex
but i never said too much

well,
i'm older now
and my life has lost
all of its mystery
i lie beside the same man
in the same home
after working the same job
each night
and i can't tell anymore
if i'm still pretending to feel at home
or if i finally found it

I like 7pm.

Lipstick is faded; it's color has bled through not only the infinite number of words she says,
it is seeped right into all on these lines and creases of her lips.

Hair is undone; wispy little messes out of braids.

Eyes are tired; sleep edging on eyelashes.

And yet he still wanted her *more.

we loved each other like neptune loved fire and venus loved diamond earrings
we could only hold hands for four minutes before we had to exhale
i only knew you and you only knew me when it came to reading fingerprints like braille
we caused an overdose in god's left iris and left him fiending and crawling and blinking like he had a twitch just to
get a fix
god could only crawl as fast as my eyes could read your heart like shakespeare and slightly slower than your hands could
turn the lights off
where did we meet is a question i ask myself
did we meet on the shores of lakes too cold to handle where portals carried the ducks by on infinite loops
or did we meet in a pretentious little coffee shop where there was always so much pressure and your head would explode
if only you could force yourself to ruin all the pieces local artists hung in high hopes
maybe we met with high hopes, or maybe just with high minds and low hearts and nothing left to believe in
we met when i couldn't rest my eyes on planets for longer than 3 seconds and your bed only looked slept in
i think we met when i could hold your hand without squeezing too tight or tugging it away or when you finally let me win
a thumb war
we still meet sometimes in my mind, over and over, infinitely gazing into each other's minds for the very first time
i don't know if you'll ever touch my skin like the unbroken spine of a newly printed book or a flower dried between its
ancient counter part's pages and pages and pages of nonsense
it's all nonsense
what does all this sound like to foreign ears, or foreign minds, what does love and words have to do with anything if
the sheets are never clean and the garden doesn't even grow in the sunshine any more
how does your heart feel without the touch of something artificial to give you a reason to wake up in the morning
does it feel like it's falling and falling on repeat, forever, stuck in limbo, except you can only wish it was limbo
in limbo your heart wouldn't be shattering, your eyes wouldn't be burning, your hair wouldn't be in clumps between
your fingers
you wouldn't have to open your eyes to anything and the alarm clock would tell you time is up and the day is done and
thank you for trying but it's not even necessary
take some time to think about everything you left in suitcases and boxes and hotel rooms that you kept the key for
you'll probably never let those keys go even if i told you to but what if i told you that hotel burnt down years ago
and the only thing that remains is a tattered bedsheet and it lies in the rubble like a decrepit flag that everyone
has forgotten to salute
we love each other like the ghosts of those who carried that flag
we love each other like ghosts and flags and the byproduct of an arson joke gone wrong
that flag stopped flying when your heart stopped beating to the tune of my mindless humming and my words forgot sobriety
for a while

High up on a hill
Like a little castle
Windows like the sun
T.J. Eckleburg’s eyes
Watching down below like the representative eyes of God
I can’t write poetry
This is a failure
Whatever
I wonder if the people in that building knew how they’d die
I wonder if we all know how we’ll die but we just can’t remember until we’re there
I hope my death is like a déjà vu
I hope I see this picture when I die
And the sky will be the same colour
And the ground will be cold and rocky
Somewhere in my line of sight there’ll be a building
With windows like the eyes of God
And I promise not to go into the light
But I can’t say it’ll offer the same courtesy
Maybe the people inside will be staring at screens or marking little boxes in the shape of my eyes with little x’s
They could be talking
Maybe, laughing
Morbidly joking, “oops there goes another one”
While they sip pinot grigio and pretend to be scientists
With their degrees bought in the black market
Agents of God that even He, Himself decided to write off
High up in the sky, watching life unfold like a bad reality TV show
God must hate reality TV

you never believed in the concept of Nobody
until all you saw were dual suns rising and setting
East and West
only the cacti begging your pardon, please
and worms, called away by the birds
left with nothing but the last remark that remained
with a wave of your breath
your eyelids flecked with grey
keen eyes polluted by dust molecules
despite the quiet
you were far from comfortable, far from comfort
drink, fire, chance, and sandstorms
the weather seemed to be pleasant enough
you may think
this place
where only stranger travellers dared to venture
to your alarm, a barren wasteland at best
an imitation of your pleas for solitude
pairing magically with your astonishing disappearance
you'd think, a harmless enough tale this is
carried by the winds to the Away Beyond
beyond the people and the places
untouched since long ago
i could teach you a thing or two but
it would be nothing but white noise to the mind
evidently, forgetful of the danger
that crippling sudden fear that enevlops
a terrible, disastrous, lonely place
where you can't stop screaming
Do Something
but Nobody could not be disturbed

it's been months since I bothered opening my eyes before the birds have finished their song and the sun is casting 5 o'clock shadows on the faces of those who work and strain and cry and just want to put food on the table for their loved ones. I never thought about what was just below the surface what was edging towards the eerie fog about the lake just as I turned my back. you told me flowers always sprout when rain and snow and hail and sleet and every form of tears god could throw at us whip your face and you're still not crying and why aren't you crying you're bleeding and I'm aching and have you ever thought about how clouds are just vessels for rain and how maybe you're a cloud and I'm a torrential downpour but I'm more like a thunderstorm without the lighting because nothing shines like your eyes when you hear your favourite passage read aloud and I hope you hear my voice in your head I hope that omnipresence you always complained about comforts you when your bed is the last place you want to be and I hope you dream harder than rocks falling down mountains until maybe the figures you see in sleep become real. until the apparitions you claim have plagued your mind are left with no safe house and no real home and you can box them up like pictures and firewood and the couch cushions with the stains on them like Why the **** didn't we get those cleaned. why didn't we clean up our mess why is the window still shattered it's getting cool at night and the blankets are itchy and the grass looks comfier than cots in prison cells and what kind of prison cell is this with birds and lights and piers with boats that never seem to come in and lighthouses that never seem to guide them home. like nothing could ever guide you home, like nothing but light and wind and waves crashing and you'll probably never see the captain again. the ship is never sinking but the captain died many years ago sending smoke signals swallowed up by the clouds who lost their rain.

A flawless red curve of
Seductive lips
Your bold tongue
On the cusp of mine
I savor your words
Reckless declarations
Breathed down my throat
Slashing my soul
A wound that won’t heal
Exposed to the memory of
*******
Memories that make it my ruin
The way you wrenched my heart
Racked my mind
Molested my soul
The desolation you left me with
When you were done

I look for Pink
To comfort and inspire
My emotional essence
You will see if you
Look into my eyes.

We move by instinct,
Darling, move by instinct...
Shuffle past barriers,
Push through foggy eyes,
Hold me close...
Warm, together.
I'm crumbling darling,
Move by instinct,
Hold me in your arms.
Find a temporary repair,
My tourniquet.
I'm falling all over drenched eyes.
Faint screams ring,
Chiming louder and louder
The more you fade from view.
Move by instinct darling,
Move into me.