Each word I write leaves something behind.
Every time I part my lips to speak about your name
my body goes limp and my brain won't work the same.
It's like a slug on a journey to the top of a rock
with salt pouring down to make him burn up.
Leaving a trail of slime more quickly as I burn you
through my jacket. Promise me your memories aren't skewed.
My breath on your face was as real as it gets.
With everything I put in, I come up third to last.
It all goes away one days and hits me harder the next.
Every time it fades I'm more okay. But when the missing comes back it tears through my chest.
I should let go like the wind blows the snow but I can't and you know
the breath on your face was more real than the place I call home.

how it has snowed on all the grey of my season's shade of mixed feelings of color,
as i age i see the page as my portal to reason
and clarity.

like a star ship in orbit nothing makes me fall,
dancing light in the night sky.

tear drop in a black eye.

what happens in that transmitted brain wave, like a zombie on the rage.

I crawl up from this cage of confusion. I am mistaken.

A dragon warrior with a smile.

A letter from unknown.
British Expeditionary Force, Friday December 25th 1914.      

   
"My Dear Mater, This will be the most memorable Christmas I've ever spent or likely to spend: since about tea time yesterday I don't think theres been a shot fired on either side up to now."

"Last night turned a very clear frost moonlight night, so soon after dusk we had some decent fires going and had a few carols and songs. The Germans commenced by placing lights all along the edge of their trenches and coming over to us - wishing us a Happy Christmas.
Some of our chaps went over to their lines."

"There must be something in the spirit of Christmas as to day we are all on top of our trenches running about ..."

"After breakfast we had a game of football at the back of our trenches! We've had a few Germans over to see us this morning. They also sent a party over to bury a ****** we shot in the week ... About 10.30 we had a short church parade the morning service etc. held in the trench ..." 

"Just before dinner I had the pleasure of shaking hands with several Germans ... I exchanged one of my balaclavas for a hat. I've also got a button off one of their tunics. We also exchanged smokes etc. and had a decent chat."
"They say they won't fire tomorrow if we don't so I suppose we shall get a bit of a holiday - perhaps ... We can hardly believe that we've been firing at them ... it all seems so strange.
With much love from Boy."

It's like the kids on the white house lawn sticking flowers in guns.
Only this time, someone takes a swing for their friend
screams for their sister, brother, mother
and I can't bother to try to hold this back again without your arms keeping me in.
You want me to break through-
when it fades, it comes back stronger.
You hold every particle of oxygen between the gaps of your teeth
keeping me on the edge of my seat because I can't breathe until you speak.
Us verses the world or you against me,
something needs to break so we can rebuild it.
A rock isn't eternal, it erodes and the roads in every city
have heard someone cry at least once in their lonely lives.
Destroy the foundation, build up from the bottom.
Stick roses in guns and worship each other.
That's enough.

Do we not dream of places where the dead are no longer dead and faces are easily changed from person to person.
The rain may be nothing more than our hopes crashing around us.
Maybe it soaks us.
Maybe your tears mix with the rain and become your fears crashing along with your hopes.
So you run. You run as fast as you can.
And your sweat pours out and falls with the rain and the tears.
Let your sweat be your guide.
Let it be your rage aginst this world.
Let it be life.
Let your dreams fill with hope and fear and rage.
Flood this world with it and drown.
Drown and life and become whole.

There are pins and needles in my feet made of guilt and cheap *****,
bits of me are missing left in kisses and paint
                                            everything else I put my heart into
too early and yanked it right back out
too quickly. I'd make promises like icicles pressed hard to my tongue
as if it wouldn't melt. The tissues in my dorm were used up
before forget-me-not's toppled  to the floor,
the dirt strewn on my slippers that I just threw out
and left the mess there for weeks
stayed in bed above it all,
acupuncture can't cure this ache. Pumping my stomach can't empty
what is already empty. It's like a quarter on a string placed in a vending machine.
I get what I want and leave
with exactly what I came with
and more. But on rare occasions the coin is left on the floor.
I don't bother to pick it up because maybe it belongs there,
dancing among dust bunnies and clumps of hair.
There are needles underneath the first layer of skin on my fingertips
and they don't hurt. It's a feeling of uneasiness like a knot
in the chain of my necklace. I'll work it out later.
Pro-cras-tin-ation. You are the crab on an aluminum can, a moon lit with moths
a ninety year old man who burnt down his house from lighting too many candles.
Take it all in
                      for yourself.
It's not selfish, it's right. Because the sun burns the top of my head
even when my body is cold. Without you in my presence, my own hand I will hold
to cross the street.
Don't count your blessings until your hand is around their necks
so they have no way to escape without suffocation.