you told her
scars are there to be a reminder
that she once survived
death (and won)

but she knew
deep in her heart,
those gashes on her wrists
are there to remind her
that she once wished for
death (but failed)

I dip into the black scribbles in my mind
Jot it all down, scrawled out, erratically written
Bold, italicize, tangled, underline
My voice shatters in shambles, so I write because nobody listens
And the light behind your eyes flicker like candles
And my hands and head and heart stiffen
Your lips loosen and lift me, omnipotent like ***** and lithium
You wrap a string around my finger so I do not go missing
Because I fill from the inside with helium
The frame, feeling, flavor, follows me, lingers, always living

I keep aware of the dry crusted cup covering me, trapping me and my thirsty dreams, sealed, and the glass is the kind not clear not sure, what is on the other side. My palms fit flatly against the surface and my ear presses against the silence, searching for a tone deeper than my own shy scrawny voice. Because I talk in memories and in daydreams and my words are so muffled while passing by those purposely planned for now junkies. They toss their names into the air too urgently and I mistaken their desperate greetings for a sharp goodbye. Inside this cup I can see perfectly their whole lives ironically strict and guided. Their critical hard hearts that carefully ration its beats each day at a time, scared of losing their spontaneity; and I feel a certain kind of sarcastic love for those constant people that stumble and scatter their hopes and desires, spread thinly, threaded loosely. Their cups are cold and wet and they are jet black satisfied. My fingers curl into tight fists, white knuckles, knocking on the china glass, china cup. I only wish it would crack and collapse, puncture a hole to peer in through. Tiny cuts skim across my hands, the skin is breaking and the cup with its taunting fits of laughter, covets me completely. Bang bam deep boom, tap tap, crack, just crack, a small crack, to compensate for my suffocating reality.

You were as stealthy as a slow gas leak, by the time i knew i was in love with you, i had succumbed to you. You were in the drivers seat of my car lighting a cigarette with the windows up so i could breathe you in. I quit smoking so your secondhand smoke was all you would allow. I watched as you brought the cigarette to your lips and dragged in as if your life depended on it. It was your third one today and i told you that you should stop, maybe breathe me in for a second. Do you know what i would give to become second hand smoke from your lips? All you would have to do is kiss me and i would vanish into thin air, become a noble gas in the periodic table but there is nothing noble about the element of disappearance. I have been shrinking away from you ever since you held my hand in that convenience store a year ago. I'm trying to convince myself to get over you because all i am to you is someone to **** slowly through your second hand smoke. I never knew I could get so addicted to nicotine until it came from under your tongue. When you're gone, it's hard for me to breathe which doesnt make sense because when youre here my lungs are filled with your sweet black tar. But you will be gone for months when you leave in two weeks. You said you'd write to me, but written words can't carry your second hand smoke. You can't build a home out of a human being, but that doesn't mean i cant find a home in your bed.

The bullet was made by an expert
discovered when removed.
At the autopsy of a young guy
one of several just arrived.
Not a gang war it was known
but a ****** working alone.

The public scared out of their wits
the police under pressure.
Three dead this boy the latest victim
attacks in varied locations.
Was it by somebody from the military
an expert with a unique ability.

No clues was not good to hear
the public afraid to be here.
Tall buildings made them easy targets
when would the next strike be.
Though summer the temperature cold
through information they trolled.

As another victim was gunned down
more evidence was found.
Two teenagers saw a man with a case
get into a city works van.
Contacting with what they had seen
a new image came on the screen!

Every law officer was instantly alerted
a face found to fit description.
An ex soldier with traumatic stress
caution the critical word.
Quickly a sighting was received
the entire force relieved.

A gun battle ensued policemen hurt
not killed in the line of duty.
A swat team eventually shot him dead
in a disused ammunition factory.
News soon spread of the snipers demise
the gloom factor began to rise.

You can never argue with a bullet!

The Foureyed Poet.

I see the grey over Reno, From my window on top of my mind, The greycast feels over this town, Like fingers of gold feeling a head, As the down is placed down, Its fall and winter intertwined, And its on everybody's mind, We all here for reasons we don't want to say, So we all stay, Looking at the lights, and the vacation, We look at them like a ****** looks at *******, Full of wonder and hope, Yet outside our grey place we wouldn't beable to cope, "its raining in Reno and it won't ever stop", Said the ***** to the cop, As the sun began to rise, A poet writes, A knowitall admits it lost it's love during the fall, A singer and business man on a teenager lookout fumble nervously with buttons and zippers, While a Cinderella wonders how hell find her without loosing her slipper, A lover looks at her lust through the oversized windows on the bus, An awkward kid stays awake, wondering if he could be smooth, A girl with beautiful eyes, walks down the street with headphones playing jazz, A honest man question his lies, And an old woman and a young actor are singing a tune long dead, But they can't get each other out their head, All looking at the grey, Almost to say, Its always going to be this way