Maybe if I twist my cigarette a little more,
I can shift the world.

Maybe if I can just look you in the eye,
I can let you in my mind.

Maybe if you touch my hand a little bit,
the snow would melt off my fingertips.

My skin is a little chilly, ice-ridden,
you might just get frost-bitten.

But the fire in your eyes,
tells me where your intentions lie.

I'm in the mood for someone,
someone like you.

You're handsome.
And I like your style.
If only, that was all I wanted.

The anticipation of tasting you on my tongue is tantalizing all of my neurons

Firing my synapses sharply while I wait for you to come to me, hungrily

I'm not used to feeling so fixated on a fixture in space, not one with a face

But your fingers make music, mine make words, so lets get together and

burn, burn, burn.

I
just
need
a
hug
that
lasts
forever
and
ever
and
ever.
Warmness
that
soaks
through
one
body
to
another.

Nothing is a sadder sight to me
To see a business with empty windows
The blue building I pass by every day
With the once solid stairs only marked by a paint print
The man in the yellow jacket and the American flag shirt
Even though America is why he is walking on worn down shoes
320 on moffet, dilapidated apartments & hollow doorways
Nothing is a sadder sight to me
The blinking open sign that flickers, only welcoming ghosts
The boy who gets off the bus stop alone, walking by it without a glance
With his back pack strung tiredly over his shoulder
The universal feeling of not fitting in still fresh in his memory
The field of grass, deserted
A cemetery of parts & wheels & headlights & people's once dream machines
Nothing is a sadder sight to me
The lady who lives on 2nd near the sewer drainer
With hoards of stuffed animals waving from inside the windows
As she sits under the awning surrounded by them, smoking a cigarette with trembling fingers
The girl driving with her hands tightly gripping the steering wheel
Grinding her teeth as she watches the people she sees while on the road
Blinks slowly, as she knows home is where she is alone
But she'd rather see this road side sadness then the blank television screen
Nothing is a sadder sight to me
And she screams
As she crashes into a tree
The man in the yellow jacket turns his head
The boy's back pack falls to the ground
The women leaps up, her plush lifeless friends tumbling around her
The building are silent, remorseful
Nothing is a sadder sight to see

The teenager side,
and the adult side
of me,
clash,
oh so very,
*un-casually.

I cracked my ribcage open.
Finding a pomegranate in the center.
I pulled it out, ever so slowly.
Cut it open right down the middle.
Ate all the little seeds,
Filled with little screams.
My fingers stained red.
And very ******.
Then I realized,
it was the heart of
Persephone.
*And she was me.

Love isn't real
It never was
Why? Because

There isn't really any significance in our attempts
The sweater's string is being pulled as we continue to knit

But the string is unraveling and we are left only cold
The pasta on our plate is nothing but an appealing fake

So our bellies are empty and our shoulders are shivering
We lay there limply as we are slowly wrapped in our own string

Wrists and ankles bound by unfulfilled and color-coded dreams
An S & M horror show in the sheets with life, us, & we

Dancing like a jerky ballerina, eyes glazed over now
We used to know how to walk and talk, but we've forgotten how

So as puppets we are told that we are not cold nor hungry
And that everything is fine and everything is as it seems

So we smile, thinking our wooden houses can make us happy
We don't notice that everything is painted the same color

Or girls and boys look exactly like their fathers and mothers
And we are just waiting to be piled onto the dead heap

Of broken toys and broken dreams that sometimes plagues our deep sleep
That feeling when you get really sad sometimes, that's what that is

So cut your strings, and think some things, breathe out as human again
The puppeteer has no time to hear of a few strings snapping

He has his hands full keeping down the human spirit, you know?
And when he's sleeping, cut off his fingers and his little toes

I know you are worried because you are tiny and alone
But he can't do anything if he has nothing to control

If the blade is still ******, do not clean any of it off
Use the blood and blade to cut the strings and soak their wood awash

Wood stained red, breathe life again, their eyes light up with words unsaid
And the lonely alabaster trees are swaying in the breeze

Red streamers tied to the branches to signify what is free

If only someone really had the courage to cut the strings
*I could go for the gritty, teeth-biting, ******, anarchy.

When you awake in the morning,
everything is the same.
The white flowers are still white flowers,
and the grass is still green.
You're monsters are still as mean as they've ever been.
And no solace comes from that,
I know.
I've felt it,
but I try not to let it show.
So,
what to do?
I'm going to take you dear,
by the morning sun.
A garden is where,
I'm pulling you.
Though you can't get close,
pull in closer.
Give in to your monsters.
And you and I,
we'll dig up the beating red beast that is your heart.
And if it's empty,
please don't tear it apart.
I'll fill it, fill it full,
with a million murmurs translated onto paper.
You can look at them more closely later.
Tuck it in your pocket,
right next to where half of mine lies.
And let go of loneliness,
as we lay in the grass,
and become part of our own wilderness.

*The flowers grew through their eyes and it was beautiful, as flowers tend to be.

You're at the bottom of this bottle
I think I'll find you when it's empty
And if you're not there hiding
I'll toss back another and another
Until you're sitting down there for me, waiting

Your fingers curl around the remote
Your eyes are vacant and sad

Once a bustling busy body
Moving at the speed of light

Disease has crept into your limbs
Striking hard towards the core

Spiraling out in lovely veins
Red and ready for the taking

Legs that deny you what you most want
Your body betrays your mind

Mother.
Mom.
Mommy.
Where did you go?
And why won't you come back?
This shell you are now.
That's not you.
Come back.
Please.

Human emotion is a beautiful thing
Cherish that you can feel
Love that you can love and hate
And be consumed by feelings
Because it's something that should
Be appreciated & cherished
It's something that is wonderful.

'The good writers touch life often
The mediocre ones run a quick hand over her
The bad ones **** her and leave her for the flies'

-Ray Bradbury

It's sleeting
And all I can do is keep on thinking
Smoke used to look so lovely
Light grey and twirling
But I took a photo of me
It was spilling out of my mouth
And it looked dark as night
I picked up my pack
And on the front
Black against white
In big letters
It read DEATH
I opened it up
My fingers chilled
And shaking
And started breaking
Each cigarette
Toss them on the ground
I start to turn away
But then I glance back
I'm weak
I pick them up
And tape them
Back together
Sometimes it reaches
It's peak
And then it dips
Back down
And I come back
Around & light
Another one up

Riding waves of alcohol tendrils
Whiskey, ***, and scotch swirls
Articulate veins full of chardonnay
The moonshine always leads the way
Hands grasping at empty time
The sea is stained so red with wine
Grab my wrist and pull me out
Or listen to me drown and shout
I am indifferent to it all
I'm going to fall,
And fall
and
*fall.

I ask every man,
'Can you love me?'
They always say no
But then again,
I say it under my breath
And I only hear their answer
In the wind

How sad of me,
A tragic little girl
*Am I.