I built for you
(another nightmare).

goodness,
is your heart still broken?

I consider your names from time to time
and fall under in wonder,
if the syllables were just an uttering-reach
for your attention,
or if they were failed attempts at catching
amusements-daze for your entertainment.
my sound waves wanted to cradle your letters,
to give you the alphabet in symphonies
harmonious with my admiration for you
and all I thought you stood for.

you flipped me on my stomach,
face down
trying to muffle the sound of my love,
what pain!
trying to force me not to love so loud.
I felt less than proud to
pull you out and leave you empty,
wishing, for once, not to be so untouched.

your passion for passing opportunities
to prove yourself worth the patience
was the only thing you held onto
when I opened my arms.
your touch no longer comfort,
more infectious and breathtaking
in a wind knocking your lungs down into your guts sort of way,
with all your broken promises jutting into my rib cage,
shredding the butterfly wings that used to arise that love-sick shutter
until I'm sick of love and left with blinds
that leave me to mutter about the darkness.

you were a creature of great wonder in the lack of light,
the shadows painting angels wings
sprouting from the backside of your heart
shooting through your spine,
your halo shining so bright that I lost my concentration,
I took a second look and lost my path
in a concentrated dose of your praise,
witnessed the sin seeping through your skin
as you sweat and soon there was nothing left
but the sound of your breath and the words
and the words and the words and the sickness
came creeping in like a crash.

your wings melt in the daylight
your teeth rot in your cheeks
halo crooked and eyes clamped tight
you sleep because you're too weak to speak
to another human being face to face
and from your face sprouted flowers made of meat
but the bees stung me when it was time to eat.

guilty by association.
guilty of procreation tendencies with absolutely no intention
of creating anything but distance from the wreckage.
broken hearts are broken bones
are breaking our breaking
we've broken apart and my heart
it has been shielded, restored into a beating,
living, loving organism.

for someone who wanted so badly to play the part of jesus,
you sure didn't pray enough, laugh enough or heal enough.
you didn't even try.

you were a wreck that I couldn't withstand,
a self-imposed torture,
because the thrill of losing everything
was too intoxicating to escape.

you were a right handed lover
and a left hand driver
with a ******* and not much else to say
with all that anger in your heart,
with all that hatred in your bones,
you will tear at your flesh to dig deeper
to try and understand something that's already been explained,
as all who once loved you will watch you rot away.

silver tongue city slicker
stay at home in your cabinet
don't come calling or knocking
it's too shocking: I'm thankful.

most positively,
I am free,
because without the wreck
there wouldn't have been anything to feel at all.

lightning pulses through my pitch
strike me with your presence, stitch
the gaping ridges of the aftermath.

dark, is my prism.
weak, is my shell.
loss, is my repetition.

my gaze is shallow water
as the sun begins to bend.

when nothing grows, we hunt each other.
attempting satisfaction of the flesh, we eat meat.
carnivorous campers hiking through hail, we retreat.

parting clouds,
beams,
breaking through our moisture.
the rays build our spirits to cast
shadows.
evening arrives.

flames draw our photographs
and we're captured in thought.
candid sweetness, through darkness we fought.

today is the first rain since those memories
and everything I swore I couldn't feel last
winter comes rushing, swinging limbs,
swinging branches and I'm barreled.
all boxed up in the lack of things.
swinging gently before the snap,
my body descends
as I open my wings for flight
there's no surprise in my eyes
as the past repeats itself for I am
punished by gravity every time
I surrender to survive.

education:  takes my motivation
                           and squelches it.
                    plummets me deep
within the caverns of responsibility.

the fight for pleasure without pain.
taken aback and washed up ashore,
what's more? I'm buried.

chippin' rocks at last
sunrise 'till sunset, convenient lover
conventional friend.

at each beginning I sense our end.
each tattered piece of your broken heart is clenched,
your muscles aching.
bleeding and blended into a bitter batter, what's the mater?
you haven't always been this tender.

you shiver in your regret
the tension's in your sweat
and I bet you're not as sick as I was
when I felt you beside me when I was all alone

your arms were a death bed
reaching around my shoulder blades.
not a moment until the understanding
pulses and fades as your love
shimmers and dissipates.

comfort kills this fragile figure
rotten molten black lunged angel,
I fear the moment I can no longer
feel that you are unlimited in your tender form.

porcupine, devil's receptionist,
your splinters are aching again.
manifested figure, you are alien.
more so are your actions.

I am thoroughly impressed
by the displays of your affections
boldly handing them to me,
so rudely beautiful, and my limbs
are too shocked for movement.

each layer within me shifts,
black goes grey, blue goes green,
brown goes red and gold, weeds
become sunflowers, the ground below
us begins to heave, volcanoes splinter
and split down their middles, ridges
of lava gasping for air, bubbling, black to grey to white
to blue and purple fire. sweat, we sweat but we don't catch flame.
sweat, and I am liquid at last.

sweet,
considering possibilities,
shuffling my vocabulary like cards in a deck,
preparing myself for the most difficult game life could offer,
preparing myself in tender fragments of flaky crystal.
words become thin glass in my mind, and I
begin to feel the cuts in my throat, 
climbing up my tongue trying to create some movement,
even if that movement is pain.

movement has suddenly shook my bones out of their choke hold.
I gasp for air, grasp on to what you hold out.
your outline against my insides at last, your third eye cracked open
and I see behind and through the meshing that takes place. I see so
much that I am blind, torn with black and white.

I close my eyes with good intention:
I am black.
more dark than thorn roofed ships,
smashing against waves made of shadow.
I open my eyes with impression and find you white.
more white than the ghosts in my bones,
winter shivers back with thoughts of you.
I close my eyes with good intention.

I tire more and more
my head weighs down
with all the color.
I want no more black or white.

you tire more and more
your head weighed down
by holding your colors in.

we become tectonic
and all goes grey.

ashes of what we felt that day
aches of what we did

morning reaches my empty lids,
you've taken all I could say with
your silence. a plague. a bartenders keep.
I saw you again before the moon,
I even saw you standing beneath it's reflection,
staring.

I wake to push the sunrise back,
peeling my face from dreams
reality beams as my passage.
light storms through the peace,
questions arise, flooding in.
mourning commences routinely
as we find ourselves in the rapids.

white rocks, rocks that look as if they might explode.
rocks of your eyes, as they change color.
trees as your arms, with mountains for scars.

raw skies that break
and bellow
as they laugh with us.

leaving minds, we sift with fevered hesitation.
gently crippling for a quick ****, the catch
was almost effortless as my mouth became
a staircase. as I watched everything I wanted
ascend with my assistance, I realized no more
of it was for me and there was no more I could take.
No more that I could want.

desires chants no longer engulfing this fragile figure,
transparency threaded through the thick and soon
this figure became no longer lace, no longer tender.
this figure molds, meshes with the recess atmosphere
and dissipates into structures too bold for distinction.