They scheme in the shadows of who they might hope to be.
Studying their weaknesses and teaching themselves how to live in solitude.
No one to worry about except for the self.
There's no weight to bare apart from ones own guilt.

Stay in the shadows,
For the light will only burn your eyes.

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.

Tripping on your wires
tangling myself in you.

Touching:
your skin:
so sweet
so soft,
so tender:
smooth as milk.

You shine up at me
like a thousand stars
your light strips me raw.

Soft as grass
sweet as sugar
you will be my only lover.

you always said smoking would **** me,
but I never knew you meant it would be karma for stealing cigarettes from my mom.
I cut the pizza into thin pieces,
so I wouldn't feel bad when I said I ate three.
I was going to rhyme home with phone, but they don't rhyme,
and I was going to quote some famous person,
but I don't know any famous people,
so I couldn't ask permission.

Last night, you said you would call,
but you didn't.
I feel fine because I didn't feel like talking anyway.

So, uhh, when you get this,
just know I called because I knew you were gonna call,
and I wanted you to know I'm not mad.

ok, bye.

your words are the dirt on my skin

I want you to tell me how you feel until I cry.
I don't think it's fair
to make you describe how it feels to be human.

I can feel the disappointment seeping through your fingers.
I bet they're shaking, and I bet your head is too.

I know better not to expect anything,
but I do it anyway.

With bad news,
comes another shot of whiskey,
and new standards.

I can't touch my face because my hands smell like popcorn
and I can't paint my nails because the smell is too strong.
I keep dancing with my arms and my head while I sit in my chair,
and I keep thinking it's okay, but I know it's not.
I want to paint a picture and tape a cats head onto a humans body,
and I want to light it on fire and take a picture of you naked and send it as a postcard to my best friend, (that I sort of have a thing with).
I'm not sure how many times I've called you this past week,
probably none, considering I don't like talking to you, (especially on the phone).
I'm not even sure if I remember your phone number or not, the numbers just keep mixing up in my head and then I end up calling my hair dresser or the pizza place down the street, (you know the one, with the salad bar that we never eat from).
I don't want to have to keep this up any more, I just want to put white out on those things I said and write over it with something funny or beautiful.
I don't want to have to worry about making the bed either, because it's really hard when you do it by yourself.
So please don't make me leave another message,
pick up the phone and tell me you love me already,
wait,
I don't want you to say it unless you mean it,
so just,
call me back.

I pull my hair out
I punch my legs
I teach myself how to scream
and think, "calm down. this isn't you."

how long have you been inside?
because I'm just now noticing you.

a day of chalk
and bruises.
your strength is flexible
I am curious how much
effort I have lost in thoughts of greatness
rather than making that greatness reality.

words have me in their throat
I can't help but scream with them.

I didn't wake up last night, not once.
It was a miracle and I woke up to blood,
which was also a miracle.

I threw cotton on my back,
I got caught on the door ****,
I thought I taught myself how to move,
guess not.

I sorted bottles from lowest to highest
I sorted ideas, just the same (how useful).

Using my tongue seems inevitable today
opening my throat, I'll talk to myself while I look others in the eye.
I'll let them know how I'm doing in robotic undertones
and wish I could bring the real conversation out every time.

It's too personal to know how someone really feels. It's too dramatic.
Love & ignorance & arrogance & waiting & chasing & giving up
trying to get over what you can't change,
about others & about yourself.

If this and because of that and you should have because I couldn't
and backwards again because I keep forgetting to breathe through the stress
that I inflict upon myself, so I choose another infliction and risk an infection.
You're not a disease but this won't last forever. I'm feeling like a tug of war tease
that can't stop begging for attention, although I can't seem to hold my own.

I've got a key to an open door and yet still I stand
with my frame in it's frame wishing for another
frame to place myself in. Maybe even hang myself,
suspension at it's finest. The elevation of my image might **** me,
so I'll save that trick for the dead and wait my turn like everybody else.

Take my number and count me out
ring me out like a wet rag and then
let me try and help you in other ways.

The graveyard was twilight and the fox was silent.
I was chalk-based chemicals, caffeinated and drinking, still.
He was worried about the unborn, our talking was a storm.
Emotions running wild through my speech, I wanted to shut up
but couldn't help speak. That happiness got me laughing, and it
got him a little too.
The madness was my walk to the car
but it didn't end when I got there.  

I kept on thinking like I like to.
I kept on talking like I like to.
Then I fell apart
because the most positive fact
that I will be alone forever.
The small pieces of chapped skin
which I ate off my lips
soon became a reflection
of how although I'm not always okay,
I will be after a good amount of pain.
Something shy of heartache shouldn't fall so deeply
for someone whose attention is so easily caught by
the seemingly unimportant. Something shy of heartache
shouldn't pay so much attention to the moment when
they finally hit the bottom of that abyss they fell into.

Something shy of heartache
and I'm turning into a ghost,
a shell of a baby that has the
ability to speak with knives
even though they're too afraid
to hold them, because they know
they'll just hurt themselves like forever.

I want to shut up about forever and give myself now.

I'm feeling lonely and I'm feeling raw, keep making fun of me.
I want to crawl back into the blue from which I came,
where everything was dark.
Ever since I've seen this light I've become increasingly more blind,
I'm torn in all decisions, keeping myself weak.
I'm buried in my own self too deep.
It's time to climb. I believe in myself this time, unlike the others (which aren't important).

Success is inevitable.

I'd rather not do anything today.
leave my plans to figure themselves out
let them forget about me, no more missing.
I'd like to excuse myself from today's torturous repetition.

It's all my fault, admittance of solitude!
what happened to the practice of things I care about?
my cares have shifted, hearts been lifted, yet there's something
still missing: Motivation.

ahhhh, no more worries.
ahh, why should I?

blueberries
raspberries
blackberries
feed me cherries
I'm feeling daring
shut out of caring
music's blaring
strawberries
peaches
nectarines
you're in my dreams
morphing right in front of me
moonlight dusted, coarse,
untrusted.
tip tap toeing
tip tap
tipping over and drizzling,
sizzling steam
let me scream
because
no one is listening

a croaking fetus
blessing sneezes
he's here to release us
calls himself: jesus.

where have these beautiful situations gone to?
(we never realized how much control we had).

I can't write about the shadows if I'm fighting them.

These sentences seem to drag out
grow and curl
(like finger nails)
  (like hair).

Happiness can be
more beautiful than sadness,
but depression is where some of us belong.

I am camille for real I'm awesome

shaking your hand like it's the first time I'm meeting you
and every piece of me feels like cement, frozen and heavy.
my arms find their way around your shaking frame, if you were a wind storm
then maybe you could fly away,
but you just look at me from the corner of your eye,
thinking so loud
you're afraid
I might catch
what you mean

what do you mean?
the silence
you stress
between your fingers makes me want to open my mouth
and sing.
already I can feel you
coming in and out
in and out
and out and out and out
and in
and out of my mind
my imagination.

gaining a loss, the loss is a gain
because of what you use to fill the empty space that remains
we're destroying our brains
no no no no no no
we're expanding Out out out more and more and more
more give me
less than you give yourself
you deserve
more than flowers deserve crowns
and kings deserve flowers.
I want
to                  make
             you
smile.

i cry about you sometimes but im never gonna tell you.
i don't try and hide the tears: no one notices.
try and be a little more polite, look at yourself and let the beauty you reflect absorb, rather than bounce off.
get off get up get on get in get OFF get UP get ON get IN
gimme gimme gimme gimme gimme your heart
lemme lemme lemme lemme give you mine

she thought you were desperate
but she was too needy, and she left you greedy
but the wounds that are bleeding teach us how to feel.
You drop on one knee in front of him, hoping that he'll
put his hand on the other one to tell you: everything's going to be okay.
she felt so much but it's all lost.
I'm an upsidedown cross
     trying to forgive you.

I'd like for you to be different.
It's easy to imagine,
but you're the farthest thing from simple.

I stare at my hands like an overweight, under estimated teen would look at their legs,
waiting from them to shrink.

You're filling in the empty spots, so that I don't have to.

I glare at the stars as if I could time travel one thousand years into the future, and enjoy the darkness that comes after explosions.

You're the color, bursting rays of light from your lips to my neck, where my skin absorbs all the words you never knew how to say.

I bite my lips like they won't bleed, even though I know they will, remembering teeth are beautiful, but they're sharp.

You're waisting your time trying to forget about me.

I talk too much about myself, but I don't care, because who doesn't?

Nothing could be worse
than waking up with your eyes sewn shut
from an ex-lover
with bad grammar
and a horrible taste in music.
From an ex-lover
that you still think about
but you don't know why.

Nothing can be worse
than a chunk of sour apple
logged in your throat,
in a room full of armless people
with no names,
(which wouldn't matter if they did
because they wouldn't be able to help
anyway).

Nothing will be worse
than trying to examine yourself
under a microscope,
with everyone you ever knew
watching and laughing.
Staring at you like an animal.

Nothing was worse
than saying goodbye
ten days before you left,
ignoring your calls,
your knocks,
your notes.

Nothing is worse than falling out of love.

My friends mean ***** business
when it comes down to the bottle.
I want to share what I've brought,
for I brought it to be given.
Yet it seems all these people rest uneasy,
and tonight I'll join them.

Corpse hands lost her sight
perhaps it' 'cause she lost her mind
in tryin' to find what's beneath the rhyme,
rather
than enjoying the movement language can take.
Speech
is technique of the tongue.

I've been spending time trying to see how far mine can take me
if it's enough to raise me and if it does, how long will it be until
it breaks me?

'Cause I can't seem to learn enough words,
and the ones I already know are too many.

Is there a structure to look up these feelings in a dictionary?

I find that not knowing how to say what I feel is lash back
side-effect of not being able to find the words to explain
anything that's going on, inside of me, outside of me,
much less what's inside of you
or perhaps what it is that I could do.

When it comes down to doing there's too much to do.
I find myself stuck with expectations and goals that I give myself
that I'll never live up to. Yet I keep surprising myself all just the same.

When it comes to the Self
there is no way to explain,
living, breathing, kissing,
stealing, loving, cheating,
you're going to transition,
so **** it.

Just be yourself, whoever that is,
and your friends will love you no matter what.
If they don't, then they're not your friends.

Keep your mind, heart, and soul open,
for this seemingly never-ending cycle is happening for all of us.

here's hoping the eye of the storm
will direct it's way towards yours,
but mostly,
that it holds warmth.

In the beginning:

I'm not sure if you understand,
but you're smiling

wound up into a new universe
tangled in the sheets of all the things we're learning,
we are eaten up by nothing.
the sun explodes.
the moon rises amongst
the ashes:
labeled snow.

It's not the end of the world,
it's the middle.
I never knew of a place more beautiful.

time: it's pulping.

'I love you,' she whispered through
her closed eyelids;
and as the light did every morning,
along with perfect lips to one another,
the cat approached.

bukowski taught me to let go of feelings
except
to also feel as much as you can.
I, however, cannot help but do what I've been taught.

only to my demise.
I'm going to keep ******* up, but I'm too afraid to be alone.
I feel alone, but know certain decisions will leave me completely alone
..in the heart.
I know I don't make sense but I'm trying really hard to explain.

..earlier today, after crying, I went into the kitchen with intentions
of conversation about what's been eating me, there were tools of pain
which I placed upon my flesh,
I didn't break through it.
I wanted to bleed
but it wasn't worth it.

what does that say?

perhaps I'm growing
perhaps it's not enough

I'm not sure why, but my heart is a wrench
and although it's a tool, I can't seem to find how to use it.

I cannot resist
when a movement
for a kiss
granted me a soft touch
from his sweet lips.
when I am an inch
from his finger tips
stretching out
and intertwined
together better
than hip to hip
(baby making *******).
my mind couldn't create
anything greater than this,
he's something to miss,
no gaze better than his.

Rejection stings me like a bee, I'm frightened.
My heart has lost it's wings
condemned to return to its cave of shards.
My weapon has been buried in the leaves that you hid in the forest
And I'm struggling to find a color that matches my insight.
Or have I lost not only what is yours, but what is mine?

Reviving the self that is so desperate to hide
that it does nothing but hide in this pathways struggles.
I'm lost in your ruffles.

Friendship has bounds and the binds are what you're afraid to break.
I'm not alone
if this is a mistake.
All I want is to give in to what helps me create.
You call it lust while I experience it as fate.

I say I want someone to hold me
yet there's something underneath my wanting that you translate.
You show me the fear so clearly that even my communication dissipates.
I can't see what's ahead of me, simply what surrounds me,
and even though half of what I see displeases me, there's no way I can see it releasing me.

I must release myself from this madness, a yielding I'm timid to accept.

You've entered my insight and helped me to extend my mind.

I would love to find someone with the same stack of books on their bed-side table,
the ones they should be reading, but never do,
they're just too busy,
and they keep buying more,
adding to the stack.

I wouldn't mind drinking tea from a jar everyday,
the kind that you'd set in the sun to soak the day away.
I'd watch you from the window,
you'd smile and wave,
******* kisses,
the kisses that made me feel ***** when I woke up.

I would watch you fold the laundry
with your delicate hands,
all the time wishing you were folding me,
not caring about the neighbors,
or that the blinds were open.

I wouldn't dare give away those books,
the ones that we read together,
but I'd sell the ones you let me borrow that I never read,
I'll stuff them in my backpack and sell them for a buck a piece,
I bet you'll be sorry you left,
when you're missing those books,
those quotes,
I'll bet you'll be sorry,
when you're missing me.

my wolf is yet a plague of thought,
again I am consumed by loves gentle rock.
the more it shields me from the stench of my rot,
I remember all I once forgot.

no one has caught my heart,
in fact,
I think it's torn apart
so raw, the tragedy of desire
the smoldering fire of blue flames
burn my love into a smoke,
which I inhale with the attempt
to recycle and filter out all the hurt I've caused.

to myself
to others
and for no one.

a romantic dying hard
trying not to escape the truth
while at the same time trying not to create any lies.

time slip
             p   i
               n
                        g
through my fingers.
words w   w w
o  o      o   r words
words   r
d       d    d        s
   s            s
                  pouring
from my mouth.

three children catching fish in a pond
with an empty coke bottle, annoyance
at their little voices, "Not like that!"
"Let me catch it!"

victory in death to create their own peace.

the day was too shy for me to face myself
(excuses, reasons, call them as you see them,
  even if it's hard to look at things you don't like).
unpleasant thoughts surround me, there's nothing I can do,
except to remove the things that eat away, that keep me eating:
gluttony grabs hold, depressions wits (it knows if it drags me deeper
                                                          ­     then it'll probably get to stay).
sickness finds it's way through neglected troubles.
standing up to yourself for yourself is the beginning,
once you stand up to others is when you start to move forward.
patience, love, empathy, communication, assertion, emotion, fear:
let it flow: all complimentary, opposite and in between.
thrashing does you no good,
it simply sends you under.

I want to stick my head under and get a taste,
float on my back and breathe in fresh air,
avoid holding onto anything so as not to disturb what might need change,
enjoy what is here, be thankful for what was, and welcome what comes.

I see myself best when outside myself,
too deep into thought and the ruts become unavoidable.

life is good.

perception shift
a swift lift into another dimension.
tangled vines, chord, cord, record each step
to a picnic in the mountains.
the back of this van feels much larger
than my bladder, and my grip on what to say
removed everything I wanted to complain,
this liquid is a drain.

my record at paying attention
is unusually retreating this evening.
lack of thoughts spilled out all over your kitchen floor.
hidden shame in the cheeks of a burning face,
pounding heart faster than pounding drums
so I stick to a hum and try not to walk on the carpet.

trying to be careful
while trying not to care at all

I can't sing serious.

ice cold as the stones
from the road in the winter, frozen cold.

bare feet on blacktops
make everything sad!
walking on ladder swings
make everything confusing!

dont know what to say, dont give a ****.

close your eyes
lose yourself in the jump
clip off your nails
and sew on some teeth
eating all the people
with knees and trees
and bees.

hot wax on fingertips
reminds me of your lips.

all of these shades of
black and white wake me up
in such a ****** mood.

want to get out
want to get in
want to move away
from here.

I am a master,
but I'm not the creator.
I'll spell it our for you
but I wont explain it.
I'll paint you a picture
but I wont show it to you.

I'll walk in your door
just to walk  out,
give you an adjective
and take away the verbs

fingers tight
lips loose
feet going for fast
I'll erase your face.

somethingtomakemedisappear
to
make
me
disappear.
if you're pregnant: shoot yourself.
              hoping: tell God to stop looking in the mirror
for the answers.
I know, that if you cut from the top of the skull
             and ***** left, you'll see clearly what you hide from
and whatever it was you called your reflection: will lose it's meaning faster than

saying goodbye.
                                                  "but I've just met you"
"he jumped in front of the train for her"                        "a last request"
       STOP LOOKING AT ME.                   "he's dead" "he's dead" "he's dead" ...in your eyes
in your eyes in your eyes in your eyes in your eyes in your eyes
stop changing color                  listenlistenlistenLISTENlistenlisten
can you hear yourself thinking? quick, write it down if it's important.
think more.         read it until you've got it memorized and then take off your clothes
stare: this is your body, this is your sweat, those are your bruises: take pictures
take pictures of moments to make those moments last, be happy because you're young
be still. BE still. "I'll hold your arms down"
"it was awful, I couldn't move"           "I don't care what you think about me, I just want you to know that"
unfinished, interupted, slow motion sentences that stick in your hair like honey
and your upper lip lifted when you said it.
                               and you said it, you said it, you said it


and I didn't believe a word.
                                            Say it again because I missed it.
say it again, you're so quiet.
you ******!
                 come closer.
you spirit, stop spitting, I know what it feels like:

                      and if you can relate, it's no excuse for the things you do yourself.

She kept talking about the blood,
how it fell, how it wouldn't stop.
She believed in it so sincerely that you could feel it in her skin
and the way she held your face so that you couldn't look away.
It scared you how she could speak so beautifully,
how easily she could persuade you to follow her,
no matter where she went.

In her dreams, nothing could be more real.
The sarcastic smiles, casual conversations.
Everyone she touched, someone new,
someone she'd never seen before.
Never bothering to learn their names,
they weren't as important as their bodies.
It was alright that she acted this way,
she never pretended to be something she wasn't.

The dirt underneath her nails,
that filled her pockets,
was from the beach.
She was always correcting him,
"Not sand, *******."
Always with a smile.
He would stare at her, and she would try to read his mind.
She'd tickle him, but he'd shake her off,
she'd try to hold him, but he'd slip out of her grasp.

Anger: consumed.
She grabbed the broom, tied a shirt to her head,
jumped onto the table, (knocking his breakfast onto the floor),
"My dimples are waiting!" She screamed.
He stared at her like he had never seen her before.
She'd never gotten that look, not even the first time he saw her,
he'd always known her, (somehow).
Her face dropped, as did her body.
(and the table shook as he watched her fall).
He stood up, expecting something.

Indifference: something terrifying when it comes to love.
They kissed as though it would be their last.
She was social, he liked that, and he tried to escape himself,
(she encouraged it).
They loved each other, enough to forget the world,
(but not quite).
They laughed together, so much that their ribs cracked,
(like his voice so often did).

It seemed like they were lost in each other,
and they were.
He would ask her questions,
but she wouldn't always answer.


Confusion: it's something they hated.
She spread her body on the table, and he undressed her.
(with that same expression)
They had never done this before, but they kept at it.
(he left the shirt on her head)
He made no move, he washed himself with her image.
(she loved it)
Sweeping up his breakfast, his eyes fixed on her.
(as always)
They both loved it.

I feel you like
                        slamming
                                doors.
I see you in
                    the same
                                shifting focus as
when I take off my glasses
                  too quick.
I hold you like I make
fifty                               dollars
                  a week.
                                                          "I miss you"
I scream into my pillow.
                                            "I miss you too" you whisper back
        in prayers
in dreams
                   in your arms wrapped around me
as I cry into your neck.

I want you here: you
                            tell me: I'm beautiful.
these slow steps that I'm taking (toward you)
(away from you) I'm learning your name
easier than cleaning a fish bowl
harder than saying it out loud
easier than writing it down
harder than taking birth control
or wanting to,
because I'm not interested in ***
at this age:
in this age I'm younger than those actions
older than those thoughts,
lost in a limbo, found swinging from a bar,
skipping down a street, turning down what I can't see
"no thank you"

I can hear you.
                              "I'm listening"
     I can't hear you.
"you're screaming"

your face,
                 in the mirror: "you're beautiful"
your face,
                    in the street: "I'm disgusting"

sincerely,
                because I know you're quiet when you're unhappy
because you're trying to tie knots with broken fingers
          because your eyes reflect blue in the shadows of your smile
because you're more than any fabric, soaked in any chemical thought
                                                                                                                    (or feeling)
because the islands of you create an escape better than the moon.

Sincerely, because you're you.

I said hello like I thought you'd notice (you didn't)
and for once I didn't feel like repeating myself.
*******, you helped me notice all the things I hated,
all the things I loved.
Kept me wanting change.
Detoxification of thought,
purification of the soul.

You speak in sentences that are based on creative-product output,
it seems you don't care if you make sense or not, 'cause nothing in
this world is trying to fit to you.
So, why try and fit to it?
Or at least that's what I perceive you to think.
I guess we could think better of each other in a healing space
if we're all touching each other with good intentions.

Yet it seems these fingers that reach you can't heal in the way they intend,
'cause this nervousness is stemming from the inappropriate feelings that root themselves
from my core. **** love, **** this feeling.

I want a love that doesn't make me wrong in someone else's eyes,
much less my own.  **** this feeling.

*******, you are beautiful.
You are something else,
someone that would smile at the thought that
this is about you.
*******, I can't stop saying the same things.

Keep me close, I've crept out of my hole
and I can't stand it alone.
I haven't even touched my water colors.

Too afraid to poison you with the truth,
too afraid to taint what is beautiful.

**** this feeling.
I want to.
**** this feeling.

I don't know how to react anymore
and I don't want to see or read
or feel these words anymore.

I'm back to:
numb
too far past cold to:
feel
too close to warm to:
go back.

I'm noticing pieces of me
that are pieces of you,
and pieces of him,
all bundled together in little buckets
and big buckets and zip-loc bags
and old mint tin cans,
see them spilling from your open spaces,
and hear them ringing in all of mine.
Mostly from the half of you that cares
or the half of you the matters because of it:
the deeply-colored-yet-rarely-touched,
the wide-spread-and-beggingly-waiting.
the almost-loving-but-definitely-can't.

everything.

the change you seek
is much deeper
than what you tack
onto your bedroom walls.

you're not him,
no matter how
many times you
swear you see
your reflection
in his skin.

strings have been pulled:
slow motion conversation:
because all I want to do:
is let my bones:
fit perfectly with yours.

Drinking only leads
a person into making decisions
a person wouldn't make with a sober mind.
A weakness of character and confidence.
Refuse to be weak.
Stand tall.
Be humble.
Love.
Live in truth.
Embrace the Darkness and the Light which reside in all.
Forgive.
Adapt.
Flux.
Feel!
Heal and be Healed.
Perceive the Now and move Forward.
Look in the Mirror.
Reflect.
Receive.
Process.
Continue.

Headed for the desert where
brown sands and blue skies
hold no traces of my insides.

His loves were his lies
tough and sticky, his words
taffy words, which I would chew
all tangled in my teeth and beginning
to root deeper until his lies were my gospel.

With faith so stubborn it refused to let go,
I began to breed his insanity through
following and repeating, cavities,
bad habits that feel good for
brief moments until you
wake up wanting to
disappear, rewind
or just die, to
forget it.

Headed into the mountains
where towering trees teach me to Stand Tall
and the river tells me to Let Go.

The wind whispering:
                         secrets are for the weak.
                          
Discretion is what creates mystery,
filtering speech is a gift I have yet
to behold for much longer than a
meditation in a crowded room. so
instead of passion, I choose peace.

Headed to downcast weather and
snow littered pavement. Fresh air
and a new enchantment, where I
find opportunities with each inch
that layers upon layers, snow like
onions, skin like ice, onion hearted
peeling and half in the trash, half
in half just barely beating for more
sense of security in adventure and
pulsing and throbbing with the
excitement for the unknown.

patience is peace. patience is peace. patience is peace.
peace is release. peace is release. peace is release.

summers seduction returns
with burning rays of light.
I find my resonance with night
has been reawakened as I can
roam the streets without the tease of winters chill.

my bike and I have had somewhat of a falling out
yet I feel the urge to grip the bars
and pedal until my breath beats
me for the lack of it, and my legs
turn to jelly from the unfamiliarity.

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.

she is golden
she's been gotten
she waits, she rots in his gaze
a trap, a maze
she's chinese plates,
he takes,
he breaks.

she hides
in the cracks.

no coming back.

black coffee walks alone
closed eyes, avoiding signs
holding love in back pockets
cracking open pens, drink ink
blink: sunlight! it's blinding,
and alright, but I much perfer
darkness.
                so many calls that make me
feel small. I don't know what to say,
so I hang up, and hang myself in the
backyard to dry, afraid you might catch
my scent, and run away.
                                        you taste like
flowers, feel the way my lungs do when
it's hard to breathe, feel the way my ears
do when I struggle to hear the mumbled
mess of what you wouldn't dare say straight
forward.
              I saw you coming, felt you coming,
lost you, lost myself, removed the sheets,
found someone else. To remove myself,
you hoped, I hope it helped.
                                             bagged in plastic
styrafoam cups, luke warm, but you're warmer.
a charmer, heart farmer.
                                        Welcome home, please
make sure if you leave, it's somewhere better.

experiencing myself
empty of desires,
yet continuing to fulfill my promises
and keep myself alive and active.

hard work
isn't as bad if you meditate,
formulating ideas while sifting through memories.
a strange form of meditation while cleaning houses,
yet all the same distracting from the present reality
until you're on your way home with the funds to
provide healthy food, shelter, and a bit of recreation.

hard work
is barreling towards me.
I am planning to jump over and on top of that wheel
which I was in constant fear of and conquer it.
Not only for myself, but for the ones I care for.
If I cannot be there for myself and conquer my
own demons, then I cannot be there for others
to help them conquer theirs. If I am a poison I
shall only continue to seep into those I hold closely, I
refuse to any more. I'm
withstanding.

I will fight the major influences which rest within my being,
I will trim down the fat to create the muscles to carry myself.
No more leaning.

I am standing on my own two feet.

Until I can control my desires,
I cannot stand with you. Until
I let go of desires and just be.
Strength will help me to let go of the
poisonous cracks in the morals I have
so easily let sink beneath me.

I recognized myself as the person on a horse,
while the horse is up to it's eyes in mud, as
I continue to whip the horse to move forward,
rather than getting off and helping it out.

I realize now that I am the only one who can bury my strength,
just as I can choose to let it carry me. I have found that perhaps
instead I should be carrying my strengths so as to only grow more
powerful, within and without, so that if I need to set it down to
help rescue another's, I shan't be just as helpless.

here's to building on top of what is, rather than taking apart
what was, so as to create something new out of the old.

creation's purpose is beauty  
destruction is wasteful

let us create and if we are finished
move on to the next creation,
rather than continuing to
poke and **** at the old.

here I've written my thoughts
and you've read them more than
my contradictions. I am myself.
don't give me reactions unless you feel something,
anything, from what I create.
If you can't relate then that's okay,
but if you can, and you learn,
I've also learned from the response my words shake
from the tips of your limbs, fingers that share the way I do.

Sometime's a pen and paper seem difficult to fit
into such a tight schedule, but you'd think that it'd be the
first step to how you really feel.

if you can take the time to think a feeling, slowly,
repeating, and then write it down with ink,
at least you know it was worth your time.

over-stimulation
leads to
mis-communication

I was riding home in the car with my child,
coming home from what seemed to be a robbery.
The air blowing on my face kept jumping temperatures,
I didn't mind it, except it made me sweat on my favourite shirt.
My mom kept trying to start conversations with me,
but I was too busy imagining beautiful boys in the cars that passed us.
I started to drift off as the car sped up (I'm pretty sure she had to ***),
I felt like the car was a bullet, and I was inside of it,
the road was like sand, and we were riding it like we knew it's name.
It seems like only seconds ago,
but now I am sitting in the remains of a good night,
wondering,
when will they wake up?

You describe the tree tops as majestic,
and cats, and trampolines, and pancakes with no egg,
not even milk, not even a drop of milk.

Your postcards wont be able to find me,
so don't bother wasting your stamps,
use them for something important,
like potatoes, or some fake eye lashes.

Side-hugs are awkward,
so are nervous people,
and I get especially nervous
when you ask my friends to lick your toes.

My tongue is rough,
like a cats tongue,
and no one wants to kiss a cat,
because a cat hides behind the cracks.
Inside the cracks noise makes,
and in the color of your eyes.

I write out my secrets,
bold, and italic

Hoping someone will realize that I'm lying,
or that I wish I was lying.
That everything I say is a joke,
or that every sincere piece of literature is burning
in the flames that are your eyes,
and it's going to leave scars deeper than you could imagine.

My nails are getting long,
but my clippers are still stuck in that mans left eye,
(not that it matters, he deserved what he got).

I've thought about imprisonment,
and it didn't take me too long to realize that I'm living it,
or that I can see it in my best friends laugh lines,
or in the corners of her brothers eyes.

A whale once told me about her experience:

"All the corners meet brick by brick
I'm stuck in a cell and I'm getting sick
the food is gross
I want to listen to Sigur Ros
BUT I CAN'T
because I did a bad thing"

I guess I don't have any room to complain about love,
or friendship, or ****, or torture, or birth,
no matter how traumatic people say it is.
I'll always be stuck in my head,
and to me,
that's worse than anything.

your friends can see themselves in you.
acoustic verses make me want to puke.
hearing them
in a fraction of exactly what    
                                               you said to me. It looks like
procrastination
in it's finest form.

if space could translate
thoughts onto blank pages
and into color spotted images,
would you hang mine on your walls?
or would you throw them away?

you were copper.
the kind that's sticky
and melted.

you were a slotted spoon.
dripping and a mess
spilling out
all over the kitchen
floor.

you were a drain
clogged with cotton
candy colored hair.

dreams take place of memory:

I can't
:fold the way:
you do.

they were close,
closer than ever.
she stared at the side of his face, afraid to make eye contact,
his flawless skin made her nervous, she stood there in silence,
praying that he would move those few inches closer.

his smile was part of his appeal to her,
the way he tossed his head back with laughter at her jokes,
even when they weren't funny.
The way he looked at her when she spoke,
not to mention those muscular hands that she would watch
as he would strum his guitar, or those blue jeans that hugged the perfect parts just right.

As the silence grew deeper,
she stared into his piercing green eyes
as he licked his lips,
answering her prayers,
he moved in for the kiss.

procrastination
is not being able to
love you right away

what is this familiar feeling?

sunlight shines through the sheets
my eyelids too thin to keep shielded,
or dreaming. fast like a Cadillac, ready
to attack the first cup of coffee, the "last"
spliff bowl, confused conversations, heavy
fingers typing carefully, backspace backspace
backspace backspace, erase slowly, think
harder less, heartlessly charmless, bad
luck, wouldn't have guessed this
past-track record would keep
repeating, over and over,
until all sound is lost
except for the tck
tck tck of each
letter, as I
create.

Whilst I was searching through forests so lush
I came across a red wood, she soon became my crutch
I fell down in weakness, leaned beside her roots
she told me dark secrets, of the one beneath the lake
my heart was no match for her brilliant gaze
she watched me run down futures past
fleeing the scene, with a cave-dweller dream

it was magic
that I was after
it was magic
that was dark

the dragons wait restless in caves with my soul
they want me to drag the witches from their hole
temptation is frightening, I want to grasp it all
the power of darkness beckons me too deep
long nights before me, the monsters will wait

it was magic
they were after
it was magic
that was light

I found myself dreaming, dragon hearts in my hands
blood more black than night, blood all in my eyes
no more sight, no more thought, but I feel
a presence
what's this? I'm here.

The darkness calls, the darkness screams
the darkness keeps me in her arms.

I wake to a noise of a branch, breaking thin
it's wood, it's the tree, she's a blaze in her red
in my head, I try and hold her, in my hands
I'm a flame
I am free
such as a stream
I am tame
such as a whisper
I am free.