I have a persistent existence

there are echoes in his shadowed clouds
thunder and rain drops falling from the sky
he says he loves me
but I dare not ask why

I share my dreams
so detailed it seems

they're made up things

he has seen me lie
so I tell the truth

until it echoes
   e c h  o   e   s
like how my eyelids open

to the sound of thunder
to the sounds of my mistakes

he shakes the wake of my existence
holds no pride in his resistance

teaches me to be true
in all that I do

even when

staying up late nights
I explain to him what it is I write
regretting nothing
forgiving fights

the words mean more than nothing
because
the confusion of our illusions
that we can't believe in
drop like rain
they drop like rain

singing pain in the untold thoughts
that mean more
than the washed up shore
that had tidal waves
(untold graves)  
seashells sea ringing
(the hells are singing)

so don't stop bringing
your music, your art
the love we have
not yet torn apart

keep playing
keep singing
love bringing

your heart
creates art

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.

another day
picking at
my face
wondering
if I'm of this race
because last time
I closed my eyes
I could swear I
wasn't meant
to be human
wasn't built
for all of the
pain, inflicted
because of, or
to me. these
hands were
granted to me
by the grace
accidents
can become.

these hands
create, hate,
releasing
explosions
of alien
emotions.
that's not normal
for a person to hate
all that they create
that's not normal
to destroy yourself
because of a mistake
can't help but miss
and take,
hate for love
as a higher-up
to build your
heart up
from
where you
broke it down.

love can be so weak
love can be so weak
love makes me so weak...
what once was my power
now reeks of defeat, as do I...
yet hate makes me think,
makes me reek just as much,
there's only pain in holding a grudge...
but to be human is to feel both
and I want to feel neither
to be numb and to dissipate
before another explosion.

Is love
the true power
of a human...?
because I'm drowning in it
and the path I see out
is a shore of hate.

been a bit
detached lately
burns and cuts
running amock
waking up
face down
on the couch
reaching out
my eyes
wide closed
my hand
grabs yours
it's light
now leaving
barely seeing
dry heaving
after water
instant *****
fragmented memories
almost gone
don't
do
the digging
smoking
****
fading
out
no                          doubts.

ah, there's the honey
right in front of you
labeled for eating.

give me information
and take off your blanket
(unless it's snowing,
  and if it is, promise to take me with you):
to play.

oh, there are faces,
beauty, reaching out
beneath eyelids because
direct contact is where confusion strikes.

snuggle buddy
you feel like silly putty
       you mold and mash into me
warm and happy.

tying
and trying
to escape the binds
we wrap ourselves in.
we sweat, we sleep,
wake up hungry.
sit across the table
from each other,
in the corner,
and try
not to
stare.

give me a bite
I just want to taste what you taste.
constant communication
my hands are clammy but running them through your hair seems nice.

you let me lift fingers
tap gently, crawl scratching:
don't stop. don't.
no.

you shake your head
faster than the cold
shakes my legs.
I understand when to back away.
but here I am.
in your arms,
all sweetly woven
that it's me you've chosen,
but I relapse through thoughts
of conversations that remind me that
this is more stimulation than either of us
are used to.
we need time to relate.
some self-stimulation: *******.

give your body away less than you want to.
notice the difference between stimulation, gratification,
and feelings that need to subside.
letting go
falling through
breaking up
it's all puke in the mouth
the taste is indifference
and I swallow it back
without choking or spitting.

thoughts of you: staying cautious.
I'm drinking through thin fingers
my throat is a pillar, an obstacle.
my dead end is an abrupt answer:
so clear. restless, and easy. feeling
the need to move. risking my senses
for more adventurous hostilities.

things take time,
but what if time and I aren't speaking?

I want the respect that I don't give,
and I want you to notice how blue my eyes are,
and how red my lips are.
I can offer you my hands,
they're exactly as soft as you want them to be.
You can look down my throat,
or bite my finger nails,
anything you want.

I want you to stop talking to me forever,
so that I can think about you all the time,
and I want you to watch me
as if you knew what I meant when I said goodbye.

It always gets to the point where my face is hot
and I can feel it seep into my ears,
and my heart is beating so fast that I'm afraid it'll get tired and stop,
then I'll just be dead.

God's not a dancer,
he doesn't have any feet, or a body,
not to mention a spine.
How could you dance without a spine?

I want you to ask me questions that I can't answer,
and prove to me how much better you are,
or maybe if you stood there and smiled at me long enough,
I'd realize how  tired you really are.

If I stop talking, that means I'm better,
and if I keep talking, that means I'm worse.
I hope you don't understand any of this,
because that would make me a liar,
and I'm sick of being a light that you stare at,
and I'm sick of that chair that you sit in.
but mostly,
I hate the smell of the theater,
and I always wonder why the floors are so sticky,
not that I care, I just have an overactive imagination.

the only reason she wanted to see you
was so that she could dance in the streets.
she wanted to live forever,
breathing through her nose,
too fat to see her toes.

that's why she was always home,
she was busy eating your weight in butter creams.

she stared at the painting for hours,
wondering why it tried so hard to be serious,
she had spent her life trying to do the opposite,
it was as if they belonged together.

she laughed at the men
with their hands in pots,
and frowns on their faces.

her favorite was the one washing the plate,
he looked so happy with that rag
she wanted them to be wrestlers,
so she could feel adrenaline like she used to,
but she was always asleep when the stars came out,

so she just keeps dreaming.

our love is sticky
frosting fingers
and our anger is cinnamon sweat.

"modern art is precious"
                                              ...it's abstract.
I heard you say
and laughed at that
sit back and sat with the grieving.
it's easier to read it, I can't speak it.
been a gloomy pirate
singing, border-line screaming.
changing habits?
still repeating.

hatch-back stare
these feelings are fleeting.
still don't care
I've lost myself eating:
finding secrets but refuse to share.

I'm a hound dog daddy, still speaking with rhymes
I thought I gave up order,
but found lost in the deep between.

I'm half flamed bread,
I'm charcoal.
I'm burnt
and I'm fried.
I've given up my obstructions
and gone straight for falling behind.

turning
into
the true face                          of surrender
one more week
                          and I'll be home tomorrow.
I've forgotten what it feels like                    to be held
sleeping in tangles of sounds
                                             like chips crunching
like papers being crumbled and thrown
                 like the fear that erputed when I threw your words away.
whatever's torn is torn
me from you
and flavor.                 No, I have not forgotten your favorite things,
or the way you reach for me in sleep.

temptation. desire. temptation. retire.

look forward: I'm barely standing.

breath caught stomach knot last thought of
last words of what's worth of what.
of what?

I know you hate me. hate me.
"hate me!"

it's a religion to breathe in

her words (like honey in my mouth).
"I cry because I love her." and she cries too.
and he shy's away. and he hides his face.

there are storms on every side of you
and wars in each moment
                                        you ignore them:
in trying to find the light, your burns shown through: with worries about
nothing to start with                   and                            nothing to end with.

Silence is not the enemy,
the lipstick on your wrist is
and it's a good thing you
know invisibility spells
because you look way too
good for dead eyes.

I'll let you be happy
with yourself,
but only sometimes,
because your mother's socks
are whiter than yours will ever be,
and you know why:
you lived it.

choke this love out of me.
kiss
away
the
pain.
let me cheat away my effort
so that I can shake off this rushed mistake.
give me the confidence to know I'm not alone,
even when I'm in the depths, crying until I find myself at home.

although home is a place with paper thin walls, those walls are
a manifestation of fear
because any person on the other side can
hear
how I feel, what I feel,
if I give myself pleasure,
or give into the pain I manifested.

it's simple and dramatic,
complicated and calm.

It's what I've been saying, struggling to explain, all along.

I've told my secrets, given myself away,
taught my soul that it's okay to hurt,
and make mistakes.

I've made myself think I need to be a certain way,
that this is good and this is bad and there's a balance in between.
My eyes have sharpened and my tongue has tied, I've found all I've known
before is a lie and a lesson, the truth and a test.
I've gotten to the point of patience where I don't realize how much time has gone by.

what day is it?

I want to live my life backwards,
so that the things that I say will come out right.
I've been spending my time sober in a place that doesn't exist,
and in the end I forgot everything because I was blind(ed).

I'm glad he remembered how good of a kisser I was,
because I didn't forget how good he was either.
He asked me why my hands were so cold
and I said the feeling must have seeped from my heart.

The night went on, we acted like cousins.
It was bitter, but I sat and waited for it to taste good.
His hand was clenched with a fist full of my hair.
We were silent. I felt comfort in his grasp.

We walked, our legs untangled and silent,
the sparkles in the street made the breeze control my heart,
and my legs screamed, burning for more,
begging for closeness, yearning for someone else's skin.

I tried to explain how I felt, but things always come out like pearl laced clouds,
and I don't want my pain to be beautiful,
because that somehow makes it okay.
At one point you realize that it's easier if you just stop caring.

I've been kissing a man with yellow teeth,
the neighbors frown when they see his car in the driveway.
They called the police on us, saying it was a crime.

I woke up in a metal room with fluorescent lights,
screaming, "What's my crime? where's that love of mine?"
They answered with screaming lights in my face,

"We hear you've been eating cold toast!"

Walking down the stairs with a Jello stuffed bra.
My sister told me it was a good fashion choice,
all the men smiled, and so did the women.

I went to the coffee shop, and ordered juice.
The waitress looked at me, then sat down.
Complained about how her fingers bled,
how she never applied for the job,
and about her weak knees.

She cried enough to relieve my thirst.

I wouldn't mind kissing your chapped lips
or touching elbows late at night.

We could spin the world away
and sing about the lipless.

I'd vaccum my room to get rid of the smell
and then we could lay there until our thoughts settle,
or I could make you tea, promising not to spit in the cup.
I don't know if you like sugar or not,
but I do, so I'll put it in anyway.

I know you don't like apples,
oranges, babies, hairy legs,
stair cases, dark tunnels,
neon colors, highlighted hair,
leftovers, or gapped teeth.

I know you like milk,
dark hair, movies (almost any),
games, poetry, dancing,
singing, my hands (touching yours),
and eye contact.

I only have 6 dollars,
3 pills,  4 cigarettes,
5 fingers (on each hand),
2 eyes, and 1 interest.

Camille is purple
tensing her body
feeling lonely
not lonely
enough
to call anyone
all calls are dry mouthed
and stained ***** red
apothic red if you
want her to be
exact although
unnatural
she writes
drunk
and never edits
the words tumble out
of her like kids who learn
gymnastics at a young age
and laugh at her for plugging
her nose when jumping into the
foam pit, so unnatural

Marilyn talks to her and she
feels a little less lonely, and
a little more comfortable in
her abnormalities as she sips
at her glass before chugging
the rest of the bottle while
pondering another until
she realizes that it's no
good for her rethinks
and decides it's a
yes

there are too many pockets of air in between the fabric
of all my ***** clothes and
we can't leave our thoughts in
open spaces

like this

anymore.

it's like looking at his smile and seeing what he's trying to hide,
those things are much too personal to be slurred from one bathroom stall
to another,
you always forget about all the people who don't wash their hands until it happens right in front of you.

I keep comparing you to:
all the people from my past.
She keeps comparing you to:
all the people from your past.
I don't want to miss you:
like all of those people from her past.

She looks at you like a vacuum would
but she feels like blue skies and tastes
like creamer or hot chocolate, thick
as she is you notice how thin she is
and point it out, try and make her eat
some of what you have to say although
you really don't know what it is she
needs to hear.

"that's why they call it confusion, honey,"
I had never seen you turn to stone before,
topaz and diamonds, "but crystals have souls."
and you have no idea what I'm talking about.

preferences denied by searching too much.
you're a production of neglect,
describing situations exactly as they are: no empathy.
saving sympathy for emotional descriptions:
you've got a lot on your plate and you don't like to waste
but you're breaking this whirlwind you so hastily chase.
just give me a break.
let this armor fall from my limbs
a barrier trimmed
from this eclipse of the mind
I find myself fading behind
because honesty of the self is harbored in boxes,
it's easy to get lost inside the caves of forgotten
when you're moving so often in the shadow-side.

I forgot the true meaning of acceptance


and what's worse,
is that after I decided how ironic
and sad it was,


I wondered how difficult it must be
for all my friends to stay by my side.

painful to see you
can't hold back my grinding teeth,
striking again and
I'm shocked at myself for not being
honest about the
gravel I chew in your presence.
wondering if I was
ready and pushing myself harder
to try to see you.

all of what I desired so painfully
is suddenly open armed and wanting
me back, won't leave me alone about
it. pouring out your heart now will
only hurt you more, for all that I am
refuses to move anywhere but forward.

you say you want to move forward
and to do so with me, and that you
will let go of the memories, and yet
that is all your soul seems to pour.
all your pen seems to shoot out and
the second I tell you a no instead of a
maybe, you go home and write about
how ****** up I am. Yet when I was
willing to still ******* I was some
sort of goddess. you were "honored"
by my presence. now it seems that
because I am my own person and I
wish to explore whatever excites me
after drowning in my love for you.
hating myself for feeling like I couldn't
live without you, or that love, and
constantly being another object you
could use at your leisure. *******.

everyone makes mistakes.
I made a big one and you made
small ones constantly.
I was going to be calm with the
words I spoke
for you did the same thing I did to you
with someone you claimed to love
who you loved and had been with
for 3 times longer than we've even
known each other.

the more time that goes by since I ripped your heart out
the more I wonder if we ever really knew each other in the first place
the more I see who you really are without the blinding curtain of love
the more time that had gone by since you ripped my heart out,
without even realizing it.
the more time I spent repairing it and returning it to you,
and again, the cycle continued until I physically attacked myself.

"my heart is so raw I think it forgot how to break"

I'm going to be free. I'm not going to dwell.
You said you wouldn't and you're happy and you've moved on,
perhaps it was all a lie you told yourself, perhaps it is true, but
if you don't stop writing **** about me,
then I'll just slam my pen back at you.

I want him to like my lipstick
and ask to kiss it off.

I want to take him
with me as I time travel

with a soul full of
futurelust so strong

it dims
and relieves

the cruel lights
of
all others.

This page is terrifying,
        and now it is mine.
There are no rules on this page,
        my eyes are all that see it.
        My pencil greets it with my hands stroke.
        My movement takes it where ever I please.

I would like to enhance my style with technique.

People:         my greatest fear
                                 &
                     my greatest love
                         intertwined.

Often times I mistook that love for hate, yet
looking back upon the reasons, I realize how
vain they were. How horridly timid I was to
let the truth, lies and rumors all become one.

How silly the grief of things.
         How rude of me to focus in on them.

As if the plague was the cure to the madness
engulfing me as my friendships grew and
declined in number so rapidly. If only I could
say that I knew what I was doing.

How glad I am to say that I was not.
         How glad I am to say that I learned to move on.

I have learned, at that.
I will bloom at winters end.

the deep water I believed to be treading through
was mud all along:

bed side table herman hesse
looks up to see one of van goghs, wants to undress
doesn't have a ******, this *** is a mess
she's not surprised
'cause she's a pessimist.

to her loves affairs:

she's keepin' shut
no more love left in her gut
the feelings escaped her through the cuts
one for every lover
she didn't give a ****
don't worry about her wrists
instead she likes to use her fists,
bad throws, punching chains
lets the men drive, fast lanes.
bruises are the names of the faces she misplaced
in her bones where she resides,
it's a pillow that she lies beside.

she's not a trick
she's not a *****,
most feared is to be a bore
so she smiles and speaks,
too much? doesn't grieve.
as long as what she's saying is something to believe.

as long as you're in the mood
to laugh
there's no need
to wear a mask
just leave alone
the aching things
that bring you
beneath
the weight of gravity.

heavy heavy heavy
leave me to my beats

I'll walk the streets

heavy

I feel like your lips,
and everything beneath them,
belong to me.

I feel like your fingers,
and I want to feel your fingers,
on my lips,
and everything underneath the sheets.

I want to smell like warm tea,
and taste like smooth cream,
and I want you to open my eyes
to your lucid dream.

If you want to spend your time under trees,
I get it,
and if you don't want to waste your time in the same ways,
I get it.
But if you want to hold me,
and mumble ***** secrets that I don't understand to my shoulder,
or smile so that I can feel it on my lips,
then I don't.

We can eat the same food,
and inhale the same breath,
but no matter what happens at night,
it wont matter in the morning.

where do I fit
in a place like this?

this is where I wake up:
the next morning
everything has changed.

I had to leave for inspiration:
that's where I practiced
mind expansion.

even there, I wondered,
with my head split open
to all sides of the city,
does he see the same love in me,
that I do in him?

I didn't ever want to leave.

"let's spend our time in here forever.
if not in love, in discovery of that love.
in the end: take it with us,"
I thought these things in grids
of hand prints stretched to the ocean,
for miles I thought, but never spoke.

it hurts to learn why
we dream in silence.

I guess this is about someone else,
but I want it to be about you for nostalgic purposes.

there's something different about wanting to touch your face and actually doing it.
that's how it always is.
you're the black-ink-on-paper-to-get-you-out-of-my-head kind of guy,
you're the never awake past noon because you don't want to deal with reality kind of mind,
you're one of those half-drunk, half-broken, half-idon'tcarebecauseyoudon'tcare kind of lovers.

one day I'm going to quit everything.


the cat laps milk
instead of water
from the palm of a mothers hand,
it's rough tongue leaving
purple lines
broken and deep
like the stretch marks that map her body.

She'll talk to me about her children
and the little things in her life that don't seem to matter much anymore,
and we'll watch people and assume things like people do,
and we'll kiss each other out of boredom
and she'll tell me to braid her hair,
because she wants to feel young again,
and I'll tell her to read me her story,
because I want to feel closer,
and she'll tell me about the cat
and she'll let me pet it
but she wont let me sleep in her bed
or put away the dishes
or kiss her on the days that she wears lipstick.

She reminds me of you,
except she's something I can feel.

we want to be forgiven
      we want to be special
            we want to be fearless
we: is a loose term
             loose change
and as heavy as cat fights.
I saw you today. All I could do was hope
         that you would skin your knees.
walking home: I made sure to keep my eyes open.

you're sitting across from this sharp-tongued old lady at the breakfast table,
she has odd clothes, a double chin and boots that squeak.
You don't like her much, but she doesn't like you either.
It's a mutual annoyance.
You're sweating a little because she makes you nervous,
and you forgot to put on deodorant before leaving the house,
and she's scrunching her face up and sniffing loudly to let you know that she can smell you.

You watch her as she eats, slowly, as if she'd never eat again,
crumbs from her toast sprinkle her face, you want to reach out and brush them off for her,
but you're afraid that your fingers will melt into her butter-like skin.
The thought was real, and unconscious.

The sort of way a boys thoughts should always be, if you ever get one like that,
keep him in that state as long as you can.

ego
wants
needs
me
you
I feed
on blood
**** me
**** that
I am weak
cannot choose
yeah
this isn't poetry
but neither are you.

buried my love in brittle
bones that wanted exactly what I did.
told my love of the mistakes that consumed
in the blinding rays of rage in which I find myself trapped in.
wanted my love alone so that I could share it
but love that is alone doesn't want to wake up.
spilled out experience
to prove to myself that I could make progress.
spilled out my soul
choked through the heart in my throat
maybe if I could get a good look at what's inside this beating breast
then maybe I could count my breath and remember to inhale
and exhale in each moment.
be conscious of my actions, let my spot lights shine so bright they break,
so that the walls I so carefully built
decay
with the new life
I create.

The best burn I've ever felt
came from a small reflection
tucked away, strong,
removed from temptation.

Share your selection: perception.

Something about this weather makes me sick,
and cuddly. All I want these days is to be alone,
with a body, and nobody, and something to help
me forget a few things: less personal.

Moving around, faster, each by three.
So in love with this moment, I start to catch on fire,
a page full of ****, and forget me please.
You tasted better in the morning, I hope I did too.

Contamination through determination.
We're going back in time for the last time,
it's the beginning of moving forward.
What haunts us haunts us only in subconscious,
so we lay on the floor, curl in the kitchen,
inhale: new decisions.

Getting on tracks, hearing about the ones that got loose,
and the ones that go too close
avoiding getting ran over,
running over,
rereading
listening
listening
listening
I can hear you listening in the silence you create:
thank you!

This progress is beating it's way inside
of us, the way we beat into each other.

Um, um um um uhhhh Ah cha rah cha cha cha
I love you,
and I'm not going to say it more
than I feel it
and I feel it, oh honey, it's coming
faster than I do on the weekends.

Sttttrrrreeeeetttcccchhhhhhhhhhhh
rip feathers, wash away the leathers.
Last nights reminder sent me shivering
shocked.

Your voice is changing,
there's more than one
and you can talk about her as much as you want,
'cause I spend most my day doing the same thing's
inside as you do outside, just we do everything at the
same time, so there's no need for questions, because
everything's an answer.

Answering yes.
Yes yes yes yes yes
yes yes yes
y e s
  y  eeee sssss
ssss
ssssss
eyy yeeuh yes
yesh.


I've always liked the shape of a woman,
long hair pulled back.
It makes sense.
Since when?
“I just woke up and you're already attacking me,
all I want to do is just go to sleep.”
     you told me when I write,
and I proved you                     wrong.
Proved myself                         wrong.

Wrong is a word said quickly and distorted at the same pace,
it's manifest destiny in the form of emotions in motion.

Wrongwrongwrong
wrungwrungwrung
riiiing riiiing riiing-
don't answer that!

you and I came from the same side of the planet,

separately,

to destroy the rest.

at rest,
we dream of creatures
and tornadoes
come to teach us how to escape laws.

and

although we are mortal,
we can still be saved by telekinesis.

but

only because we use it in the right ways.

speaking what we hear because we listen,
our toes itch like ****** ****,
and we cry like thirsty babies,
******* the life from every cell of you prisoners.

I've been pretending to be a pair of legs,
making the rest of my body disappear.
Too bad I just covered the top half of my body in mud,
leaving my skin dry and cracked.
I got sick of waiting for someone to walk by,
so I went into town to look for a friend.
It was too dark for me to see,
and I couldn't turn on a light if I wanted to be invisible.
someone saw me, and they tried to steal my hat,
that's when I killed them with my nail clippers.

Our accumulative energy is making this happen:
The power of thought awakens emotion.
Move our hands, up and down,
glued together in a sadistic motion.
Pull on my teeth until I can't speak,
whisper in the language that makes me weak.

Use your mouth and open mine:
as hollow as the tv screen
you pull my hair until I scream.
Move and flow in my bed
Don't do something that you'll dread.
Turn to the direction of my door
I lay there naked on the floor.
Begging me with your sunken eyes,
the sun melts my skin and you leave me blind.

my punctuation *****
like a... ***** does *****
and some times ducks
can learn magic tricks
as loud as big trucks
and as sloppy as doggy licks.

I keep thinking if my hair looked different that night,
or if I was chewing a different flavor of gum,
things would have turned out differently.

The evening when you left,
I couldn't stand the color of the walls,
or the stains in the carpet,
I moved out within the week.

I still haven't fully unpacked,
because I'm still hoping you'll fall in love with me.

I watched the daises slowly melt
like ice cream,
and I watched the ants walk their paths
but they had no idea where they were going.

I went to the beach the other day,
and all I could think about was the patch on your belly button,
and how you overreacted about the naked children,
but mostly,
the way you looked at me when I was in the water.

balancing punches against my waist line
with creatures and cancers that got
close enough to figure me out.
fingers nestled and danced with a thin boys spine
they spooned honesty
through quick teeth with
impossible intentions.
never planning but learning lessons.
planting gardens around
a king on his throne
soft as sand
who gets thrown
off by the sweetness
that floods through his veins
when a tender lipped tulip
breaks and bends in front of his eyes.
wilting in water
and falling on pine, a look from a mother
and they're dead right on time.
grasping fortunes for reference
as to cause birthed through preference.
fouled by income, the souls follow in some
and the door is unlocked like in a waiting room
but no one ever dared to get up and walk out.

i have no thoughts: i ate them.
i have good friends
they let me live in their cupboards.
i want to leave but i'm stuck
i'm sick of grief but i'm flattered
and although they drink me sweet
it don't matter
i still want to be filled with loves laughter
yet i can't get the one that i'm after
because he's running so fast i can't see
and he knows that i'm blind so he moves ten feet
back and deep
points out things in the distance
too beautiful for me.

he's gonna move
he's gonna leave
he's.. invisible to me.

i got so shy i had to leave,
keep myself from being shattered
by love this steep.

I hold you in my mouth
you're my last bite of toast
MUSHMUSHMUSHMUSH
your tongue softens me
and I am
MUSHMUSHMUSHMUSHMUSH.

say my name
right as you're leaving
tell me that you love me when I can't see your face
ask me to exist in more than one place
I can do it.

I can love you with my fingers wrapped
around your rib cage,
sweetness
I feel you
in the nine year
burnt fabric of this hammock.

I exist too much for you
don't bother.

back to basics
and your back
up against mine.

your jelly belly
baby beans
are weighing me down
and cutting through all          need to be closer
       I claim myself a true provider of nonsense
lay on the floor
stretch out (knock over a cup of coffee and push my cat into
                             the heating iron, saying sorry because I'm trying harder to be polite)
and wonder who else is alive.

things are getting hot on the bed
wedgies are being picked
the hottest of all women are giving birth to computers,
and ideas, until the energy from last nights soda wears off,
and the color in our hair fades.

I have a stripped box full of friendship bracelets,
I threw all the ones you gave me away,
because they didn't mean anything,
and the only time you made me happy was when you smiled.

Now I'm waiting for you to block my calls,
or change your number,
or answer and tell me to shut the hell up.

I guess I've decided that I wont fall in love again,
at least not until we can be in the same room
and not care if everything else starts to melt.

I don't want to: see my reflection,
talk in riddles: see your reflection.
feel your eyes on me like tired boys
look at hot water and coffee grounds,
wishing they'd connect on their own.


I hate myself : I love myself.
All parallel and in between.

"let me get a good look at those lips,"
hands compete with tongues for beauty,
and feeling.

Like oil in water I'll pull you apart:
Together.

--something about “this is what love feels like”
-- or “this is how love is supposed to feel”
questions; “how do you feel?” and nothing but silence.
cold and old
growing
frozen toes
warm water, you and me, can't wait
always wet, drying
slowly in the night
mildew grows
and we mold more than the
cracks between my bed and the wall.

Talking to you is a cuddle puddle,
a misgiving kiss, a hit hit triple miss
apology, I can't tell you what I think
because they're awful things. And when I say
things so sweet
I feel like you're falling out of love with me.
I'm a vulnerable mess stuck in a guess
and I guess and guess wrong
-there's that word again
wrrrr were brrrr buuurrrrr
your skin is ice, so nice
mine is tucked and full of rice
nothing else but kitchen help
you hold me from behind
won't look me in the eye
thinking of someone else.

Nothing's wrong
(get over it).

I'm checking myself out
like in a grocery store
for the panicked and
newly born, freshly torn
lovers that still don't know much
about each other.

A few conversations held close to heart
easily dissected, something to relate to
when you're feeling lonely, or just drunk
nauseous, leaving early because it's too much
for beginners to start with.
And if you're just beginning
then you better start
learning how to learn.

We were sweating, and moving together, like animals.
It wasn't enough that we took our mothers pills,
and filled our pockets with sugar.
We needed more,
we needed to kiss and dance,
feel something soft against our bodies.

I wanted you to justify your actions
with something more than a side-ways glance,
but you don't care to explain yourself,
because you seem to do things for no reason.

We were too sensual for casual conversation,
and although we talked all day,
we didn't know what our tones meant,
or how to answer each other's questions.

I wanted to feed you chocolate,
and feel your hands on my sides,
but for some reason you wanted to tell me jokes,
and use your hands for other things.

We were holding on in small ways,
secret ways that made people stare,
and wonder if we were in love,
even though they knew we weren't.

I wanted to consume as many chemicals as I could,
because the ones we shared were worth close to nothing.

All the coins in your pockets,
everything I've ever given you.
in the washer
in the dryer
burning in the back yard,
like those notes,
and the pictures.
subconscious attempts to hurt you
the attempts of escaping everyone else: equally beautiful
until you looked away.

Don’t leave things alone for too long
or they'll begin to rot.
It took three years for you to give up,
and now your over bite clenches onto your bottom lip.
It looks painful,
but you're always so calm.

I can never tell where you are.

I feel ridiculous asking you questions
that I already know the answers to,
but I can't help it:
I love to hear your voice.

When you came home drenched,
spinning dizzy,
you laid down as I gazed at the wreck that laid before me.
You were in another world, and I didn’t want to follow.
Your golden feet could take you anywhere your heart imagined.
(I guess that was part of the jealously).

I want you to tell me about your childhood,
learn what made you the way you are.

Back to the photographs:
You looked so fragile,
so small, (breakable).

When I saw you cry for the first time,
the comfort in your grasp gave me the confidence
not to panic.
I stared at the bruises on your body,
knowing they would never heal,
knowing that you liked it that way.

I know you never understood how special you were,
that you never would.
I was scared of the things I knew,

I knew I had to leave
before you woke up, and,
walking with the faint shadow
of sleep behind my ears,
itching at my scalp
from the inside:
I took notice of your car,
and the bird **** on your windshield
                                                   reminded me that we were the same.

He grabbed at the fat on her legs with his tongue,
and his teeth.
He was going to devour her,
like the dinner she made earlier.
All he thought about was ***,
his friends all called him, "Caveman".
It turned her on
(especially when he left the lights on).
She was obsessed with the heat,
in her room, in the kitchen.
When he cut off the circulation on her wrist,
it made marks,
(she loved them).

recycled thoughts
change meaning in the overlap.
try and convince me different,
by forcing yourself to do the same.
it's ambiguity knocking,
you've resonated thoroughly
throughout what's dragged on, kept dragging
and skinned you
       edge-side
-in.

love makes love
in sequence
and in time.

motions and friction
stomach tells secrets
legs fold out laps, and drop them.
burrowing chests, heaving.
can you breathe in this smoke?
or will you exhale it?

you've caught me, intimately
picking my nose, afraid it will bleed.
all alone while you're searching,
I've got the privacy to wipe the blood from my fingers
and think of the shadows you'll check,
and the one's you'll fiend away.
empathy discussions,
what ***** your soul also binds it.

a word.
time,
and too much of it,
wasted,
can't handle it,
feels
absent.
ditched windows,
bent blinds,
hardwood and tile.
cuddled
dogs, sore wrists,
nail-bites.

absence:
when you're not there.
you're
not
there.

step back, or splash!
you are steam,
a stream of heat,
sweating.
talking me up
about talent,
talking me silent,
and happy.

I'm caught up in this silence,
so comfortable.
keep me silent, or I'll keep talking.

your hands are golden
and as frail as dry leaves.
your collar bone sends me
into a  breath bend, so I follow
the traces of your fingers on my stomach
and the crooked fragments of your once broken bones.
you've got a nervous segment of thought,
I can feel as you attempt to shake it out,
**** thoughts, you send waves of telepathy and I'm molten.

your illusions are being built on ladders,
as thin as your legs, and my fingers.
you've captured a foot, slammed into the back of each knee
and you don't lose balance.
swallowing poison, tastes good.
happiness overwhelms your senses.
everything seems better when you're killing yourself.
brain screaming: this is it!
might as well do all the things you're afraid of.

commit to a struggle for strategy.
all lined up, dressed in slept-in jeans.
you're more tired than you'd dare to admit
because your weakness is fatal. too much of yourself
locked in that tower you climb so flawlessly.
slime walls and all.
you offer me the chance to climb, not something I'd grasp
until I lost my mind, slip down the side, fall behind, leave you with time
and come back to lay on the cement around your corners.

I bring you a flower, a simple response to my own thought.
a gesture of love, of friendship, forgiveness and fear.
I'd write you something beautiful if you deserved it.
in the holding back of words, I found that if I'm writing about you
then it doesn't mean it's for you.
I can't help who I love, just as I can't help what I fear.
call me a baby, but don't call me yours.
hold me when you want to, I wont miss you until I'm there.

let me become a little less of what sickens me.
let myself break through shadows and soak midnight moon
through my half darkened, thoroughly searching eyes.

We're romantics,
pretty gossipers.

We try as hard as we can to escape the world with pens,
and we soak page after page,
imagining the ink to be our tears.

We're depressed,
lost travelers.

The words; each hand picked to portray something only we can understand.
Our desperate search for empathy is sickening,
and yet it continues.

We're sweet,
helpless lovers.

We fall in love with every person we see with a symmetrical (enough) face.
Picking up habits that we've read in books,
or saw in an old film.

Why are we poets?

hello hello hello
--and who, are you?
you make me feel so good
when you walk into the room.

candy bars, crashing into grave yards
stealing cars, driving to the sounds you made
I make new ones.

and you, you you you you
I miss your face when it's right in front of me
and you kiss me and I laugh and it's warm
(too warm to breathe).

I've hit the wall
and now I'm
sliding
         down it
laying on the ground
reaching my arms up
grabbing hold, pulling
sitting on the top
looking over, skrim skim skimmly skimmeddd
scanning the crowds, but you're out of town
so I push some buttons
and sew some buttons
pet kittens
I'm smitten, keep hittin'
                                        ta ta turn to face me
"do you forgive me?" "Yes." RUN AWAY!!!

...time by yourself with bruises you can't explain,
are your ribs breaking? stop, don't stop!

you're ridiculous, hilarious. I can smell your alcohol from three feet
away. I'm too high to tell you. Looking out the window's nice.
                                                 I've just met you this noon and I'm already
eating more plate fulls of food than mouthfulls of words but if I did speak I wouldn't say
anything worth being heard, because I'm tired,
         still trying to remember last night.

this morning is so dark, maybe I'll go for a walk.
nothing's open on holiday's.