I’m in love with your
interrupted thoughts,
trails lost and forgotten.
I walk with you to their ends—

When you blow off the gathered dust,
the sunlight catches it
gently in trembling hands;

glistening listless moments, suspended,
lingering in your breath
like I first did at your door.

The western sky spells your name,
but nomad memories pick up tents,
faces turn to sand.

You haven’t changed at all...
My fingers walk the deepening trails
in your sunset hands.

i will hide with you in the dark
  basement corner, shivering arms
    when the ceiling is closing in
when the sounds, the sounds come i will
  search for them, carefully
    i cannot hear them, but i know
i know the kitchen utensils
  will find their way through your skin
    i will cook breakfast for you

i followed your words to the edge
floating, fluttering, they dance easy
and butterfly shy on the wind

they comfort me
on my way down.

i've broken out
i've fallen away
    i felt lighter before but i
  feel heavier these days.

i can live without the sun, it seems
but only my darker parts survive—
    my duller parts—
  i set fire to my intellect

  just to keep warm.

True love is a broken cane, duct-taped
a Barbie, head twisted back
It is silence in a crowd
clothes snagged on branches
a blindfolded walk in rush hour
the sweet taste of antifreeze
Love is the worst poetry
Love is nothing, everything
probably the only thing

waking up on a Wednesday—
    a Day stranger to live than spell
iced tea doesn't make enough sense.

blue shoes glued with Shoe Goo
    makes old shoes more new
but not much more or less than Crap.

i've got Things to-day to do—
    paint the walls, save the World,
and dream of Alan Rickman.

i spit metaphors
and stumble to my knees,
i wipe similes from my lips
like blood and teeth.
i am pummeled with irony fists
as i stagger and crash
across barstools in anapest reels,
with splinters of broken
clauses enjambed in my flesh
and choppy flashbacks
blinding me, pounding my head.
i slip in spilled spirits,
scrabbling and scrambling
to steady my psyche.

i flail, i falter, i fall,
again and again in alliterative agony.

this is not a beating.
this is catharsis.