feelings
that i thought
were my own
sloppily spill out
out of the ****
in my face
that you carelessly
made with the dullest of blades

i can't stop them from escaping
and my cheeks
burn crimson
as i watch my
most intimate thoughts, feelings, moments
drift away
down stream
the entire world standing
on either side
drinking in
my misery

you stand there
smiling
and try to strike up
friendly conversation
fully knowing
that i can't possibly speak
because of the
endless flow of emotional *****
that escapes me now

my earth eyes burn
you to the core
but you feel nothing

you never did feel anything
did you?

when i was a little girl
i drove a pink convertible
i didn't mind that it was
slow going
all i needed was the breeze in my hair

i would dream that i was driving
across the country
to california

i always knew that the east
would never complete me,
even at the tender age of four

now i've grown up,
physically speaking,
and i've had enough of this coast

one little taste was all i needed

sick of the east,
i'm gonna
run away, run away, run away
to the place that might sink,
but the sun shines all day

sometimes i look at the clock
and then i'll look again and
it seems that time has jumped

i wonder where it goes
and i feel sad

sad that i can't keep tabs on my minutes
sad that i'm unsure what i've spent the time doing
sad that those are wasted minutes that i'll never get back
sad that my life has become so obsolete and unlike my own

i used to take great pride and joy
in the fact that my time
was used doing things that
were important

now i have no idea
what important is

i'm not sure i ever knew

does anyone even know i'm still here?
covered in every holiday imaginable -
easter, christmas, halloween, even the last owner's menorah.

i'm full of dust
and i'm not sure of
the last time i saw light
from under the collection
of all things forgotten.

these curtains
that hang over my edge
have got psychedelic swirls
of orange and brown.
i can't tell
if it's *****
or a design.

eyes peer up
over my ledge
periodically, but
no one seems to see me
buried beneath
the mountainous
memories that i've collected.

loan gloves call out
for their partners
and their voices go hoarse
over the years,
but they never quit.
my ears grow tired of
their low pleading groans.

prized possessions
that once put human's
eyes aglow now sit
in sorrow and stew in the
realization that they have
truly been forgotten,
much like myself.

i remember the hands
that cut me
from an old oak
in mississippi.
i wonder if those hands
remember me.

to say my heart has been misplaced
could not be further from the truth.
i know exactly where it hides,
because it was i who put it there.
deep beneath the dirt
that crawls with worms and centipedes -
underneath the rock
that's laid for years and years and years -
layer after layer
telling stories of earth's youth -
down into the molten fire
that burns forever more -
to the center
where a chunk of ice sits heavy.

won't it melt?
you ask yourself,
but this answer i do not have.

in the ice right at the center,
that's where my heart does lie.
and only the greatest of adventurers
even entertain the thought
of poking into the earth's entrails,
where man should never go.
but most don't believe that ice can exist
where molten fire roars.
so they arrive there and are disappointed,
their souls deceive their eyes.
for they cannot believe in things
that don't add up like math.
they sit and ponder
and then give up, their journey gone to ****.

i myself, chuckle under my breath,
until my sides do hurt.
what did they expect?

i sit and i listen,
and nothing sounds right.

i want it to be deep.
i want it to be painful.
i want it to emulate what's in my heart.

then i realize
that it can't.

the only way for that to be possible
is for me to create it,
and i can't help feeling sad.

i wish that i could help
people to understand.

but i know that i can't,
oh i know that i can't .

i sometimes think
to myself,
'i'm the loneliest girl in the world.'

i don't pity myself,
for i know,
it's me who's done this.
only i could have done this.