Far from insanity.
   Thoughts in a down-
       Ward spiral. Falling hard
            For the one I cannot have,
               But wondering what awaits
                   When daylight comes again.
Do  you  recognize  my  sweet  agony?

He asked me if I ever worry my
life is like The Truman Show and
one day I'll wake up and realize
everyone around me was an actor,
that everything I thought I had
known until that moment was a
lie. But god I worry enough for
a whole village and if I added that
to my list I would never sleep
never eat never brush my teeth. I
do not know how to steady my
hands anymore when I think
about how you told me you were
in love with me and you didn't
mean it didn't mean it didn't mean
it.

chipped red nails
mascara running down your face
always under attack
always paranoid

the abyss whirling past you, dragging you back into the past and flinging you into the distant dystopia

the ever uncertainty, water, that's what these times are made of.
begging your mind to release you...
Oh but don't you know? Your madness, your chipped nails, ladders in you stockings and luminous eyes...

are beautiful.

You live life in a broken ballroom, dancing. So keep dancing, and feel everything, the rush of blood, the adrenaline, the red, the lust, the secrecy, the deception. Go through it, dance through it like you would for a lover.

Your mad mad dreams, a kaleidoscope of beauty. A portal into worlds, infinite. Illusion, once a spirited gypsy, once a golden queen, once a pale courtesan, once a fighter, always a fighter.

Oh dark anomaly, if you knew where you would be going, would the path be any more interesting?

So dance with it. Hold it in your arms, let it hold you. Let your madness chase you, you'll just run faster.

flick of the lighter
lighting a cigarette
like a silent flickering promise made in darkness
life like a ritual
and the swig of wild champagne

i parked my car just up the hill
from your  house  and it was
dark but  i  think  your  tv
was on (i wonder what
show you've decided
to smother yourself
in this summer)
and my fingers
were tingling
and i was
having
trouble
figuring
out how
my lungs
worked and
i   turned   my
engine  o f f  and
tried  to  walk  up
to your door, really,
i  did  but  then  i  saw
your  plants   o n    the
porch and  the  garden
in the yard that y o u
love so much and i
remembered  that
those things do
not belong to
m e,  t h e y
belong to
her. and
so do
you.
and as
much  as
i   want   to
hear your voice
(because even after
only  this  short  time
i t ' s  become fuzzy
in the back of my
mind and in my
dreams)  it   is
not   mine  to
w o r s h i p
anymore.

Look friends, this is a only a lighted screen.
On which people paint their dreams.
Spill out their fears,
Perhaps cleanse their souls.
Words printed not in stone,
Gone with the strike of a key.
Meaningless to all,
But perhaps their own creator.
Never intended to live forever.
As if they were wispy clouds in the sky,
Shifting, changing and then goodbye.
Does the maker of those clouds care
Who sees them there, need comment
of awe and splendor, an adoring audience
from below to lavish him with praise?
My guess is he does not,
Like our thoughts on this screen,
impermanent and fleeting,
His are flights of artful heavenly whimsy,  
A clear endeavor of self expression,
Not meant to last.
Put up there on his canvas,
Merely for his own enjoyment.

i bet even after all this time
that if my chest were to
ache with emptiness enough
like it used to i could go to your house
and find the outline of our bodies
on your dark blue bed sheets
i have spent the last year
both trying to run from you
and find you at the same time
but i left everything i knew
about falling in love
on that mattress and
it's still settling there
like dust and
all i can do is write about you
until it comes back to me,
or by some kind of miracle,
you decide to.