In the hard and cold city
There were no
Two a.m. train whistles…
Sometimes
Window rattling hip-hop woofers…
The occasional
Tequila soaked domestic dispute… and the like…
Leaving me now
Laying in the darkened silence feeling
Vintage…
Imaginary whispers of Brook Benton
“…feel like it’s rainin all ova the world”
Subliminal theme music
Setting the ambiance for
Trying to think of something
Not cliché to say about the
Two a.m. train whistle in the distance...
Cuz I still
Often wake to the
Absences of
Warbling sirens of high speed chases … and
Fusion of passing dialects beneath my window
That I never really heard…until I didn’t hear them …
Replaced with
Fat plops
Of nocturnal rain drops…
Far away clack-a-lack of iron wheel on rail…
Silence…
...and that lonely
Two a.m. train whistle in the distance…

We smile at each other
and I lean back against the wicker couch.
How does it feel to be dead? I say.
You touch my knees with your blue fingers.
And when you open your mouth,
a ball of yellow light falls to the floor
and burns a hole through it.
Don't tell me, I say. I don't want to hear.
Did you ever, you start,
wear a certain kind of dress
and just by accident,
so inconsequential you barely notice it,
your fingers graze that dress
and you hear the sound of a knife cutting paper,
you see it too
and you realize how that image
is simply the extension of another image,
that your own life
is a chain of words
that one day will snap.
Words, you say, young girls in a circle, holding hands,
and beginning to rise heavenward
in their confirmation dresses,
like white helium balloons,
the wreathes of flowers on their heads spinning,
and above all that,
that's where I'm floating,
and that's what it's like
only ten times clearer,
ten times more horrible.
Could anyone alive survive it?

My feet
a   c   h   e
for streets
they haven't
yet walked
and I want
to feel
concrete on
my fingers,
catch the
breeze of a
crowd as they
cross the street.
I need to be
somewhere
too big to
get lost.

there are a few things

about death that

frighten me

the sound of the shriek my mother will make

and the

permanent frown my dad will have

every time he stares into the distance

and the

tear drop that will stain my siblings cheeks

every night

and the

lump that will never leave

my best friends throat

there are a few things

about death that

frighten me

and

none of them happen to be

dying

We made hearts of paper mache and gave them to each other.

I saved yours in the bottom drawer of my desk
carefully kept, away from the dust and decay
of my adolescent bedroom.
It was safe, clean and pristine,
and I had no intention of hurting it.

I think you shoved mine between the spines of notebooks,
littered with skateboard stickers.
Over time it splintered and withered and
while you were digging for your printer
You found it.

When you gave it back, it had turned black
and blue with ink and paint residue.
I held it broken, battered, and used,
I felt the fragment pain ensue
I guess the best things you give end up coming back to you.

I thought it would be easy to defeat the grieving…
At least . . that’s what I was believing
But its not! My mind deceived my thought
And I caught myself in a lie
Its hard to keep your head up when there’s so much weighing it down
Its hard to speak out when you cant seem to make a sound
Its hard to feel loved when it seems no one’s around
I feel like a tree without leaves
And its hard to see a bright future when there’s nothing for the sun to give light to
How can I walk this path when it seems no one will guide me?
I just need a confession session to do some confiding
Cause emotions are eternal if you let them build inside you
They’re only there to remind you the hard times you’ve been tried through

Grieving is not a fun feeling because it’s a feeling that’s dealing with hurt
And its hard to convert hurt to happiness when you wear it on the sleeve of your shirt
It’s an Armageddon that takes an arm to get in, in order to compete
It’s cut me up and tapped me out, some stiches are in need
Its rattled my  heart, I shed some tears, my strength is seemingly week
On the brink of defeat, I’ve been knocked off my feet
My face is embedded in mud
But as the rain goes away it showers grace upon my face
To show a sign of hope
But, it doesn’t seem close: as a matter of fact it seems remote
I’ll need to emulate some energy to evoke
All though the one thing that IS close is my hearts will to devote
The time to reach the remote and get my life in control

If you think you’ve hit rock bottom then you’ve got a problem
See, the problem with that is things can always get worse
And that’s when you become vulnerable
You don’t prepare for the worst and you let up the fight, letting grief take over your might
The next thing you know, another misfortune strikes
And you’re left like a deer in the headlights… blinded by fright
Hopelessness waits at the gate for you to claim your stake
At what kind of life you’re assigned to
Grief can feel bleak, but don’t let it confine you
It’s your life to live, don’t look what’s behind you
If you get knocked down, don’t look up, get up and look around you
Looking up will blind you from what’s right beside you
Like you’ve been hit by an uppercut and left unprotected in the upper gut
Free for grief to strike twice, leaving you under the bus
But you gotta fight back, tell its lips to pucker up and strike back with a sucker punch

Cause a life without trials is like a being in court with no judge
There would be no words to write a sentence to
If tribulations were to never be faced
You’d be constantly stuck in a complacent place
Where there’s noting to live for except an eternal case to stare at space
Courage would cease to exist, and strength would be but muttered gibberish
So, whenever your head feels weighed down, exercise your persistence
When you can’t seem to speak out let your actions become precedent
And if you feel no one’s around you, look inside you to find what defines you
Because what defines you is needed for your survival
DON’T let grief and defeat be what define you.
Cause I can tell from experience, putting up a fight is vital
I take pride in my weakness, cause without them, I wouldn’t know my strengths