Lucky are those who have found love
and been loved.

Lucky are those who bear the gift of face.
   Easy is for them to find an easy case
            for their own taste
     - a goal for their own base.

Lucky are those who has an outstanding confidence.
For by it, they don’t live with a doubtful fence.
Freely as they get any wants in their existence.

I give away smiles, pieces of my lies,
        pretending not having rainy skies.
Hiding my Breathless sighs.

Sometimes I am like a rock
   too dull to feel, a surface too rough.
A sense I lost, an unreachable core,
I don’t know how to love anymore.



*© 2014 Pax

My God, he could never understand why she watched so many music documentaries, listened to so many eclectic songs, so many symphonies and just be flooded with emotions. He never got it. He never got her. He got bits and pieces of her, yet the rest was a mystery. She was his paradox. He'd sit and watch her get lost in a sonata, a Van Halen guitar solo, or simply a musician along Music Row. He never could understand how she did it. How, even though she was so different and foreign, that she could feel so much like home to him. So close to what he needed forever. She was his beautiful, mysterious, paradox.

ground zero
i become aware of boundaries
i am a dog chasing cars
i sing your voicemail to sleep
there are no surgeon general warnings
to tell me that
the objects in the mirror
are more depressed than they appear
so how do i tell you
that there are parts of my life
that move slower
without you in them?
or that i look for you every day
in emails & unanswered calls
in the sunrises
i didn't choose to be awake to watch
that i sometimes still stare at doorways hoping you would walk through them
   *stage 1 you tell your new lover you've got a splinter and they pull the sound of your body falling asleep on mine out of your fingertip
   stage 2 your new lover says something at dinner that makes you choke so they call 911 & the paramedics do the hymleich not knowing you would ***** our promises all over the the restaurant
   stage 3 your new lover surprises you by cleaning the house & washes the shirt you kept next to the bed, not knowing it was the last thing you had that smelled like me
after
people always ask
what was loving her like?
after a really long silence
i just say
"it must be nice"
but i never say
it's watching paint dry
i never say
it's a window seat in hell
i don't tell anyone
about the dreams
where i am reading you
bedtime stories
each one is a different way you die
& every time i can never save you
dreams where what i think
are angels in my bedroom
are just homeless versions
of myself you never loved
i have dreams
where i pay someone to shoot me
just to see if you would cry
just to see
if you would cradle my body
i don't tell people
that loving you is like
playing piano
for someone who can't hear
that it's hitting repeat
on my favorite song
& forgetting the words
every time it starts over
that it's finding out
there's no milk after you already
poured yourself a bowl of cereal
it's getting locked in the dark
& being told to
look on the bright side
that loving you is like
being reminded of what it felt like
the first time
you accidentally let go
of a balloon as a child
it's drowning without the water
it's the feeling you get
when you start to dance
& the song ends

It was shallow water, rippling
a watery moon quivering
on the surface seen
It was night fire
burning water into steam
gray smoke screened
It was willful drowning
upon a lily bed of lies
parched a wilted garden
slowly withers, dies