Funeral processions
Spontaneous
Money, Money, Money
Bridges to Neverland should exist.

Wedding party
Music
Fall leaves
Breaks winter.

Intuition floods the sauna of life gated in
By the strong arms of the whispering trees.
******* profit, taking advantage of the sheltered
Wallets of men plagued by the insensitivity and greed
of the less mature.

*******, sir, for charging innocent minds and hungry souls
To enjoy the entrancement of the world
Far older than you

Intimidating intimacy
I’ll wait for you to put a ring on my finger,
Not a ****** on your *****.
Intimate intimidation
Assertiveness, not aggressiveness, is a quality fit for a
Prince. Your highness,
Dost thou want thy queen?

Seems even marriage has fallen under the blanket of
Fashion over Function.
Wedding rings mean more than wedding vows.
Gone are the days in which marriages fueled society, and
Function before Fashion.
Cheers to the weeping ages of an ill generation.
If only love lasted as long as 14 karat gold.

A deadly combination
Of lust, of passion, of love.
Deadly, poisonous, treacherous.
Worst of all, stupidly contagious.
Compassion for another because of another can’t exist,
suffocated by gyrating passion.
Passion serves one, not both…
Selfish, passion encircles the one consumed, feeding the addiction.
Addicts chase the high because for a little while the world is as it should be
In the eyes of the beholder.

Love sighs as the well runs dry.
Throw down the bucket as you may,
the water will not appear.
Acceptance is the hardest thing.
Giving up? Not at all.
Only people with nothing to gain can
Give up.
Accepting, letting go, moving forward.
The steps of progress in self-realization.
Leave behind the fire of love that
consumes the heart and ravages the mind,
preoccupies the body.
Chase that fire which refines.
I await to wake from this comatose state.

Love isn’t a feeling
Love isn’t an action
Love isn’t a person
Love is a place.

It’s the cave of wonders
It’s a hospital room filled with new life, balloons, and flowers
It’s an altar in a church in the countryside of a town unknown
while a man pleads for the soul you’re not ready to give.
It’s a tent pitched next to the lake while fish cook over a crackling fire

It’s a home with a swing-set in the backyard with a dog tied to a banana tree, while naked children dance through sprinklers.
It’s the treehouse in the neighbor's backyard
It’s a living room where friends sit and play Nintendo 64
It’s a bathtub with bubbles and a book and a beverage

Love isn’t butterflies in your stomach
It’s a butterfly garden at the city zoo on a hot Saturday morning
with butterflies flittering and fluttering and flattering around.

Love isn’t jumping in front of a train for someone
It’s the parking lot of a hospital you run through to stand by a death bed, reading from a Bible you haven’t opened in twenty years.

Love isn’t your parents or brothers or sisters or cousins or friends
It’s the patio screened in, with the rain tap dancing on its roof,
while a father of three snores peacefully in a rocking chair.

Love is Calvary’s hill
It’s a trustworthy bank
It’s a dog kennel jam-packed with the loyal, the faithful, the brave, and the true
Love is an underground railroad connecting those who belong together.

Dew drops sit patiently on the earth
My thoughts race, incomplete
without a story line.
What’s the difference between an animal
and a man, you ask?
Men can carry guns
The revolution falls short as the much anticipated
Apocalypse begins

Zombies moan and groan as their limbs
creak with their shuffling art.
They say zombies are the living dead
Why, you ask?
They’re dead on the inside.
Like Davy Jones, they’ve ripped their hearts out
and hid them away from the world.
I’ve met a zombie or few.
They inject sunburnt life into their veins;
They inhale the emotions they can’t convey
I see right through their drug induced façade.
Life can’t be bought because the government can’t even afford it.
Kudos to China for figuring that out

A joke tumbles from the lips of the self-righteous
An apology pours from the mouth of the condemned
A question slides from the tongue of the forgetful
Remember me?
I jumped because the Hermes of death seeped into my mind
Go down in flames or fall for a thousand Arabian nights
Calm before the storm chosen over
Panic during the tornado.
Take the credit, you *******, and we’ll take your lives.
Congratulations, Westboro Baptists are humming dirges
at your last bed
You’ll be missed.

Now what, you ask?
Come on home, boys,
I’ve got a country to please

Dreams dance under the glare of the sun’s moodiness
Blood vanishes from the veins of once dead men
Medals of tarnish float along a river of bedridden nightmares
Soft drinks pierce the heart ache of an ancient lover

Coffee mugs litter the world’s tainted breath
Cake mix splatters the wall of any old soul’s happy day
Laundry baskets of forbidden desires clutter my mind
Australian needs rise up and revolt against the will

Steadfast now, the winds have changed and blow upon
new dreams from the shorelines of an imagination.
Hindrances break even with the mob, blowing jobs in the faces
of masked gods under none.

From what does the truth set you free?
And what sets you free from love?
Cerulean dreams dart like angels to the ball
Woe to the marching band stuck at the disco

Tripping on bumps in the sidewalks as if the flaws
were meant to convey the illusion of perfection.
Bumping into dreams while on day trips to a place legendary
among the star screamers of yesterday.

Played with market chiefs in the fishy dreams of villains
Heroes rise from the ashes of who they wish they could really be
Hunger penetrates the enigma in which livestock consume the diet
of better days and healthier people.

Strangers.
Blanket thieves.
Snuggling with the poverty of heart stricken saps who ****
the life out of the tear duct orifice between theses beautiful lashes of grace.

Come with me,
let’s escape to a world of ours.
My imagination has room for
Two.

Chime the bells
Ignite the wind chimes
Bang the doldrums, lie in wait for the mood to swing
The war begins
Pawns shuffle, too terrified to move
too fast lest the ranks break open,
We aim to hit the target
No child nor man left behind?
Nay, no survivors.

My weight lifts up
As the sun rises
And the moon and stars hide
Beneath the blanket of light

Honorable mention
Standing ovation
Hands clapping
Congratulations

Loud noise penetrates the air
Static electrifies my hair
Surfing couches on a wave
Of homelessness and "bah, humbugs!"

Clever critters creep crawling covertly
Across the room, I see my face
Peering curiously like a child's
At something new, born into a world

Of nuclear reactions and hummingbirds
Of postulants and female circumcision
Of fried turkey and wrapped gifts
I am the divining rod of this family

Sun peeks around the clouds
As the clock counts down my every breath
This staircase reeks of death
He was the walrus, hunted like prey.

I swear, goblins must have created you.
Made so pure, honest, stable, delicate.
Like a blanket you can cover what I’m
Ashamed to show, and provide to me an
Inner warmth otherwise unnatural.
You puzzle me yet piece me together.

The hem of your being gently caresses
my skin beneath. I'll be your comforter
and sooth you of all your worries, darling.
Don’t fret, for a new beginning rises.
Secrets whisper to each other, exchanging
in an ear -- a tavern of safekeeping.

Friendly benefits, beneficial friends
I’m glad “we” exists even though you do
remind me of her – wish I could hate her...
She is a mold of who I had become --
Shattered -- but now I can rebuild my world,
like a child playing with his new Legos.

I’d give you the world if I loved you enough.
This is just affection, care-free addiction.
Perhaps in a different place or time.
A bed would be nice, or even a couch,
but for now I’ll make due with this kitchen,
asking to borrow one of your kisses.

I’m not ready for this.
It’s four in the morning.
Seducing me with your kiss,
Though I’m not brave enough

To fall in love with you.
Not enough heart to give;
My body wants it, you
Can bet on that. Our hearts

Stumble over each other.
Eyes shut, envisioning
The best in their other.
Babe, I’m hungry for more.

No, **** this.
I’m not strong enough yet,
Although you say “Please, miss.”
Uncertainty and fear

Cloud – my mind – is wandering.
Actions are hesitant,
As you come, sauntering
Through the door, I close my eyes.

As we share affection,
You don’t really hide it,
Your crown, your *******.
What cravings, desires, needs

That rise up from my toes!
I don’t want to repeat
Mistakes with him who knows
All that I have crawled from –

A wrong relationship
Where “no” means force yourself
On me and hands on hips
Warn what you're taking from me.

My body tells you “Go!”
But I’m not ready yet.
I wish I could tell you so,
But I must be a mute.

Yeah, yeah. You’re drunk, I know.
But I’m still not ready.
It’s 4 A.M., heart rates low
‘Cause I’m just not ready.

Babble, babble, disloyal and troubled
Get out! Get out!
Who’s there? Why are you here?
How did you get in? My safe haven!
No, no, no! I’m hearing but not listening.
Invaders…on the inside forcing their way out.
People can’t know the fugitives I hide.
They made me do it! Not my fault!
Not my fault!
Whisperings, not of a lover.
Betrayal. ****, you, traitor!
You promised me safety. You said I was supposed to feel better!
Where’s my prize?
I’m rocking, rocking, rocking…
Where are you?
All’s quiet on the eastern shore,
I’ll wait for you to come back, my Brutus.
This corner is not the same without you.

I fell in love with fire at the
ripe age of seventeen years old.
I dared to flick on that lighter and
watch the sparks fly, intrigued by
how fiery the air felt.

Fancies turn to habits
Habits turn to addictions
Addictions turn to years
Years cut through naivety and
solidify into adulthood.

I flailed, I flopped,
I even stopped, dropped, and rolled
in filth, in mud, in murky waters
that rippled into a crystal ball of
an unfortunate future, indeed.

No prescription or over-the-counter reception
could soothe the burning you created.
I never realized how flammable my mind,
my heart, or my in-between places were…

As my soul smoldered
my throat choked on the smoke.
I asked for it to stop but all you heard was
“Keep going…”

You prodded, you poked, you stoked
the flames that licked from the freckle
on my foot to the freckle on my ear.
You poured out
the gasoline of selfless love and
smiled at your victory.
You crept into my life
You caught glimpses of the parts
of me hidden in secret places
You conquered my reason

Worst of all I was folded
in the hollow of your hand,
Beating around a bush
with a dead Trojan horse.

I didn’t see it coming, but I should have
known—I trusted you with my crowning jewel…
I let my guard down. Hell, I even
sharpened the knife you used to carve out my spine.
You entered my safe haven
in disguise, leaving  
a trail of matches behind and
scorching everything on your way out.

You’re an arsonist, baby.
You’re an arsonist, dabbling
in the arts of fire.
And love is your fuel.
My heart was inflamed.
You left me to smolder
But I stoke those flames
because I’m a pyromaniac.

Your flames licked at my flesh.
And I kinda liked it.
The heat, the burning,
I thrive off of it.
You’re an arsonist, baby,
and that’s okay.
Because I like the fire.
You lit me up, ignited
my thirst, my hunger,
my passion

I inhale your smoke.
Taking you in.
The smoke left me in a haze.
My vision, my thoughts,
all left unclear.
Your fire left nothing untouched.

You scorched my heart.
Consumed me. Refined me.
You sought to finish me off,
burning for you from within.

I tried to hide behind others.
Beneath their skin.
Not even grafts can hide
the damage done.
You left behind your mark,
on me.
Branded me with your ashes still visible.
Dose me in your precious love.
Open the flame. Light me
Up. I’m a dancing tongue of fire of your creation.
Watch me burn for you.
Watch me perish because of you.
Watch me love you with
Everything I am.

You’re an arsonist, baby.
And I’m a pyromaniac.
What’s the number for 911?
I need a firefighter.

Today I realized the world has gone mad,
Still lending bills to penniless debtors,
But now sending in knights with armor clad
So no one messes with debt collectors.
This is it—my Sunday epiphany,
That somehow could rattle my state of mind.
Yet looking back, it’s not very holy.
I’m starting my day, and no longer blind.
Even their stuff sneaks over the border.
Look, toothpaste! Made down south in Mexico!
They laugh at the sign “Welcome to Mordor,”
And they **** the man asking “Friend or foe?”
  Dear Congressman, answer me this, big guy.
  I’m confused – where does our allegiance lie?

  Is our friendship with China just a fling?
  I thought we trusted them with everything!

  “You can make our computers, shirts, and toys.
  Oh, our toothpaste? We hired that country’s boys.”
Now there’s a just reason to start a war.
Some racist fear of lead-infested paste,
No care for the kids sweating on the floor,
More worried that our nation’d come to waste.
Ignorance is bliss; knowledge is power.  
A slavery that no one speaks about
Will never reach its final hour
unless I stand on a street corner, shout,
and wave around my poorly crafted sign.
Commercials are about money, and lots of it,
Not kids working in a factory line.
A modest proposal: destroy all profit!
  
  We should either be poor or go down fighting,
  At least we’ll have honor while we’re dying.

I love you
is only a darkened whisper
between two souls intertwined,
until one leaves.
In the end, it’s
Just a false alarm.

I’m pregnant
is the resounding silence of a
shattered relationship where
commitment was only a curfew.
Turns out to be
Just another false alarm.

I do
is the pristine moment when the world
dissolves around two hearts alone.
Yet, doubt was on the guest list.
Now what? It was
Just another false alarm.

It’s going to be okay
is the mantra of this generation where
hedonistic lives thrive under bridges,
in the bushes, on the tram, behind the door.
So really, it’s all
Just another false alarm.

I’m ready to die*
is the cry not of children, but of the aged,
whose tokens have been spent on the lottery
life advertises at bingo games.
Despite their withered wisdom, in the end, it’s
Just another false alarm.

When I’m drunk, I’m somehow in love with you.
Yet sober, my heart is still walking back,
Often hitch-hiking its way from the past.

What deep-buried chest does alcohol drown
and force open, pouring forth its magic?
And bulldozing over every brick wall?

I huff and I puff, bad as I may seem,
But I can never shake my own walls nor
Create a crack to call my very own.

They can show the start but never the end.
Does utopia stop at the altar?
Will reality hit after this kiss?

I once read somewhere that in order to
Know the future you have to create it.
So, why don't people make the best future?

For so many out there love seems to end,
Restricted from breathing after its birth.
Your choices decide whether you wed or mourn.

As I climbed the steps to your pedestal,
I was wondrously falling in love,
not realizing I could ever hit a bottom.

Knocked down by the actions you chose to take,
Held down by the mistakes I chose to make,
I hope that never happens again.

You see, the first time I was shocked,
Confused as to what was going on, numb.
But the second time really woke me up.

Behold your boldness, your victory grin.
Ignorance was everyone else's bliss.
But I didn't make a sound, how could I?

I didn't want to show other people
the struggles and **** I was wading through.
The beginnings of lust, the ending of love.

I can never tell my family 'cause
My parents would probably call the cops,
and I can't hug you if you're locked in jail.

A princess born unto an old king, enveloped with the love and kindness only a family can offer.
A beautiful mother, crowned in splendor, respected above all else.
An adoring brother willing to die for her, willing to live for her.

Beneath the kingdom on the hill lies a valley of vibrant life and loyalty.
Beyond the valley is a forest full of hopeful dreams and those to whom they belong.
By the king’s decree, none should venture past the forest lest they wander into a wasteland.

Children screech with pleasure as they play in the valley under surveillance.
Choosing to watch rather than work, the princess falls under the spell of jealousy, yet
Chats with the king demand responsibility, respect, reverence.

“Do my bidding until you are of age, then you may choose your ways over mine,” says the king.
Doubting her wisdom, the princess waits years for assertion.
Dreading the consequences at first, she later comes to desire them – always pushing her limits.

so that when you’re young
so that the sky is falling
so that you tell the moon goodnight
so that a moose can have a muffin
so that the giving tree
so that the hungry caterpillar can eat all the leaves and turn into a beautiful butterfly
so that brown bear, brown bear
so that the sidewalk ends
so that, will there be enough room? Chicka Chicka Boom Boom!
so that Corduroy can have a home
so that the little engine could
so that Harold could draw with the purple crayon
so that you can give a pig a pancake
so that wishbone
so that the rainbow fish learns to share
so that the cow jumps over the moon
so that you can go where the wild things are
so that your imagination soars
so that when you’re young
you read for your soul’s pleasure.

Hard-headed peers bouncing brains off each other.
A symphony of organs blasts through the mess
that is your thoughts.
When hearts crash, love flashes by.
Only for a visit – leaving euphoria behind.

These eyes, those lips can never tell a lie.
Honesty doesn’t even exist in fairy tales.
I wonder why children miss out on the cornerstone of maximum life.
Treat this world like a game, and you’ll get played.

*** kicked to the ground,
with dirt as your only friend.
Remember this day as always the
day you shed your skin.

Lemon trees blossom through the reams of end
And the
                edges of
grace.
Sunrise               shimmering in the sky.
              shines

Butter screams, and daisies please.
Why are the coats of rain for me?
                                               above.
Oh, to the sun I see, glaring

Oh, bumblebees and copperheads.
The sand and buttercups don’t mix.
Cheese, and bananas chomp the pride off of our waists.
Happy, caution, the color of sickly potion.
Faded smiles greet the familiarity of old friends.
The only beautiful thing left from the change –
                         Yellow.

One shot to the mind,
To blast away these thoughts:
The desires for your company,
the temptations,
the cravings,
All the "you're good for nothing" diatribes
that fire those cursed watery bullets---
Their residue's left behind on this,
my partially cracked soul,
A soul held together by a bond
smaller and stronger than
The rusty links that chained us
Together.
My head tilts back as I release
The trigger.
Lying on the floor, staring, mindless.

One shot to the heart,
Aimed at the gravity that pulled us
Together.
The heat ripples under my skin,
Tearing at my flesh,
Ripping through my veins.
The world flips.
I forgot about the hollow in my chest,
Having poured out its contents
Into your eager hands.
You quickly drank me in and just as quickly
Spat me out.
I'm slumped over, wearied, heartless.

One shot for good measure,
I'll shoot myself in the foot
For trying to fill someone else's shoes:
Someone important,
A girl with self-esteem,
Somebody worth it.
But, no. Instead,
This one goes to my liver,
My trophy of good times gone bad.
It's the keeper of my time;
I'd pray for another chance at life,
but I'm too busy holding this
Weapon in my hands.
I've got to keep myself
Together.
Knock on wood,
I close my eyes, embracing
the clutch of darkness.
Staring at the new moon, I rest here, lifeless.

So here I am,
left with
Three empty rounds and
Nothing to chase,
Nowhere to go,
No one to be,
Standing in a kitchen feeling lonely,
Feeling hopeless.

I had a little lamb
Its fleece was white as snow
I covered it all in red
With the blood of my foes
Now it haunts your dreams
As you count yourself to sleep
Can't get it out of your mind
My little lamb's red behind

Feeling at first like a footnote in someone else’s story, the princess begins to write her own.
Finished with one chapter she steps off the pages to look at her work, and she is
Filled with the delight of a child playing with a new toy – a smile for each ink stroke.

Good things turn to greater things for the princess as she is bestowed with her father’s wisdom.
Great things come to pass in the kingdom as a stranger from the wasteland wanders to the valley.
Gut feelings from the king warn against the stranger’s intentions and the princess is

Hidden away in the throne room until the wasteland merchant leaves.
Her curiosity tempts her to drop an ear by the door beyond which was the king’s conference.
Hints of a secret passage beneath the throne room lead to her the discovery of a lost reality.

Inching down the stairs the princess peers around a corner to see a maze guarded by an
Incredibly strong and lethal man with naught but a hammer and some nails.
In the sights of the guardian, the king’s daughter moves forward to stand before him.

Fallen
Beaten
Fallen again
Beaten some more
Not fallen like me, an empty casket,
hollowed out to make room for the things of the world
whose fate is bitter ash.
I’m fallen with imperfections as my flaws tear at the seams
Of my costume threatening to rip open the
empty piñata for the whole world to see.

You’re fallen by my imperfections and others’, too
Each time you rise you stomp, stomp on the wrongs,
Alight them with searing flames,
Smile at the perfections to come.
Within the smoldering remnants of my filth,
a form appears naked
but not ****.
Fascinating but not horrific
Love in the flesh; love shared between you and me
Alone.
Innocent love untainted by the unfaithful coos of a third party.
She calls, begs, and pleads for me to return to her.
But I am a child again, this is my
second chance at life.

Be gone, leave.
Return home to your master.
Don’t tell him hello for me;
I’m no longer wrapped up in his
fantasy lust for me.
I have chosen Him who has chosen
Death of Himself over
the death of me.
I don’t want you around any longer, you temptress.
Leave quickly, for I am the salt of the earth,
and I will torture your open wounds.

Time is merely a souvenir
of closed caskets and love stories.

Knees scraped along bark as the lion tree
****** me into its embrace.
My mother hated that I climbed trees.
My mother hated that I climbed trees
with the neighborhood boys.

The sun stirred in the sky,
clouds melted apart,
and there was fishing
there was biking
there was climbing—and lots of it
there was fighting
and, of course, too much pretending.

The sun followed me,
spinning in time,
hands covering its marked face.
Puberty came
and with it my curls—my genetically re-enforced femininity.
Goodbye, hats!
Hello, headbands.

No longer looking but looked at,
baptized in my own hormones,
I stand on the roots of the trees
that no longer **** me in.

******, more so than yellow snow.
Angry, more than a striking cobra.
I’ll be a good friend and warn you:
I’m not your *****, so don’t test me.

People are like play-doh to me;
this is why I can never grow up.
Try as you might, but your actions will never be your own.
They belong to me.

Manipulative? Yes, of course.
Ashamed? Certainly not yet.
I’m a danger to others when I’m alone.

Scaling a mountain with my own bare hands,
I’m tougher than nails:
Break me and I’ll harden again.
Chip me and I’ll re-grow.
Let me grow out and I’ll **** somebody up.

Sometimes I think I should be surrounded by four white walls.
I hate white walls—plain, empty, like that love you covered me with—
So I’ll cover them with scrapbook paper.
Band-aids are more fun to play with than antiseptic.

Ebola is real. Ebola is real.
Smack the world as you would slam an oyster.
Find the prize—your ontological argument
Gas prices are down.
          Gas prices are down.
Wash the pearl as you would wipe a newborn.
Marvel at life—and its derivative meaning
Ebola is real.
Gas prices are down.
People are dying and we are smiling.

Hot, steamy
Coveted by many
Treasured by few
Life trickles down,
leaving no part of my body untouched.
Magical, I am renewed.
Where epiphanies erupt
And fallacies falter.
Reason hides within these 3 walls,
Kept restrained by a playful curtain.
A safe haven for unspeakable words,
unthinkable thoughts.
My treasure chest.
I roll my eyes as my mother yells,
“Get out the shower!”

Pop, pop, pop
They’re not the same as pills.
Why do people use them so much?
They break more easily.
Not as reliable to dull the pain.
No science involved in making them,
only the emotions riled up in the moment.
No, give me a pill.
Keep your promises.
I’ll take my chances without you.

Rahab
A harlot, a monster
She tears at my flesh
She weeps at my glory.
I am ensnared in her gaze,
enslaved to her power.

Blazing in the sun, shimmering in the moon
Inexplicable, flawless
Her smooth arches have seduced me.

Let me go, I pray
Let me go
And she released me.
But she chased me
She never found me
I am free
I am lost.

Beat me down.
After all, I’m just a fictional character in this
Alternate reality you created.

Trip me up.
Then again, the second beating is always worse than the first.
Is this pain real or just part of the imagination you crafted?

Call me out.
I listen to your words as they beat against my ear drum and penetrate my mind.
Wait, am I the real one and you the fantasy?

Drink me in.
Tenderness before passion, now that’s chivalry.
I’m caught in your throat, like a pulp.

You**
             don't know it,
                                           but
             you can't be with
me.

I like seeing dust
It reminds me that we're dying

If only I could puppeteer my own heart
But I can't control the viscous strings.
They are taut, lying in someone else's hands
And she laughs at me from the shadows.

Life can't help but **** us;
it's in our blood.

How do you fix someone who doesn’t even know that they’re broken?

“If I had seen the signs…” If you had ****** looked for them,
You would have seen I was surrounded by my own emotional army.

Part of me hopes you blame yourself for not being there,
For not knowing because you honestly didn’t care.

I hope you blame yourself so you learn
To recognize the signs in someone else.

I hope you blame yourself so you learn
How to be a better friend, an even greater person.

But all of me hopes you realize
I love you, and
I did it for you.
I emptied a space in your life so
You could fill it with something better.

So throw down your **** flowers,
say a prayer, please, and go.
Fill that space.

My day of rest—
a 24 hour period of remembering why
our connection was lost,
After 6 days of relentless longing
for what we were—
My once-a-week return to the path
of the "straight and narrow;"
I’m looking for someone different
but clinging on to someone the same.

My day of rest—
I wish it were actually restful—
shut away in a far-off room, withdrawn,
sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the floor,  
amongst the dust beginning to settle.
Rattle, rattle, squeak, squeak—
I hear your ugly whispers float
through the keyhole;
I feel them brush against my skin.
Hesitant, dreading,
I wait until your footsteps are just the echoes of our memories parting.
You chose to parade the streets with your rebel flag held high;
I chose to hitchhike on an abandoned railway
with my dignity wrapped in red
tied to a stick thrown over my shoulder
because my cross got too heavy
and this is all I have left to hold on to.

My day of rest—
Shattered as suddenly as the window
you swung through to enter
My meditation room.
At this point it would be nice to have a panic room
full of pills and the liquor needed to wash them down.
My only exit is through the door I swallowed the key to
So I escape with my head in my hands,
my arms folded around my knees,
Wishing upon the starless night that,
At worst, the roof would collapse on you
and crush all the hopes, promises, memories that
today I regret or,
At best, that you will disappear, being merely an apparition,
haunting every breath I shake through my lungs this day.

I sob
Yes, I sob
Like a bulimic purging her system of consumed poison,
I get rid of the venom that is you.

You were closer to my heart
than the color is to my skin
But with a little fire, bravery, and surgery
All that can be rearranged.
And on this final day of rest
I sterilize myself and lie on the table,
all my prayers written in a flat line.