Your eyes are not the oceans
They never will be to him
And his face doesn't light up when you walk into the room
Because you are not the one he wants
The shape of your fingers will never remind him of a perfect puzzle
As they were never petite enough to let him hold
You will never be his metaphoric love
Or the spark that lights his fire
You are not his everything
And he is not yours
He is not your world or your galaxy or the stars in your dark soul
So stop letting him be

(1)

In a moment
the adrenalin rush
courses through my veins;
a torrent of frustration.

Rational expression gives way to loss of all reason
as vitriol spurts forth from my lips;
a stream of abuse:

I want to goad you
I want to hurt you
I want to abuse you

The foul profanities are carefully aimed
sent hurtling from my mouth
in a barrage of spittle, all semblance of sanity gone,
and the air reeks with rankness from my verbal barrage.

A vein pulses at my temple
and the crescendo of my heartbeat
is a rhythmic chant that drives me on
to ever greater extremes.

And as this onslaught congeals and festers in an instant
inside my head, it forms into a clenched fist
that assumes control of its own existence
to strike out and feel the satisfaction as it makes contact
with your soft flesh and delicate bone.

My froth and spittle is flecked with your blood
but I am removed from the person flailing you,
punishing you,
and I have no control over him.

My eyes, if I could see them reflected in your fearful eyes,
are wide and wild,
my lips are curled back over my teeth,
my mouth opens widely as my screams of rage
are vomited at you,
my gasping breath rasps between rants,
my chest pistoning,
as you lie at my feet bloodied and subdued.

Now as I stand over you panting: an animal subjugating my ****,
your eyes look furtively and fearfully into mine,
wide and frightened.

(2)

In a moment my wild triumph flees and such regret washes over me as I kneel, cradling your head in my hands, brushing away the sweat-bonded strands from your face.

I plant a soft kiss on your lips and our tears mingle saltily:

I lick my lips and taste that salt
But it only serves to heighten my guilt.

‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper, and pull you close, letting your tremulous heartbeat calm me.

I have used up all my tokens
and squandered all my pardons;
all that’s left is tarnished pyrite
and a jewellery box for two.
For I will tear your heart out
and feed it to the coyotes;
you may be the one for me,
but I’m no good for you.

As the field runs crimson
I’ll proceed to crack your spirit.
I know that this is foolish,
but love - this is all I know.
If the moon would make a bargain
on the dust that seals up fractures,
I would strip my backbone
reaching out to make it so;

I would mend each tiny crevice
- plant hydrangeas in the darkness,
but without a new foundation
it is all still frail and makeshift;
and each compounding weight is
all crushed-guts and shattered-statements.
Again we’re set a whirling;
we can’t recognize our faces.

The strongest tree is only paper
and my convoluted nature
is just a fallacy I’ve built to house,
my fear of what is true.
So, we’ll dance until our knees split,
you’ll repeat that we’re a unit
and as I kick the chair out
choke a final, “i love You.”

. . .  .  .   .   .    .    .     .     .     .      .      .       .       .        .         .          .           .                 .

Amidst staggered breaths
my fragile frame converts to dust.
Oak entombs the ashen ruins
of a long awaited  
Us.

I can be your liquor.
Drink me down and feel the high.
Its you and I and whatever happens tonight.
The blurred lines and the euphoric fright
of getting into all of our passions.
I can be your liquor.
Fill you up with anger, disgust.
The feelings lost to the alcohol distrust.
The forgotten happy with I and lust
now in the midst of solving our problems.
I can be your liquor.
When its winter, spring, summer.
I can be that go to spirit to hear your thunder.
That happy go lucky, feelings without the blunders
Only memories that follow.
I can be your liquor.
Take me down and love me.
I can be the death of you,
or merely just an addiction.

I would call it love.
If you would-
It would validate every feeling
I feel when you are away
I think it would
Remind me that we are two
Healthy organs
In a sick body we named the world
And even through you call me heart
And I call you lung
And even though we aren’t in the same place
In this body
I still pump blood for you
And you still filter air for me
And I’d call that love
If you would.