Sometimes, it seems that everything
my heart keeps as truth
I take with me
and lock deep inside of I am sorry
as I breathe the air twisted in the places
where I sleep.  
Yet, there still exist nights
where there is no bed I can dream in
where I do not hear a melody
that feels naturally sweet.

Often,  I stand in the corner
of all I have missed
then find myself walking proudly
beside the wildest loneliness
lying deep inside of
my stubborn heart.  
Then suddenly,
my head clears inside of a silence
and I write poems
from the hands of angels
until the wildest loneliness
has to part.

that anyone could make me feel naked in
suspense, a need to curl my fingers? I'll remind myself
that I need my bed rest, that I need
the thing that heals, that I need
anything at all is too much, it's too
tedious to need, I won't admit to
it, most of the time I won't.

groaning grows from the throat,  trickling down,
my voice isn't sweet like honey,
but more harsh harsh harsh in ways like
dry swallowing big pill after pill after pill.

the ends of my fingers are beams, they are brightest
when I touch the space between me and
the space between you and the soft space
left after drinking what we
bottle
up,

every time
every time.

watching your
lipslikepetals
caress the air and ****** my
breath, knowingly
or not.

I am both pilgrim and detective -
A kind of penitent Poirot -
Sifting through muddy reality
In search of a woman - THE woman.

She appears to me from time to time;
Glimpses abound in those around me.
A riddle unsolved, a question unasked;
In love with what I cannot see.

We may even have met already.
Something missed at the time may grow
And consume - a glance, a polite word;
Some hidden gem revealed by time.

Her nature, like her face, eludes me.
Is she some noirish Nemesis,
With omnipresent cigarette haze
And the knell of doom in her heel-clack?

Or the timid nerd of the high school,
Revealed as a radiant beauty
Sans horn-rims, ponytail and books
(On reflection, that's probably me).

Shall we be tragic starstruck lovers,
Cut off in the peak and prime of love
To become a cliché for journalists
And poets immune to irony?

Or perhaps she is all of these things
Arrayed in sublime splendour,
Shifting dreamlike through modes of being
Which illuminate each other.

Besides, I am surely mistaken.
It is a poet's weakness in me:
Reducing his imagined beloved
To convenient literary types.

Just as well: moulds are tedious
No-one worth knowing fits into one
(My apologies to moulded readers -
You are probably happier than I).

Yet, without knowledge, I know her
Even as I search tirelessly.
For I know everything about her
(Save only her identity).

You awaken in the cardboard box
That you refer to as your home
The dawn is barely breaking
And already you feel alone

A *****’s bath in a public restroom
Then you’re ready to start your day
Layers of stage makeup hide the wounds
Of the lead in this lack of morality play

First up is the sadistic businessman
He knows the drugs you need
But it comes with one condition
That he gets to see you bleed

With his one hand around your throat
And the other grabbing your breast
He takes whatever looks good
And leaves you with the rest

You straighten out your dress
And try to wipe yourself clean
You’re helped back to your feet
By a schoolboy of age seventeen

He's skipped his classes for the day
And borrowed his mother's van
Now he’ll gladly pay your fee
If you'll make him into a man

It’s all over before it begins
A symptom he can't control
You can barely feel it anyway
Numb in both body and soul

At night you meet your ****
And give the devil his due
You willingly submit to him
As he runs you through

You retreat to the cardboard box
That you refer to as your home
The moon is heavy in the sky
And you can finally be alone

Your lips wrap around the pipe
The smoke molests your lungs
And slowly you begin to forget
The world that you came from

You once dreamt of a white knight
That would come and take you away
Now seen as only vestiges
Of a young girl’s naiveté

Dignity is a memory
An illusion from your past
Like pleasure or happiness
A feeling you could never grasp

You once thought you’d hit rock bottom
But there was so much further left to fall
You were filled with unknown fears
But now you’ve named them all

Add up the rocks they pay
As you break their last taboo
And the secrets that they share
When they’re deep inside of you

A normal person would go insane
But your body is no longer yours
Are you less than human now?
One of a thousand nameless ******

You wonder if they see a woman
Or just another object on her knees
You could show them who you really are
But that’s not what they pay you to be