I saw her there
and stood amazed

Her beauty pierced me soul
and could not cease

My only fear-
I cannot tell Birds from Bees

God is Real?
      God is Fake?
make some Love,
      plant a Stake

There is nothing more than you.......
than there is in I.

I still think of you,
and still the frustration makes me cry.
My darling.

You are no more than you....
than I am I.

I will never lose you,
for you are within me,
even without me,
I know you still feel me there,
right down,
deep,
down,
there.

Please let go.
Choose, a direction.

Even if it is time to leave.
I understand.
Let go of me,
let me go of me,
let go of my hand....

Bereft.
My heart lies desolate,
because it believed,
in,
you.

You have to go,
you have to leave.

I was right,
not for you, you believe,
but I am more than you think;
I understand,
dream of me,
my sweet.

Follow the sun.
Gather your skin.
Blink your eyes wide.
Choose your direction.
I will leave your side.

Baby, my sweet, sweet baby,
I loved our,
******,
up,
ride.

Black eyeliner stains my face.
I cry to the moon.
I howl at the sun.
I wish i had 6 bullets,
and a gun.

There is nothing left,
but,
a,
blank,
white,
page.

My heart.

It dreams of your mouth,
telling me,
what you need.
I am,
not,
it.

I,
doubt of love,
ever existing,
again.

Where are you?

When Mr. Brown forgets
leaves his puppy unfed and tied
before rushing off to work
the animal mewls confused
abandoned and lonely all day
watching Dog TV.

The parched houseplant
screams from its porcelain prison
for silent water
wishing only to be made wet
fecund on attention once again.

Everything sits silent
in the close confines
our life's domestic drama
just waiting for us to realize
we are born to notice
the cries of who lies closest.

Yet no one is to blame
for ignorance;
it is the Dog's karma to be abused,
the foliage to dry and go discarded
for no apparent fault of their own.

It is Mr. Brown's karma
for his dog to die
with a broken unfed heart
to toss his plants in the trash
to find his home unadorned and silent once again
and wonder over and over
why is life so barren?

I went into the garage
sat down at the workbench
laid out a clean sheet of Tyvek
and sterilized the long steel probe.

This wasn’t a snap decision;
I did months of research
got some tips from an ER nurse friend
knew the risk
but could not live this way anymore.

Numbed my right eye with ophthalmic anaesthetic
leaned over the mirror
and slowly pushed the needle
into the socket beside my nose.

It didn’t hurt
just pressure
like the blogs had said
and then

The world exploded in yellow stars

The words are cement that stick to my tongue and the roof of my mouth
Molasses is the apathy that oozes from every pore of my beaten body[1]
I watched a man enter the bus, the same time, everyday, his wife waited
Today she was not there
His ring too, was gone[2]

I grow tired of writing, as I grew tired of speaking years previous
Semantic satiation of my everyday life
and I lost the will to live

There is no form, or rhythm
A shame considering the beauty of language[3]

She sits and stares through the wan window and wonders[4]

I avoid eye contact, physical contact
I refuse to acknowledge your existence
Solipsist *******[5]

What does it feel like to **** a man?
It hurts.[6]

If only yoga tights came with mandatory spiritual experiences...like on your way to the local fast food chain you sweated just enough to activate the LSD laced fabric, which induced a state of cheese burger paradise, where french fries were now your best friends and represented freedom, and the clerk at the counter was a 6 titted guru whom guided you through the layers of brightly coloured condiments that made up your spiritual sandwich. Then maybe just then would stetchy fabric expand your mind far enough to realize, products don't create ease, yoga isn't a type of cheese and that the latest fad in seventeen magazine was designed to keep you on you knees. Namaste, girl please.