rats
run through the walls
scratching and chewing
and fighting over my crumbs.

i know your there...
i see your tails and hear your nails
skittering across the broken tiles

a inch or two of plaster
between you and me.
you chewing through
right by my tossing and turning head.

the sticky traps catch dust
the poison would **** the dog
so we are left to the
old rusty snaps
the blood stained
guillotine
sticky with caked blood and hair
of your fallen brothers
and sisters
and god knows
how many other relations.

i hate the snap
i hate the painful squeals in the night
i hate the ones that catch
but dont die.

i hate all that
but not as much
as
i
hate
rats.

you
yes you,
look up.
just for a moment.
notice me,
hold my stare.

every morning
you're there
same cup of orange juice
same newspaper
same half eaten muffin

i'm here every morning too
i have my usual drink
my usual dog earred book
my bagel
why haven't you
noticed me
like i
always
seem
to notice
you.

come on sugar
look up for just a second
and see the rest of your life
quietly reading in the corner.

come on baby
come on
look up.

they slide my shirt up over my head
and i hide my body against them.
praying
that their eyes,
which hold such capacity for judgement,
are fooled by the touch of my skin.

the honest fear
stands clear in my heart.
unwavering in the face of its own impossibility.

in that second,
i feel as if i am being stripped
of the feeble illusion that has granted me access
to thier desires and passions.

i'm truly ashamed in that moment
for having tricked them
into thinking
i am so much more
then i truly am.

Don’t tell me you love me.
Such things make me the shake.
My mind quakes and rattles and rolls as it unknowingly cooks up a bitter plan to turn your love into hate.
To turn those bright blue swimming pools of yours into the lowered shades I know how to deal with.
I can’t handle sweet honey dripping lips and lies of forever that taste just as sweet.
I’m broken and I will break you too
It’s what I do. Cause it’s all I know how to do to deal with a man who doesn’t lie or cheat or check out those cheerleaders ***** as they pass us, drooling like hunger recognizing a steak and looking back at me and seeing last weeks meatloaf.
I’m not used to a man who doesn’t tell me to paint myself up or trim myself down or even one that isn't at least a little like that one who told me I was lucky he looked twice. And I was, at the time, lucky he saw me because at that time I wasn’t seen by anyone. A ghost, haunting the classrooms and and halls, a blooming wall flower, growing up and around her dark little corner, tendrils arching away from the light. He was god, a pitying punk rock priest that put down the word and walked bravely into the dark twisting gardens. A martyr who took one for the team and decided to look the other way when faced with this and this and these…you know, for my sake.
I admit it, I’m bruised, battered  and beaten by those before you and you can’t expect a fair trial. I’ll do whatever I can to make you see what all the others saw. I will frame you like the pretty portrait you are putting the smoking gun in your hand telling you it’s your fault I pulled the trigger.
I try to be better but everyone knows I’m the worst, all bar room winks and smiles to just to test your line and flirting with a fate of dying alone cause I don’t want you holding my hand in public.
I couldn’t begin to tell you those deep down cravings for love. Those fears and tears that spill when no one is looking because I barley trust them to my tribe let alone a boy I barely met praising me as his one and only. A boy who can barely crawl into fray of my past issues. pages of time magazine caught in the wind each ad dawning a razors edge. cutting and tearing and stripping off the skin of anyone stupid enough to smell the buds in the middle of a brawl.
I admit it, I’m a fighter. I’ve been taught by bad teachers who make me believe that the second you take the time to find out the real me you’ll be gone. A shadow at high noon come and gone too soon thanking the lord you didn’t get in too deep before pulling yourself out.
Try not to get it twisted, I don’t hate the me deep down there but I do think it’s too much of me to ask you to peek in and be ok with that girl that can’t help but hide. That girl that talks tough but is sometimes scared of the dark that goes on and on forever inside. I don’t think she will ever meet anyone with open arms cause it’s easier to walk alone then be left behind.
I wanna believe in love, before the time has tick tocked away, leaving me the ancient spinner spinning long silken yarns about loves long lost and trying teach the young girls not to waste the years by talking the talk but not walkin the walk. I want to love and laugh and make memories but I'm afraid of choosing an end all be all just because I'm prone to some lonely nights.
so slow down speedy,  and put the *** on simmer. cause if you mean what you say and say only what you mean we got all the time in the world before those four little letters need to be added to the pallet to paint our perfect picture. don't ask for those hidden parts too quick and don't try and be slick, don't give me a sleezy cheesy come on baby please and please me. give us the time to grow and sew all the seeds that need to root before I know if you're for real or just another joker after the loot.

i knew a girl who wore scars like medals.
she woud tell me awful stories about
awful things that happened in her awful life...

She always told them with a wide joker's grin.
Her waxy lipstick red lips stretching and curving
into a smile that held hate and tears and years
of not so funny laughter.

Sometimes she told me stories,
like all that hurt,
all that shame,
all those horribul
horribul things...were such a
laugh.

every time you come into town
you toss things around
making a giant mess.
i've always missed you so much
and you are always gone
so long...

you come home
for a week or two
and we're kids again
walking home in the rain
laughing and swimming through the
downpour.

every time you come home I
drown
in memories
and I love you all over again.
the bad blood never stains,
it's the good memories i can never
wash out.

every time you come home
we drown in each other
till
sooner or
later
memory lane dead ends and
it's time for you to go
again.

i'm always so surprised when
you pack up and keep on truckin without
batting an eye
see ya
so long
see you around thanksgiving
like it's a day away.
and the pain in my chest is worse
then it was the first
second
or third time.

i'll never learn
and
i'll fall for it
every time.
how unfair of you
being the one that gets away
again
and again
and again
and....

i can't.

i want to say that i won't
but it wouldn't be true.

if i, instead, say i can't,
i can easily conjure up a choir of whys.

can't pull at you.
can't bust things up.
can't promise greener grass.
can't promise to stay or
that you won't regret
decisions made.

i want to.
so badly.
but i know with you
i am wont to want
so, i'll stay with can't.

i'll turn cold,
i'll steele, and i'll
remember the multitude of whys.

hurry home sad blue eyes;
before a storm brought on by
why not
whips you free and throws us
both
into unpredictable winds.

i open my mouth to say something
but your eyes tell me all i need to know.
this was over for you
long
before you got the guts to have this little
talk.
i can't believe you brought me to this diner
hoping it would rob me of my ability
to make a scene.
i want to cry.
i want to scream.
i want to drag on my knees
and beg you not to leave.
but i can't.
i'm too busy pretending
like i don't give a ****.
a kamikaze tear slips
blowing my cover.
you soften and try to wipe it away
but i pull back sharply
eyes full of hate
if looks could ****
you would be a rat
run over and left on the road
to dry and flake in the sun.
you would be a smear on my tire
as i gun it to ninety
and never look back.
you beg me not to be
like that.
but
if you would have touched me,
i would have fallen apart.
if you would have touched me
memories would flood
tears would break free
and i would beg.
don't be like that
you say.
but the only way
i know how to get through this
is to hate you right now.
don't be like that,
you say...
what *****,
for you
to ask me
to make this
easier
for you.

i'm hungry
and the house is empty.
although
the rats always seem to find food.
sometimes
i wish i were a rat
they seem happy
in this house.
they arn't bothered by the
empty cupboards

i pace
and brew the last cup of coffee.
the only
anything
that i have left.

no milk
no sugar
the rats got the last of that...

the deep growls
and begging
stopped long ago
now
its just
empty.

i watch the food channel
and fill up on images.
i can almost smell the smells
i can almost taste the tastes
the rats run and scurry
stealing crumbs and flavored dust
i let them have it.

i will sit back and
have my coffee
and continue to watch the
buffet flicker by
at least there is that
and rat's have never really been interested
in tv.

it's been
a slow morning.
the wind started early
sweeping away the small stretches of clouds
and leaving dusty blue
for miles and miles
i watch my neighbors
take out the trash
kiss the wife
leave for work.

the old woman to the left
invites me over for coffee
and we talk about
all those years ago
when she was something.
she tells me her stories
of her trips to india
and her cats chasing the rats
that call our houses homes.

she has things to do
and i understand
lying, i say
so do i.

back at home
i wonder
in those years
when i'm old
and i look back
what will i see?

i'm no one special
never really have been.
never been on a trip
never had a great love.
the only stories i have to tell
are of hearbreak
and hard times.
but i guess
someone has to tell
those kinds of stories
t0o.

i want you to come home.
i sit,
drunk and drinking,
******* the last hit off of cigs you smoked
days ago...

i want you to come home.

but you are miles away,
flashing that grin
at the girls who were always
conisdered your type.

painted bubbly bright blond
rays of sunshine that  just can't wait to
tell you of their highschool cheerleading years...

i want you to come home.

but your out
buying drinks and promising to save a dance
or two.

and it's ok with me cause i have
books that need reading
and games that need playing...

you say not to worry cause in the end
you always come home.
i try and ignore the purfume thats not mine
and the numbers you kept for a laugh.

i should have known better
loving you as hard as i do...
how could i last?

i was on the yearbook staff in highschool.

i met you once
in a dream.
married for years
the pickpocket and
the traveling salesman.

fish rained down on our wedding day
and our friends released doves.
my dress was a million rose petals
and your tux dripped ink on the church's carpet.

we laughed and loved each other
chewing beeswax and
painting silly faces on our knees.
it was a lovely dream
drinking in the deepest love
and swimming through the cool waters
behind our little green house.

you told me you were afraid of the waking
i couldn't lie so i said
so do i.
we ran
but the alarm and the bright morning found us
i woke and you
were just a dream again.
no closer then a cloud.
a wish whose cologne
clings to my hair.

i am twelve.
my mother has taken me aside
and told me how my father died.
in a time, way back when,
now tinted gold with good memories
and the dust of hard years after.
i was only two and the family
had been complete and happy
for years before...

she tells me of the accident.
and my young mind
can't help but picture
something theater quality.
twisted metal, explosions
flipping end over end
or maybe on fire.

my mother,
frigid with the weight
of what the world expected of her
gone cold after the years of
her own rough childhood,
assures me it was quick
and leaves me to my own imagination.

that night
i dreamt.

my mother and i walk through an empty shopping mall.
she is like the adults in my morning cartoons
nothing but legs and hands,
her upper body off screen
i am small
and afraid,
and clinging to one hand.

we stop in front of a store
the double doors slide open,
and my father steps out.
he tells me to come with him
and i try.

my mother's hand clamps down
holding me fast
i pull and tug
and cry
and scream
and beg.

my father shrugs
tells me it's ok and walks away
the doors sliding closed
gone forever.

i woke crying and alone
in my bed
my mother asleep in her room
my brother asleep in his.
shaking and confused
i lay back down,
wiping at the cold trails
of tears spilt,
and hated my mother
for the first time in my life.

He pumps away,
only his heavy breathing and dripping sweat
confirming that I'm not doing all this
to myself.
I try my best to enjoy it all and
let him know
and feel proud in the fact.

he is a sweet boy
i don't want to hurt his feelings
but deep down i know
he isn't here with me.
i am the tool easily accessible to fit the job.
and to a certain extent,
he is too.

although the part of me that linked *** and love died out long ago...
it echos sometimes.
like a phantom limb that itches.
or a tumor that makes you smell burnt toast.
sometimes i imagine deep, romantic passions
filmed in rose colored light.
those sweaty
tightly filmed scenes
of two people doing something
vastly different
from ******* or
******* or
getting one off.

something that jane austin would write about.
something ingrid bergman would star in.
something waterhouse would paint.

but this place where i am,
these things i do,
are far from such beauty.

i remember being a young girl in love,
barely a teen taking her first steps out
of being a little girl.
ribbons and dolls discarded
and replaced by
secret diaries and lipstick stolen from my big sister.

it all seems so foolish now.
such a waste. and even though
such thoughts have
lingering pains attached to them,
i know they are true.
i know what the chemical con job called love really is.
i know the true face of man and woman
face to face
in these days.
i know what such ideas have become,
in the world i live in.

how vain i have become.
all day i worry,
i wonder who is reading now?
i wonder what they have said about me?

i used to scribble down poems
in a tiny leather bound book.
i alone knew of the moments they painted.

and now
and now and now

the whole world can stumble upon
my name
my words
my secret thoughts and feelings

how vain i have become,
waiting with baited breath
for someone to tell me if they approve
or not.

i miss my little leather bound book.

we had been standing in line for hours.
our good, respectable clothes had long gone from
neat and pressed
to
wrinkled
limp and sweaty.

they take us in
one by one
and ask us questions
that make us stumble and nervously
fidget while they scribble notes and
raise eyebrows, waiting for us,
to show them
why we
deserve (out of all the other unwashed fools)
to work
for them.

when it's done we thank them for
their time, even though they never thank us
for ours.
and that night
they pick and choose
they skim over and laugh at bad handwriting
and the clothes we wore.

at the end of our day, we
the line of prospects,
lay in our beds,
in our homes,
praying to be chosen.
praying to ascend from this
depressing nothingness
to leave empty days
and worrisome nights
far behind.

and when that phone call doesn't come
we (because there are always far more left behind then chosen.)
shrink.
defeated and deflated,
we wipe our bleary eyes
and shuffle onto the next line.
trying like hell to
polishing up those old shoes
and stitching together that good blouse
hoping to get one more solid use out of them before
they fall apart.

the first thing i did
when i got a new car
was drive past your place.
muttering that there was
no other way to go,
no route better,
to get me where i want to go.

i refused to look to the side,
keeping my eyes on the road,
and a lie in my throat.
but i felt your apartment slide by.
like a blade of a finger sliding down
a long stretch of thigh.

you haven't lived there in ages
and i haven't sat on that balcony in twice the number,
but driving by brings you closer somehow.
brings your blurred memory into focus.

you're happy with a someone,
i'm content with a whomever,
and we haven't been us in ages,
but,
despite all,
i tell myself,
there is no better way to go,
no better route to take,
to get me where i want to go.

those mean little *******
dressed all in dusty black
who whisper in corners
and tag up the walls
with every ******
and hurtful thing
they could think of.

whatareyouthinking?imaginewhatpeoplewillthinkwhentheyreadth­is
theywillthinkyouhavelostit.andmaybeyouhave,
lookatthefuckuptha­tisyourlife.ofcourseyourinsane.

my mind a mural of
me versus me.
slander and hate
from the ones who know me best.
they creep in when
the silence goes on too long.
i try and keep them out
but sometimes
it has to be
silent.

who are these mean little *******?
whispering in my ear,
encouraging those fleeting thoughts
creating new ones
that stick a little longer.
how do you
not
listen to those voices that sound
so much like your own?

godlistentoyouwhine,poorme,poorme,
lifeissohardsometimes
y­oujustwannajumpthatcliffandgetitoverwithdon'tyou?goonanddoit.dous­allafavorandjustjumpalready

they whisper
about how stupid you look
or about how
what you just said,
was wrong
for a million different reasons.
all of them valid,
all of them obvious to
the gasping crowd around you.
they stare
and shake their heads,
whispering along
with those mean
little
*******.

they are ready to fight
everyday
to be heard.
after awhile
you can't help but take some of it in.
it's radioactive waste
posioning the ground water...
those mean
little
*******.

*stupiduglyfatdumbasswasteofspacegoodfornoh­ting

"where are you off to now?"
you pace.
you always pace when you are mad.

"just out."  i sigh as
i watch you run the carpet to rags.
"could you stop that?"

"out? just out?
all painted up like that?
why the *****'s paint if your
just out." with the carpet gone,
you hit concrete,
dust flies
back and forth back and forth
every sentence a lap
of our small room.

i look at my face for a long time
and add another layer to my
****** mouth
another swipe
of a ****** blush

you're at dirt now
digging down right into the earth
creating a trench that's fit
for any future we might have had.

"just out, just out,
you're always out.
why don't you stay home with me?"
you call up
from your deep dark
hole
you're grave built for two
getting deeper by the second.

i add some waxy lip gloss
the kind a ***** could be proud of,
all pink bubblegum and glitter.
never liked the stuff myself,
makes you look like your drooling.
but i know it makes you mad
and you'll never see me
wipe it off as
i walk out the door and
leave you
to your trench.

the word people means different things to all of us
people.
some feel comfort in that word.
a sense of belonging,
the pea in the all encompassing pod
comfortable and safe in the mass of  cooing voices.

i and many others
can fear the word and all its venom,
all its horrible possibilities.
the mass
the populous
the horrible, bigger than life tsunami of
faces, voices, opinions and expectations.
your possible potential
owed to everyone
by the time you have the nerve to be born.

The weight of a million plus eyes is crippling.
stepping out the door takes as much courage
as putting on the mask of everything’s alright.
laughing with the grinning face of the
people.

we are ****** froward into the fray,
the gauntlet of each other.
given rules of proper behavior
but never the rules of humanity or compassion.
drilled with the multiplication and proper verse
but left to our own childhood devices on
how to treat each other.

people
and their million different ways to maim you beyond repair
a knife for every
old scar and tough tissue
hurts left dormant years ago
that they can’t wait to find and rip open.

that fading flickering deep down hope,
held between frozen hands
blocking it from the hard wind.
well that small little hope for humanity
for people
isn't looking so good
not really keeping back the dark
like it used to.

i can't find a job.
so once a week
i'm on hands and knees
polishing the steps for
an old white couple that feel
they are doing
me a favor.

and
they are...
letting me in their home
to vacuum and polish
dust and fold
scrub and bleach
for the few ripped and creased
dollars they can spare.
the paper sits
held sweaty in one palm
till i find a reason worth letting one go.

they  mull around
sour faced and sighing
how there is a strange film
on the kitchen floor
that was never there before.
i take the hint and run
to re-mop.

i feel as sour as they look sometimes
but i know deep down that
the scrubbing and the polishing
the dusting and the vacuuming
is a god send.
without it....
well,
i don't even want to think
about what i would do
without it.

i had a dream last night where
the man who owns the house that i scrub
came up behind me and slit my throat
my sticky glopping blood
splashing on the floor and walls
that i just finished cleaning.
and my dying thought was
how badly it would stain.

such news can only be broken over coffee
bad burned coffee
leftovers switched from one *** to another
this ****** smoked filled cafe
home to drunks and low lifes
insominacs and druggies shaking
over coffee.

you tell me all about her
like somehow
that makes it better.
how she makes you feel
how lost you were
before.

i stir in sugar and cream
till the burned coffee taste
fades
i sip and nod
adding more sugar because
my hands need something to do.

i grin and joke
thank god no one was hurt
right?
god
what crap
straining between my
teeth, glued
in that chiseled smile
because
well
what else could i say?

you sigh
relieved
and all kinds of pleased with yourself
yes
at least we can be adults about this.

i excuse myself
and cry in the bathroom
and when i come back
we are out of sugar
and my coffee has gone cold.

the music fills the room
an old stero crackle just below
the strings and soft peel of drums.
a blue liquid jazz spills out and drowns the
crummy ***** room i'm in
turning it into a smokey night club
washed in deep lavenders and
plush
wine stained
reds.

a man from the bar buys me a gin fizz.
we sway with the horn
and a singer that croaks out
a rusty mournful wail.
mr. gin fizz smokes
and stares at me
hushing me
everytime i try and speak.

we sway
the singer wails
the drums whisper and scratch
the horn paints
hot liquid yellows
that assault those deep blues and reds.
the gin burns
and the music
fills the room.

squeeze my eyes shut
cementing the image
let the world that was
fall and live in the
dark smokey hole that is just
a nights sleep away.

i am beautiful
and i seep with that silent class
that other women do so easily.
draped in something deep
and silky
something that hugs
and drives men like him into fits.

mr.gin fizz orders another round
and lights another for us both.
the bittersweet blues slowly mix
into cool greens and grays of a
thick bass and a set of drums
thats not afraid to speak up
and introduce themselves.

you don't believe me.
surprise surprise
so
we go over the story
again.

i left the party early
cause 6foot7
dark haired drink of water
was just too tempting.
i couldn't stop thinking
how i don't want to smash my head
into that brick wall again.
so i left.

he followed me to my car
and when i looked at him
i saw you
and i left.
right then.
leaving 6foot7
dark haired drink of water
in the dust
calling after me
that he will
see me again.
almost like he knew.

i don't know what your friends saw
i don't know what the masses have told you
but i left.

green from the top of your head
to the tips of your toes.
shouting how it's over and making a fuss
cause you know
the kind of girl i am.

i could **** you for saying such things
but i laugh instead
letting the cruelty of the words slip
into my pocket for later.

i grab my keys and add a new layer of
lipstick and leave.
hell,
if i'm in trouble for the crime
i might as well make the trouble worth it.
cause apparently
you know
the kind of girl i am
and this is how girls
like me
act.

you are a shadow in the dark.
merely warmth and weight,
a delicious ebb and flow
that i float in.
my childish thoughts playing through the moment.

"look at me" you pant.
a heavy breathed plea
disguised as an empowering ****** command.

i open my eyes and pull you close.
reducing you again,
to a set of lips and an unshaven jawline
to the soft connection of neck and shoulder.

you say "i love you" in a voice that
sounds more like "i love this".
i try my best not to notice.

and when the end comes near,
it's almost instinct to push away.
back into the soft embrace of cotton and fluff.
eyes closing once more
rolling back and staring deep
into an inner void.
into a place that needs this impromptu encounter.
a place that wants to forget the shadow that was here before.
a place,
where you can not follow.

it chews
bringing me from the depths of sleep
a half tide type consciousness
to bang on the wall a few times
and fall back
sinking deeper
into the welcoming depths

it chews
sharp and chipping
low on the floor
by the foot of my bed.
i'm awake now
my heart beating faster
as i notice
how close
it really is.

i get up
turning on the light
to take a look around
i don't see a fleeting tail
or a brown fur ball scurry
so i stomp around a bit
a giant
fee fi fo fum be afraid little rat
out with the lights
and back to bed.

minutes pass
and as my muscles
unwind and i truly
begin to think i have won...
it chews
cracking and splintering
louder now

i try and ignore it
but the sound is maddening
each crack
throbbing behind my eyes
like he is boring into my skull

stop it!
i yell like
he would understand
holding my pillows to my ears
nerves broken
heart pumping battery acid
it chews
and chews
and chews

unafraid of me
or my stomping
or my fits
and suddenly i'm the one afraid
my girlish unreasonable fear
takes over
crying
please stop
please
but it chews
coming for me
bringing hundreds
of it's friends
to join the party.
it will be through the floor boards
any second now
it's piercing eyes
and sharpened teeth
looking for something else
to chew.

rubbing my rummy red eyes
against the harsh hard light of morning
last nights laughs and loves gone cold and bitter
staining the satin sheets we shared.

i woke up alone
wondering

if you were really ever there
if anything really happened
or if the drink finally seeped into my head
and conjured up a wild night
leaving me
laughing alone in the dark
naming the shadows and whispering sweet
garbled nothings
to no one.

i would like to believe my own
imagination would be kinder
but i know differently.
straining the grindings out of day old coffee
i wonder where you have gone to
what your doing and
where you are....

but i know the danger and the
foolishness of such thoughts
so i toss them away along with the
dead soldiers
of last nights wild war
sweeping up the leavings
helping along the hobbling thoughts
that last night was a dream
and you were never there at all.

he was angry with me again.
i was depressed and drinking,
alone,
in our bed.

he forced his words through clenched teeth.
"talk to me, maybe you will feel better..."

"i don't want to talk."
i told the bottle.

at that he was up and pacing the room.
"girls always want to talk!!
talk!!"

watching him pace made me dizzy
and his growing anger with me made me laugh...

"i'm not most girls..."
giggling drunk taking another messy swig.
"just leave me be sugar..."

he left
i fought the urge to throw the bottle after him
and hear that wonderful
shatter.

lucky for him there was a gulp
or two
that could not be wasted.

the last check
a startling
$393.45

minus the
$200
for rent
brings us
to
$193.45

from there
its either the
$139 electric bill
already a month
past due...
or the $66.57
for the cell bill
or the
$89 total
for
gas
tv
and
internet.

there is also the growing
student loans but
fat chance on that one.
i can't even remember
how much
i owe.

there is the matter of food
but in truth
i could stand to loose
a few.

i could blow it
all
on *** and *****
which helps me sleep
instead of crying
for hours
in the dark.

i could just
cash it
and
light it all on fire

either way
its a small drop in an
empty bucket
evaporating
slowly.

either way
its one month left
and then...

look at me.
acting like a twelve year old with a crush.
all beating heart and starry eyed day dreams
about you
and me
becoming us.

this hasn't happened in years
and already i feel worrisome hands
patting down the wrinkles and torn edges
trying
hoping
to be good enough.

i'm that scared excited that i was when i was little
under covers with flashlights
confessing and confiding in
a favorite bear.
trying on my big sisters makeup
giggling about what it is like to kiss
and who i was in love with.


it all boils underneath that thin skin
of cool that i'm positive you can see
through.

look at me,
acting like the girl
i worked so hard to
grow up and away from.

jesus,
look what you have done,
look at all those walls you have destroyed,
in a matter of days.

you left me here alone with him
and i could **** you right about now.
the smile pinned to my face begins to hurt
and the well timed nods make my neck ache.

he is the kind of stupid
that knows
everything
about everything
and wants you to listen in
wide eyed awe as he tells you
exactly
how wrong you are
and why.

he offends every sense i have.
his tacky talk and awful aftershave
he sweats buckets and leaves a slick slime
every time he touches me.
he laughs that donkey's bray of a laugh
and stares at my **** while he jokes about
enjoying the view.
he paws at me and decides i owe him something
for the smoke
he offered
that i was dumb enough to take.

i search for an exit but there is none.
as he goes into another ******* yarn about
something no one cares about
my head is pounding with...

i could **** you right about now.
i could **** you right about now.
i could **** you right about now.

there is a pain inside my head
but it's dull and
far away.
my sweat stinks of
whiskey and gin
and my mouth tastes like
mistakes made.

another night
a drunken vacation from
the shame.
you said you had a bad day
i was getting drunk
so you wanted
to do the same.

and for a night
the good ol days
weren't so far away
and we knew nothing of the ache
waiting for us in the morning.

that night
we were exactly who
we wanted to be
doing
exactly
what we wanted
to do.
there were no problems
no broken hearts
no debt
no death
in sight.

there was me
there was you
a night to stretch
and bottles to ****.

try
try
and try
again.

to be a better person
to make the right choices
to knock down those walls
to give a ****.

it's definitely easier
to not try
to not give a ****.
spend my days walking those clouds
riden the red eye
high up and far away from the people
directly next to me.
grin as they shake thier heads
and
tsk
tsk
tsk...
hell,
i could do it forever.

but the one who really matters
my star player
well, that reflection looks deep inside
with those sad eyes of hers
from her framed place up on the wall
and
well
****
you can't run from that.
can't lie when she knows
the truth.

so i try
and try
and try
again.
busted broken beaten
refusing to stay down.
fighting cause it's
the only thing worth doing
anymore.

another late midnight.
another inky dark.
another night void of sounds.
another night
as the only person awake
in a city of dreamers.

i hate nights like these
when the tide of sleep retreats
and leaves me
sitting and waiting,
staring up into the dark
that sits
a foot in front of my face,
praying i slip under.
praying that the night will be kind.
praying that i will fall asleep before
my mind
turns against me.

the rats chew and wrestle
in the walls
the room creaks and groans
and the nobody that's there
sighs close by my ear.
my mind spins
time stands stubborn and laughing
minutes stretch and bend
and night grows ever darker.
childhood fears,
dripping with anxious sweat,
claws and teeth bared,
are born.

i feel their breath.
i hear their thoughts.
i smell their stink.
they thump and bang around
letting me know,
they could have me anytime they wanted...
any time at all.

the glaring red glow of the old alarm
provides no comfort.
the milky moonlight outside my window
just creates more shadows.
eyes squeezed shut
i beg,
to any malevolent ears
that may be  listening.
please,
just let me fall asleep.

come to me little one,
come into the fold.
far away from the world
that doesn't understand you
and
that doesn't want you.

there is nothing left for you there
my sweet.
the only thing out there
is more rejection,
more pain.

come to me
little one,
escape in me
and don't question the dark.

don't worry about tomorrow
or the day after that.
only see me,
and us
and let the only thought
that shimmers across your mind
be of our love
and our life together,
till death
due us part.

they hate you,
i love you
they reject you,
i bring you in
ever closer.
wrapped together in our burning arms
heavy with fever,
we are one.
just you and me
and a lifetime of us
against them.
they will try and pull us apart,
but you won't let them...
will you?

they tell you i'm bad for you
but who hurt you?
and who made it better?
that constant babble of
the crowd...
they are desperate to make you
a project,
a rescued reject
they can pat on the head
and polish up for strangers
so they can be commended on their
massive hearts.
all those plastic smiles
stretched wide
trying to hide the pity for you.
they ask
where would you be without so and so...?
you must be so grateful....
why, you would have been dead without us....
like the life they offer
is any real life at all.

i say drink deep of me
and do what you want
cause you want to do it.
be wildly wicked
if you want to.
be bitterly brooding
if you want to.
be a puddle on the floor.

they can't understand like
i can.
they can't cure
they can't help
they can't possibly see
or ever accept
the person i know,
the person
you really are deep inside.
the person
i have grown to love.

come closer little one.
and i will tell you tales
of great men
and strong women,
of lives lived
quick and fast.
come little one,
live among them
they are eager to share
the secrets of the
world
as it really is.
and help you cast off the chains
of the world that you have been forced fed.

you're sleeping next to me.
shades of gray and shifting black
something i can reach out to
in the dark.
your steady breath
brings me in
and blows me away
like a tethered milkweed
a prisoner of the gentle tide
of your breath.

why are you here?
how did you get here?
it couldn't be because of me...
are you lost dearest?
searching out some daemon
or running away from one?
what brought you to my door
what will call out to you
till it leads you away?

what do i do
with these things you put into
my head and
that heavy metal slug
in my chest?

you make me think thoughts
i never wanted to think again
walls crumble and crack
breaking open
breaking down
and i'm too afraid
to look into the light.

i want to sleep with you
want to happen along you
during a dream.
maybe things would make
more sense there.
maybe i would understand.

how you
in all of your majesty
in all of your sublime
simplicity
can be here
sleeping next to me.

picture it.
a unstable pairing of a god
and you
a ugly little girl.
feel the gnawing of
knowing whats happening behind
all those closed doors
that you are too afraid to open.
hear yourself begging the god
to come clean,
to just be honest.
taste the venom in his voice
as the god screams that it's all your fault
listen as the god goes on to explain,
how mean you are
and how if
you just wore a little more make-up
or styled your hair every now and again
maybe
he wouldn't have to run into another woman's arms.
feel the tears roll
as he explains how a girl
like you
was lucky he even looked twice.

picture the stupid
ugly little girl you are
believing god
and begging him to stay.
picture it,
really close your eyes and see
this little tragedy play out.

now hold onto for years
and imagine wondering
every now
and again if
maybe
god was right?
and no matter what anyone says
no matter what you have trained yourself
to believe
imagine gods words
haunting you
for years
and years.

i hate the word potential.
it’s one of the few words that always meant well but was only ever spoken
by sad drunken mothers,
shaking their heads while whispering into the phone
about the child she always forgets to mention in the daily report.
they always had such potential
they wasted their potential
they never realized their potential.
my mother always wanted to play piano.
And as long as I can remember, we had one, a piano,
sitting fat and dusty in the entryway,
to be passed everyday on the way in or out like a sad dog
watching you pass by again and again without taking a second look
at its empty bowl or matting fur.
She paid for lessons that I hated
and as soon as my sister gave her a grandchild and that grandchild could sit up on it's own
she sat her down at the piano,
hoping that someone would finally pay some attention
to that **** dog.
i ***** out words on pages
I scribble faces on slate
I even try to carry a tune.
Trying to see what she saw, what talented life did I turn away from?
What choice did I make that made it all turn sour?
Was it the homework I never did
or the drugs I tried
or the *** I had that suddenly turned my future from bright to dim.
Should I weep for what I could have been?
Should I beg forgiveness because I stumbled and lost the race the rest of the world is running?
I don’t want to.
I don’t want an office.
I don’t want an education.
I don’t want a husband.
I don’t want kids.
And I don’t want to ******* play piano.

nothing is worse,
than thinking thoughts
you know
you shouldn't be thinking...

you try and shut them up,
try and cut them off mid-sentence.

alas,
this just makes them scream more.

they echo.

...and the very thing that makes them thoughts that you shouldn't be thinking, is the thing that makes them
stick.

the horror you feel
for that one second,
gives them new life...

...turns them from fleeting thoughts,
to secrets
that must be kept.

i have an affinity for being in your proximity.
and you don't see me,
not yet...

but i'm here, taking you in slowly
sip by sip.
my water weary mouth relishing
the sweet undertones of your wine.

i tell myself not to guzzle greedy gulps
and waste those dribbling drops that
roll down my chin.

how do i explain to you?
how do i even express
that excess pressure in my chest
that only comes on when you
drop careless winks
like tarnished pennies in a beggar's cup.

making me the beggar,
a terrified transient just looking for a hand out.
unwilling to look you in the eye as i stand
with limp hands hanging, hoping to catch
the tender of your time
asking you to please
pay attention.

you're drunk and *******
screaming between
spewing *****
how you have
always
hated me.

i'm terrified but i
refuse
to give you the pleasure
so,
as you smash your fist through the plaster by my head
i laugh and wipe absently at the tears.

you roar
and fume
and spit how you're going to **** me
i double dog dare you to try
making sure i grin wide to show you i mean it.

landing on the floor
in a sweaty heap
still mumbling about
the time i lost your mother's necklace
you pass out.

it hits me then,
laying in bed
like a truck
or a train
like your hate filled fists
punching holes in the walls.

i shake
and i cry under that hand
that crept up and clamped itself over my mouth.
i'm helpless
and afraid
and as i watch you sleep
i wonder if the buses have started running
and if
you would even notice
or care
if i was gone in the morning.

she sits on the curb
around 2am
drinking from a large dark glass bottle
swaying to her own soft singing
thinking her dark thoughts
and fighting the fights she never could fight
in person.

what has brought her to this place
doesn't matter.
bad choices and even worse
influences
every one's fault but her own,
if you let her
tell the story.

sitting on the curb,
throwing that dark glass bottle
as far as she can so she can hear the crash
laughing as sirens pass
and peeking eyes peer out of dark windows
to see what all the noise is about.

she tries to get up
falling the first time
another donkey bray of a laugh
then back on her feet.
to stroll and sway and sing and cry
screaming up at the cold street lights,
and anyone on this tiny street to happens to be awake,
how wrong her life has gone
how unfair it all is and how
if she had the chance,
well, she might just make the same mistakes
all over again.

her mistakes are all she has anymore
those tragic choices that reek of her
twisted thought processes.
they are the only things she can
breath on and buff up and show off
to the passersby.
as if her purpose in life
was to be a warning to others.
as if she did us all some great service
by taken a path only to mark it as hazardous.

she walks and she stumbles
she sways still softly singing
as the higher class wakes
and gets ready for work.
squinting at the rising sun
she disappears down allways
to tend to unknown day time activities.
but i know
she will be back as soon as
the street lights turn on
she will be back
with more stories and lessons
for those of us who can't seem to sleep.

my head is full of blue thoughts,
that i can't shake free.
a heavy fog of the type of thoughts
that make my eyes go runny and red.
the blanket of regrets
and bitter disbelief that offers no warmth.
i wouldn't put stock in it
ever
getting any better then this.
i think of lovers never loved
and bodies never held close
kisses hanging dry in the air,
blown away by carefree mouths.
i want the million little things
that arn't really things
that i know i can never have,
i want the moments lost and forgotten
in the darker shades of grey.
i want and i need,
i beg and i hunger.
but i know,
such things
that arn't really things,
are so far out of reach

ralphie was acting up.
screaming,
kicking,
whining...

all of us on the bus that cold morning
held our breath.

"sit down!!" she yelled
"stop it!!" she screamed
"when we get off this bus your gunna get it!"
she warned.

all of us along for the ride just
looked away.
avoiding the bitter taste of
what might happen at home
behind closed doors.

she screams
tugging and pulling at any stray
arm
leg
clump of hair
she can reach.

two more stops and i'm free...

we all choke on all the things we should say
we stare out the windows,
the lucky ones had a book to bury themselves in.

"...****** ralphie get the **** up!!"

as i stand to leave,
pairs of eyes beg me to take them with.

the bus slows
i step off and the collective finds a new found intrest
in the the ads lining the walls.

ralphie is on his own.

let's run, hand in hand, and promise not to look back.
we are young and lean with eager muscles and limbs,
built for flight.
let's run away and hide from peeping eyes.
let's not share the little we have
of us,
with them.

let's run
bodies burning and breaking down
while we gallop on rooftops
leaving a wake of suspicious whispers
and longing looks into the setting sun.
we will be leaping shadows against the
dusk's failing light. stretching long limbs,
over towns
and cities,
counties
and countries,
dark expanding space
and wide wonderful worlds.

run with me till we find what we are looking for
or until we drop dead
with ****** feet and stretching hands
still begging for something to hold on to.

i'm tired of these walls
i'm tired of this life
take me away
or follow me into the night.
run with me,
and promise never to look back.

i look into the mirror.
after a long night alone with
a cheap chardonnay,
my hands run through my hair,
they rub the tired worry from
my eyes.

we stand there for a moment.
sighing a quick prayer and
trying to steady that shaking hand.
we start to raise our heads when

she stares back
unimpressed.
she wonders what happened
blames the sickly color on the lights and
you can almost hear her voice.

"you can't run forever.
sooner or later you're
going to have to answer to
somebody."

you almost wince and try and explain
but she continues to whisper
and plant those bitter black seeds
that take root so easily.

she laughs in your face.
she hates you.
you hate her.

she throws a punch
hitting you square, she shatters.
glaring up at you
from every ******
shard and splinter.

my eyes
head
and chest hurts.
i have a tooth that needs to be pulled
and a mole that needs looking at.
i can't sleep
and when i stand my knee pops.

i still can't find a job
and my bills are too **** high.
the roof leaks and the
washing machine tears up my clothes.

the dogs don't listen
and there is never any food in the house.
my last pair of jeans is starting rip
and i haven't had a decent
idea to write about for weeks.

i'm tearing through my
***** clothes,
looking for my favorite shirt
and it hits me,
i remember now,
you took it  with you
when you left.
swearing it was yours...


great.
just great.

i guzzle down his touch like cheap wine.
fighting through the bite to get the buzz.
i soak up every drop of attention he secretes.
it has to last me...

he ***** like he has something to prove,
not necessarily to me.

we finish and he gets up to leave.
and i'm thankful,
he snores in his sleep.

you are bad for me.
a hazardous object in the hands of a child.
when you call i come running
before i even know what i'm doing.
i pick at pocked skin for your fix and i can't help but wonder
if you'll come around
while, at the same second,
in the same shaky breath,
begging you to stay away.

let me be.
leave this weary frame alone.
there are others out there
hurting for what your selling.
my pockets are empty
and i can't stand the cost of
yet another
free ride.

my fear is that
you know exactly how i beg
and hear every conflicted wish.
my fear is that,
you stay away only long enough
to let the fever reach it's pitch.
only long enough for the itch,
burning red and scarred over from the scratching,
to just have steeled.
just when i think i can put you down
you come back,
show up out of the blue
red, green and gold.
cementing the fact, that
next time,
i hold out just a little longer.

I can’t sleep again. On nights like this my bed makes me ache.
I’m tossing and turning in an ocean of hot itchy blankets and deflated pillows
I lie awake.
My mind is me caught in a small dark room burning at a madding pace bouncing from trouble to worry to factoids to be kept for the next day,
plans and lists that persist and insists that there was something
I forgot to do
or did wrong or
will forget soon.

I can’t sleep and it burns,
the night stretching thin long and lean threatening to last forever and hold dawn at bay.
I feel crazy at times like these,
when there is nothing left to do but lay there and let the day rest but instead I lay awake and let the troubles of yesterday infest the promise of the new today.  I beg for smoke or drink or hell a heavy object
to bestow upon my brow blessed sleep.  

I beg you night, find my restless worry and grant me leave.
I don’t want to meet the dawn, shy as she is, as she creeps into her place.
Her silent footsteps already carried on the wind and I fear she is close.
Let me sleep, let me dream; let me get away from all of this for a while.
Blessed night let me sleep. Too many nights have escaped my hands already and I fear I’m growing senile.
I see the things that were never there and my days run like diluted paint turning the big picture a muddy brown and fuzzy.
Blessed night let me sleep.
I want nothing more than to hold audience for or hour or two.  
To speak my peace and be allowed to stay in your keep.
Blessed night, please, let me sleep.