I woke up to my life today,
and I couldn't stop crying.
It stretched out before me
for  years and years
and years.

the woman.
she is no more than
a lump of formless clay,
pure, vast, and unfiltered potential.

he was a songwriter.
promising to sand, shape, and polish.
skimming through her journal and jotting down
shorthand versions of a heart.

he was a stressed money maker
who wanted practical usefulness.
a pillar of support that got only the pleasure
of being part of a palace.

he was a writer.
who got her drunk and scribbled notes as she talked
and called it writing together
after the fact.

he was a teacher.
who only wanted to show her what she could be,
if only
she let him...

from cup,
to vase,
to ashtray,
to bust.

the clay cracks and varnish is sometimes chipped away
fire and tempered shell crushed to dust
only to be reused again,
as flour on a forming table.

the he in these landscapes is not to blame
for readily available medium
calling out for artists hands.

sometimes clay just wants to be clay,
and it has the right to decide,
when it feels like
being something more.

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.

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'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.

he said
"that's what i want...a good hard rain"
and the next day it rained.

watching the heavy drops bombard
the small broken house i hide in. i wait
waiting for a leak to spring.
waiting for buckets filling up with rain water
making that uneven
plinking,
                                         plopping,
                plonking,
dripping,
                            dropping,
music that drives me mad and puts the dogs to sleep.
waiting for the rivers to creep in under the doors
and dampen furniture so it wont dry till june.
waiting for the cold wind that blows right through the windows
and the power to fail
like it does,
every time it rains.

he wanted a good hard rain
and it's here.

he will walk in,
all smiles and dripping drops and muddy foot prints
"isn't it wonderful? isn't it perfect?!"
and i
wrapped in yards of blankets and layers of ripped clothing
will agree and try to ignore his laughter
at my misery.

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.

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.

she was done.
i was not.

she wanted out,
but i held the door.

frantically i watched the last
grains of our time together
pass through the twist of an hourglass
and everything i ever wanted to say
rushed toward my teeth.

my mouth went dumb
in the burn of her heatless fire.
that cold dimming light that told me
she would listen,
but her heart could no longer hear.

all i could choke out was a feeble

"...please..."

it passed through her, bouncing
off the wall and rolling back
to my feet.

she turned to leave,
and i was left with my
single pathetic word
still begging
from the floor.

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.

the heady wine blushes
pink rose splashes,
spilling from their fluted glasses as they laugh.
they, the shrieking, squealing, piglets of youth personified,
staining their dresses, making the skin of their necks sticky sweet.

girls of their prime,
strolling nonchalantly into woman,
laughing loud and unafraid of the
scowling, folded, creased faces of
old men having coffee
shaking heads and papers
grumbling about peace and quiet.

"Peace! Yes we too seek a little piece grandfather!" the tall blonde of the three trumpets

"Or perhaps, not such a little piece sister." a moon eyed brunette grins.

they let out another deafening ring of laughter,
pulling at each other,
gripping tight to their youth
in the face of
disapproval.

i can't help but smile.
and root them on silently.
be loud,
we've all had plenty of peaceful mornings.
you remind us of the we that we were
when we were you.

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.

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.

sitting here at 3 a.m.
deciding whether or not to
leave you.

my bags have been packed for weeks.
hidden among the piles of ***** laundry.

i know you love me,
i'm the one who is not so sure anymore...

how did it fade so fast?
how did it get so ****** up?

we did start in
all
the wrong ways.
we had so much hurt so early on...
so much to forget when the memories should have
just been starting.

the buses will start running soon.

it's unfair of me to do this...
i know...
but i am a coward.

you will have so many questions,
and i won't have a single answer...

it's better this way.

its four a.m. and the old man's ghost is with me as i pour through his work and he paws at my hem.

his phlegmy gravel whispers at me and i hear,  "cool down baby, the ink on the page is dead as a squirrel on the highway."

i read on and i feel his hand on my thigh and his warm beer dribbling on my dress as he promises verse that's all kinds of alive, if i want it.

he is old and slouched, used to younger women dazzled by words or of age ****** who will pay him mind in exchange for his last wrinkled ones,
but i am neither.

i leave his ghost where it lays
and i don't bother asking him to read my work.
it will live with or without him
even if it never sees the sun,
because sooner or later one of them will rise,
and i will have no time for the ghosts of old men.

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.

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

a creeping vine
of lonely ache
reaches out from
the ever whispering
pit
that sits behind my left ear.

fed by cold
desperate waters.
it reaches for me,
tripping,
grabbing,
begging.

what if they
were the only one?
and you,
just
had
to be
miserable...

"...tell me what you're gunna do now?/you get everything you wanted and you're still let down./ tell me what you're gunna do now..."

the voice on the radio sings my thoughts back to me,
the universe asking me to
pay attention.

i etch assuredness into
the stone of my face,
and remember that i'm driving,
even if i can't recall where i'm going.

the song plays,
the vines tighten their hold,
i scrape the last fight out of me,
and do
the only thing
i know how to do.

cold wind in blonde hair,
dew like rain on light lashes,
a different kind of water
than the tears standing there.

i should have picked a better day,
one with sun,
warmth.

she is strong,
but water always wears down stone.

it rains,
she breaks.

the crab bakes it's salt
on a rock littered shore.
bashed through,
cracked, and bleeding brine.

waves roll and guts run before
eyes that are having
their first taste of either.

those baby blues watching
something die for the first time
feel nothing.

they look to the sea,
bored with life and death.

there are empires to build.

plush captivity
where you too can lay you're weary brow in the wanting lap of lady luxury.

work in our store and buy exclusively our things,
step on the wheel to eat, and drink, and **** out new wallets with dull, lifeless, photogenic, joy.

dont ask where it came from,
or what the cost was.
it's all within your grasp if you just work a bit harder.
that new flavor experience,
a shimmering glow,
the look, the depth, the higher ground,
jealousy, worship,
confidence,
that aching hole,
finally filled,
for the small, small, price of
acquiescence.

let the hands of the master's
worry about the big things.
we know what's best and
knowing what you can't help but want is our job.
we haven't been you in ages,
if we ever were,
but the image is nice so
we'll wear the face you need us to,
at any given moment.

you need us, we know, and we'll make sure to remind you every day.
dont think about the inverse.
you're tired, hungry, poor and over worked, ashamed, scared, or just plain unconcerned; death comes
to us all, you're just waiting out your turn.

plug in awhile,
who has time to raise their heads?
we firmly have the wheel.
we know exactly what's coming up ahead.

there is no enslavement,
no punishment,
just no where else to go,
and no other way to do it.
deeds done in the dark
are done for you, in your name,
who cares about the rest?
you and yours are ok,
and really,
what else
could you
ever
really
need?

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.

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.

christopher find me.

sweat runs
and salt lingers
in seed and spit
in the moment just ended.

i retreat to the only place I can.
she waits for me patiently
outside

she has all the time in the world.

i was treed.
naked, right next to her
no where to go,

she and the words waited.

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.

gray sky warns of sun soon to come
and the slow hum of a world waking
accents the quiet.

you're heavy next to me,
anxious thoughts
tumble to the floor,
streaming steady,
like draining sand.

yesterday is fading
and i can't bring myself to look into a tomorrow becoming today.

you're gone already,
the tickets tucked away in your purse.
i'm holding a promise,
prolonging memory.

the sun is quick and persistent.
i **** myself for not closing
the ******* curtains
when you asked me to.

when they look at me
i imagine i can read the script that scrolls behind their eyes.

it tells tales of devastating devotion
and a love that's close to madness.

they turn away from me
and i am left to suffer the rewrite of their blank indifference.

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.

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.

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 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.

i am not your toy.
i can not be stored away
in the dark and dust
till you decide you want to
play.

you tell me how much you care
just not like that
as you sift through the pools of
our discarded clothes.
you assure me it was all in fun
and of the good times we had
and maybe if i'm lucky
the good times i have to come.

you were out the door
before the pillow was cold.
and i was smoking the cig
you left me.
i finish up the tasks that were beyond you
and lay satisfied and sleepy
laughing at
your promise of attention later
if it worked out.

weeks passed
and one day
you storm
through
all **** and vinagar
cause you heard of good times
i found
on my own.

you throw all the old
sticks and stones
hooting and hollering
over so much spilt milk.

you never understood did you?
never really got a handle on the fact
that tied down means tied down
together
if you want to be free
then
you're free
and i'm free
and this free woman
acts accordingly.

i am not a toy
that can be stored away
in the dark and dust till
you decide
you want to
play.

and
i'm not sorry
not for a second.

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.

lost my job today.
and
i started drinking cause
well
i have nothing to do tommorow.

i cried a bit
but quickly realized
it did nothing
but give me a headache.

i should worry
of course
about rent
about food
about all the other bills
crushing me to death.
i should worry about a lot.

but for right now
right this very second,
i'm just sitting
drinking and writing
like all of you readers
asked me how my day was.

all i have
right now
right this very second
is a cold beer
and four more in the fridge.

and for some reason...
that's just fine.
and
i'm not worried
at all...

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

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.

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.

i find myself watching your mouth.
i can almost taste your taste.
i can almost feel the soft graze of your lips
on my neck

if i really think about it hard enough...
i can feel our teeth clack in a rough kiss.

sometimes i find myself watching your hands.
they stir up dreams so vivid they could pass for memory.

...rough calused man's hands.
hands that could handle my fury.
hands that could set the world on fire.

what would they feel like?
such rough hands feeling out
the softest parts of me.

i imagine those hands in my hair...

He is coming home in six days.
back from his real life.
far away from
this choking town
he had to get away from.
far away from
the family,
that never understood him.
far away from me,
the girl who,
just happened to be in the wrong place
at the wrong time.

he will come back
and everything will be like it was.
we will laugh again
and drink again
and reminisce of times long gone
again.
i will remember how much i loved him
and he will want a warm body to sleep next to
again.

this sad little cycle
is all we have left.
and he get's to leave
weeks from now,
with his hands clean
and the memory already fading
of this choking little town,
of the family that never understood,
and of that girl that
was just in the wrong place
at the wrong time.

i console myself by repeating...
he would have been a good choice made for all the wrong reasons.

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.

walk slow with me
cause love isn't easy
my heart is haunted by
the ghosts of pain
torn through
leaving weak and brittle pieces
glued together.

walk slow
through the rain
at night
as we look at houses
and talk long winded talks
about all the heavy subjects
children
talk about.

we run and we fall
scraping knees
and bruising egos
and making a huge mess of
a once good thing.

walk slow
i begged
but you had to run
to jump
leap and fly
and now
it's all behind you
a misty dream that may
or may not have
really happened.

and still i stroll along
wondering when
if ever
you'll come back
and tell tall tales
of all those wonderful things
you saw
way up there in the sky.

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.

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.

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.

i'm lonely.
this house is too big,
and the walls have been the same shade of
pale blue
for
too long.

when he comes to me
he reminds me of everything
i ever wanted
in
someone.

it's not hard.
i just,
act the same way he does.
and we pretend,
she doesn't exist.

we haven't ******.
not yet.

but we stare,
and we watch.
we glance,
and we fight the smile.

fingers linger while passing
and sometimes
we can't resist falling into
each others arms
and holding tight
for a few terrifying seconds.

trembling,
smelling each others smell,
burying our heads in the sand.
pretending,
that no one in the world
can see us,
and this
is how it could
and should
always be.


then we let go.
only our eyes, thoughts,
and those sweet smells
lingering.

i'm lonely
and maybe he is too.

it's wrong
and i know it.
but these days,
the morals,
which i remember having,
aren't enough to make me say

no.
we can't.

i'm lonely.
and that's enough
to think

maybe we can...

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 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.

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.