I walk around heartbroken most of the time.
A sticky glob of pitch resting in my chest,
warm enough to slowly spread,
but cooling fast and cementing.

Everyone seems to walk around so smoothly,
and it hurts to know most of them feel the same.
But,
they're silent like me,
and I'm silent like them,
and we all walk around with big, dumb smiles on our faces.

My heartache will **** me one day,
and I've accepted that fact.
Love of any kind is not guaranteed or owed
and even if you die surrounded by loved ones,
you still end up dying
alone.

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.

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...

ring,
i tell the phone.
be anyone.
i don't care who.

i would even take a bill collector right now.
at least we would have
something
to talk about.

it's dark
and i'm alone and drunk
again
and i just want someone
to call.

i want a warm voice
to hold back the dark
i want to know that i'm
not the only one alive
in the world at
this
very moment.

ring
i tell the phone
bring me good news or
good friends promising
good times.

i don't want ***,
i don't want to be held,
i don't want sweet nothings.
i want someone to drink with
someone to talk
deep talks with
i want you
to ring.

ring ******.
ring.

this misery wants company
this no one
wants someone.

ring.
please ring.

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 know  you mean nothing to me.
i know you wish you did.
it's unfair for me to call you
to bring you in from the cold
promising a warm bed and
a body to sleep next to.
i promise arms
and lips
i put on perfume
and lipstick.

i tell you
what you find tonight fades in the sun
you say you dont mind
but the rest of you
sings a different song.
i choose to ignore it.

tonight
we love each other
tonight
we are everything
we would
ever
need.

i wish it was this easy
and sometimes i think
maybe the love will come later
with some work.
but we both know
such lies can
ruin lives.
so we take it one night at a time
making no promises
nothing sure
nothing steady
plunging heart first
into a tornado
hoping it will spit us out on
a sunnier side of the world

the only reason i kept up
with the sport at all,
was to prove a point
to the one who got away.

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.

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....

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.

i haven't had a drink in months.
but the bottle in the freezer
tugs at my sleeve.
sweet and slippery
down the throat and into the gullet
it wouldn't be hard.

to take just one day to say
**** all
and lay in a pile
of my own
listlessness.

thirsty voices shout
about how all that is well
is bound to spoil.
and they remind me that
dawn is always followed by dark nights
and that tomorrow is my day off anyway.

they whisper...
wallow,
drink,
drown,
give up and float in the only
steady arms you have known
in a long
long time.

just one day
of the old shine.
just one day
of the old you.
we never did formally say goodbye
and you would hate to be rude.

i wish i were drunk.
it's hot as hell and you dropped
another hint that it stopped
being fun for you weeks ago.

i did what i could
but what i could do
wasn't enough and
you suddenly decided
i'm not what you're looking for.
the used car in the lot
you just had to test drive.
yes, it's the right price
but god look at those dents...

i'm sick of the ****
the windows are painted shut
it's just me and the heat
trapped in this **** house...

i pour myself a glass
jack over ice
and sit staring out the window
wishing it bothered me more that you left.
lack of tears just prove it
doomed from the start

i knew this time would come
i knew it
hell
i caused it.
being happy too long is for suckers anyway.

the ***** helps my head
and the heat
sweaty and
suddenly bored with
brooding over your
tantrum

i find a cig in the couch
light it
and blow choking clouds
maybe my luck is starting to turn...

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.

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.

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 ****.

it's cruel of you to show.
populating a dream
in the same careless way you
hung around all those years ago.

your arm found my waist,
gravity pulling my head down
to that trusting place between your head and heart.

it was easy.
horribly easy.
the world shifted into place
around us
and i knew
the waking world
wasn't for me.

the past year,
and the boy that occupied
your old space
was nothing compared
to this one moment,
this memory,
this ache.

if pain is my reality
let me drink it straight.
i'll rely on the toughest parts of me
to hold me up
the bone, the sinew, the gristle.
stiff raw material
indifferent to the soft language of
the heart, the soul, the guts.

the saddest part of what i'm feeling
is knowing that it has very little to do with you.

you are simply the catalyst.
and no one can blame
a single raindrop
for the floods.

i didn't like you as much as i told myself i would one day,
and my heartbreak is not at the loss of you,
but more so,
the monotonous trend you find yourself a part of.

you are one of many
who say that they are
in for penny and pound alike;
only to get cold feet,
and decide,
from that pale blue that **** keeps falling from,
that the individuals in the royal we
are probably better off
not becoming a unified
us.

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.

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.

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 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.

“i don’t know where i’m going…but i’m not coming back here.”
you blurted out,
loud enough so we all could hear,
unafraid and unapologetic.

i was upset at first, but then
i was suddenly glad.
you were always bigger then this place.
i had to be happy for you.
you saw that big something
out there,
and you were the first to notice the freighting rate at which this town was drying up.

so,  
go then,
there are other worlds then these.
these dried up ghost towns hold nothing but rotting piles of memories,
discarded beer cans and
the few of us
left behind.

i drown that part of me that wants to clamp down
and hold you tight before you notice the cage door shutting.
i know you are not a pet to be kept,
but the sight of your bright colors is enough to make me miss your song
and drunkenly beg you to stay.

fly away little birdie.
you were always bigger then this town,
bigger then this skeleton crew of
drunk could have been somebodies
who always remember way back whens, when things were better.
when we didn’t have to choose sides and
decide if we were staying or going.
fly away and leave us with the memory of what you were to us.
you can be the star of the stories
told over and over,
laughing,
choking,
dripping red,
wiping our eyes and telling of the times
we were lucky enough to be there.
you were always bigger than us,
and we all knew this day would come.

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.

it's so cliche
so stupid falling out of my mouth,
but,
i died after the choice.

the world's edge dulled
light grew dim.
colors merely exist,
not meaning the same thing anymore.

nothing feels good
it doesn't fit.
watching the story doesn't mean understanding the nuisance.
it's gray.
its barren.
it's never ending.

i died that day.
like so many people do.
i linger,
only out of habit now.

this neverending monotony,
is the only thing I have now.
the only thing that reminds me
that anything is wrong at all.

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.

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.

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's night
and there are only
two sounds
in the room.

a staggered, humming,
wipe
of running cars,
and a plastic fan
who's chipped blades
struggle for breath
in a wall facing window.

thoughts echo,
take your hand, and
lead you places
you know you don't want to go.

it's quiet
but at times
overwhelming.
night rushes in on all sides
only to stop at the window,
held back by a single shaded bulb.
the childhood nightmares that
hold the sill
drool, grind their teeth,
wait for the inevitable dark.

a train passes
somewhere far off.
blowing a lonly note,
proving to the world
that it still exists and
is hard at work.

it sparks the mind
to chew nervously on
bitter retellings
of histories half remebered.

the bed,
blood,
and heart have run cold,
while the two beers by the bedside
have gone warm.

time stretches out into forever,
yet somehow still maintains
the very real threat
of swallowing things whole,
and coughing everything up into
a dreadful tomorrow.

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 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.

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.

hold on and
believe
that we can make it
better.

hold on
through my fighting.
and know
that i want to make it work.

how do i begin to tell you
how sorry i am
for being
the way i am?

how can you do,
all the things i ask of you?
to understand my actions fully
and still
love me completely?

maybe i was wrong to
share those demons.

i beg you to
believe in me,
like i have always believed in you.

hold on a little longer and
give me the chance,
to get back to the woman
you said
you fell in love with.

an airy happiness
that shocks at first.
but to puzzle over it would be
to wipe it away,
to burn it away like
an early morning fog.

i bask in it
worries hanging around
chiming in every now and again
but for the first time
in a long time
i can wave them away
the buzzing flies they are
they will be back
but not right now.

i dance and sway
in the
clear and sunny day
no trace of the grey clouds
that hid the stars last night.

for some reason
everything just fits into place.
i am happy
in this
same old house
with the same dogs
chewing the same couch
or even the same rats chewing
on the same walls
while i chew the same toast
and drink the same bitter coffee
cause i'm out of sugar
again.

everything fits
and even though you've
been gone days
weeks now...
i am happy.
my mind wants to stray
but i wont let it.
i hold on tight
and imagine i am sitting
on a high cliff
feet dangling
sea busting below
air threatening to whip me away.
i jump and
fall into the couch.
i can't help but
smile.

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.

"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.