Strings of life thread form
beneath your collar bone,
only when you aren't looking.
And every distracting thought
is a tally mark onto the stone board
between soft edges of obsidian cliffs.

Mint green elbows pry
the heart from ten commandments
and stitch spirit into twig houses
by the highway.

Cardboard ghosts reach forth
cream knuckles and seated stares
from scintillating pavement and disillusion.

Morning coffee candles burn,
tasteless, vague,
daisy-chained and flooded,

and man seems absolutely
unnecessary.

i traveled to the city of angels,
and i didn't know what to expect.
i saw the wingless seraphs weep,
but gained so much respect.
i traveled to the city of dreams,
where the land gods were lost.
i saw the people who wanted to be found,
and those who were trying to get a cost.
i traveled to the city of angels,
and i saw heartache and pain.
i did't know what i was expecting,
but i think i'll go again.

It must be this third cup
of coffee that has me on
edge. But not to confuse
anxiety for indigestion.
I'm sick to my ******* stomach.

Maybe you could be a little sweeter?

I said, maybe you could pass the sweetener.

I'm not one to stir the ***,
but I need something fresh.
This is stale, and the grinds
taste like pennies.
My spit is red.

The best part of waking up,
is having a *** to **** in,
to have a glass half full,
but who is the fool?

The fool is the man,
that runs out of coffee filters,
and uses toilet paper,
instead.

I drink my coffee black.
It's an absolute.
Why mix cream?
When I don't believe,
everything is so black,
and white.

Spill over the top,
let me drink your insides so they become mine
once more.
We were all the same once but that was before
our parents decided to donate fingers
to the place on their gravestones engraved
forever yours.

And I still see you sitting there
pipe in hand
burnt lavender floating through your veins
just how you floated through mine
every day when we were a lesser age.

You're the only reason I am,
and I am nothing.

I laid out a smooth brown blanket
to comfort the scales
flowing through my laptop speakers
five hundred and thirty-two times every second.
Two more times is disarray,
One hundred less leaves you crystalline,
like water,
pouring from the sink
into tupperware cups,
gurgling,
heated,
tea.
We both just need a little tea.

I love how i feel your whispers
at night
on my ear
sometimes they're cold like me
sometimes they're gold and
i keep them in my pajamas pocket
forever
just in case that you have to leave
and i can't never hear
your whispers again
so i come back to bed and you're sleeping
beautifully and quietly
but your words seems to want to
escape
from my pocket
so i call you once, twice
and start talking to you with
my slurred voice
and you shut me up
with a goodnight kiss
first on my forehead
and then on my lips
i couldn't taste it well
from the medication
but i can hear
you saying
goodbye, little girl
sleep well,
farewell.