(She cries)
Sobs in hands while kneeling,
Painted face streaking though
She's familiar with feeling shattered
And as if she's floating,
In a subjective spatial sea
That surrounds her in this ,
Eyes-to-the-ground, individualistic city.
But she's willing to suffer if it means,
Eventual healing,
And not waking up every night screaming
With blind eyes wide, grey face, fist balled tight.
There's not a dawn to come for her
'Cause it's been dark her whole life.

(She wades)
In water
Ripples flutter with each dip and kick,
Her neck sparkles from splashes and sweat.
Her underlined eyes are tired and red from having wept
Instead of slept.
Guns on shelves
Asking if she needs help.
High balconies shout down to her
On the streets and inquire
Why she hasn't climbed them,
Looked down at the tiny specks winding,
Gears whirling, patterns and plans unfurling,
Observed she was of no use, and
Suffered a last shuddering breath
And leapt
To a mercifully abrupt death.

(She wonders)*
On this daily as
She comes to grips with failing,
At life and her goals.
Having squandered any hope that was shown,
Choosing instead a life of
Closed glass doors and burned out rooms,
Quietly never forgiving herself for who,
The world tells her she is
And who she is in her heart-
That hollow rock that stores
What remains of her wishes
Stacked in columns from floor to ceiling
Silent borders of her buried tomb of mass killing.
She roams among it like a library,
It almost feels like home, to
Browse steep piles of dreams dead
From a thousand and one styles
Of homicide, alphabetically stored and stacked.    

(She stares)
Into her oxidized mirror and
Studies the divisions of face along the cracks,    
Wondering when and where she went wrong,
How far lost she is and if she'll ever again see home.          
Most days,
   She doubts it.
Whispers what do i do?
   But wants to shout it.
The fissures on her face break wide,
Plunging her into vicious waters high
   Above her,
She shouts a final something,
But produces only finite bubbles.



*Critiques are very much appreciated.

Thoughts pass through my mind like a cold breeze; Whispered words
from two with unknown soubriquets speaking of choices that I don't yet understand.
Or do not want to.
Their ideas are like turbulent puddles in the darkest of caves or the desolate trails at the very end of the antipodes. The very thought of them is to perceive a near future where there is only weeping and gnashing of teeth.
Perhaps this is the stair which I dare not descend.
But am I to sit and wait and hear the sounds of eternities collapsing into nothing before I step onto the rickety echelons of uncertainty?
I can feel it. For as long as there has been rain mingling with the red earth of my heart, it has always been sunny
in my mind.

“momma bought us a pie”
my head is a nest of baby bluebirds
the supermarket is too clean
for the **** that you put in your mouth

Old, abandoned wooden hulks,
They lie, keeled over, on coarse grass,
Left to sleep on the estuary flats.

These brute barges, timbers strong
As the men who worked them, masterless,
Rise on no tide, rest heavy and decay.

From one, still upright, a mooring rope
Hangs in an arc, like the downward curve
Of its great, oaken, rusty-hinged rudder;

Tied to the mud where older keel spines die.

When you inhale, every particle in the universe goes up your nose.
Or so you think.
The world is only turning because it's disoriented after you exhale.
That's why I don't deserve you, oh holy one.
I am just a minuscule morsel in space, and you breathe me and everything else in, giving us reason to live.
It is you who turns the world and breathes life and really matters.
Or else ******* for acting as such.

It's nights like these,
Where I wish you were here to hear my thoughts,
     Instead
                   Of
                        These
                                   Blank
                                              Pages.

One day
this couch magically appeared
Out of some old shed
in a man's backyard
It ***** but
it was free

You are not fair, not fair.
Never have been and never there.
And we will live for years;
Under foot and without doubt,
That our Parents mistakes will break our backs,
Hearing them crumble and crack,
Under the whip and as they shout;
Faster, Faster, and we groan;
Quicker, Quicker and we moan.
Until we die under the weight of kings.
As we were blind to all free things.