The darker side of my mind is where
Abstractions of fragmented poetry breeds;
A baby lies dead in a Hong Kong gutter,
And my lines fall into place.

Broken hearts sing lullabies to me,
Two savage beatings spare me a verse,
New Orleans lends me four at low interest,
And throws in a haiku for free.

The old veteran quotes me three lines
And gets buried with the last.
The rhyme festers with his body;
Both soldier
                      and verse
            are
                       free
                                       again.

I can't explain the beauty I see
In the dying faces of the abandoned ones,
Nor tell you why, if the bomb were dropped tomorrow
I should weep in both anguish and delight.

I can only tell you, should it all end,
Should all modern horrors dissapear,
The future will weep for the joys of the present
And smiles will dissapear forever

things are blurry
I can't think straight
thoughts are bouncing off the walls
I'm losing my mind
make it stop
I need you here
why aren't you here
where did you go
why did you leave
when are you coming back
the thoughts are filled with you
you
you
you
I ****** up didn't I
I ****** up
I'm sorry
please come back
it's all I want
I want things to be okay again
are you okay
is the night treating you well
are you ever going to come back
why did I say that
why did I have to **** things up
I can't function without you
I'm trying not to cry
it's hard
it's hard to catch my breath
my lungs are collapsing
my throat is closing
my eyes are covered by unfallen tears
make it stop
is this what death feels like
I'd rather be dead than feel like this
I'd rather be in your arms
I'd rather things be okay
but they're not
I'm sorry
please come home
I worry about you
I worry something bad will happen
please I'm sorry
I didn't mean it
I was mad
I never should've said it
I'm gasping for air
I'm holding on
I'm a piece of nothing
a piece of ******* ****
my body is heavy
my heart is panicking
my lungs won't inflate
my mouth is wheezing
my mind is in a state of insanity
I keep writing
nothing seems to be working
you're not back yet
what if you're hurt
what if you're crying
what if I ****** up for good this time
I can't lose you
I can't contain these thoughts
I'm experiencing insanity
I keep thinking the same things
over and over again
hoping for a change
hoping you'll come home
but you won't
you won't
you won't
you won't
I miss you
I love you
I'm sorry

I'm not quite sure where we were
Maybe the tunnels by the creek
Or maybe the canyons on the west side
Those details are minor
Because what I remember
Is my head on your chest
And your whisper in my ear

You told me we'd figure it all out
Someday, this would all make sense
But I wasn't so focused on your words
As I was remembering your scent in my hair

Eventually my heart slowed
I feel as if it's been racing for days
And my breaths became more even
As your chest rose and fall

What a feeling peaceful bliss is
Or maybe it'd be more appropriate
To call it ignorance
To think that maybe we were made for each other

I awake and darkness surrounds me
What a surprise, it's 3am
My heart sinks a little
And a slow chill envelopes me
As I realize you're not there, you never were
It was just a dream

It's 3am*
When will I be okay?
It'll get better they say
I've just gotten more comfortable with my stay

I'm filtering you through the crack of light that universally seeps through all hotel room doors at the tender hour of 3am.
That is to say,
this isn't a sonnet of love
Or an overly romanticized image of a 21st century youth,
This is realism
In that I am trying to process everything around me like it will disappear tomorrow
Sipping tepid cola watching the day fade through the trees
Losing track of time or when the hell I'm supposed to be anywhere
Because lately I've been going no where
Tracing my veins and driving in circles around your block
Trying to remind myself that though we live in an infinite universe,
And though we are all alone in our own skin
we're still connected through the cracks in the concrete and the curve of the earth.
And I think about all the river water I drank in trying to get to your shore
All the time I've waisted hanging just outside your door
And I know I tend to get stuck on the little things like the songs we sang or the arch of your foot
But I'm just trying to ******* process you so I don't have to spend one more night on my best friends couch staring at my skin wondering where all the time went,
Wondering if I had cleaned up a little better
then my mind wouldn't be so spent
So I'm staring into the light coming through the hotel door at 3am so I can filter you out of my chest and onto paper
So if I disappear tomorrow
I can know your memory for today.

7pm
My friends bring you up in conversation for the first time in months. I say it was for the best, couldn't have worked out anyway.

9pm
On my own again. I can't close my eyes without thinking about you. This alcohol is burning through my body.

11pm
My vision is distorted, all my mind is clearly focused on is your voice.

11.30pm
Wondering if you ever think of me, or my voice. Wondering if you miss the "good morning" as soon as you wake up. Wondering if it sounds as homely coming from her.

1am
I thought I was doing fine. Whenever you come up in conversation my heart starts racing and I can't stop thinking about how you made me feel, how we made each other feel.

2am
This is torture.

3am
Red eyes and wet cheeks. Please miss me back. Please call me and tell me.

4am
I want to call you. I want nothing more than to hear your voice again.

5am
Wondering if it killed a part inside of you like it killed a part of me. Wondering if I'll ever get that part back.

6am
Black coffee and 10 cigarettes. I wish I could **** this habit as much as I could quit smoking if I wanted to. I know how much you couldn't stand my cigarette and alcohol kisses.


7am
I break down again when I realise I'm nothing more to you than a memory.

10am
Baggy eyes and unbrushed hair. Yes, I am okay, just a little tired.

9pm
He's not you. But he's here and you're not.

do you remember sitting in the ER at 3 AM and seeing an x-ray of a head and a big white blank space in it and the warm white blankets on your 11 year old legs felt cold all of a sudden.  you were given a stuffed Beanie Baby frog and you ran around the hospital courtyard nervously taking the frog to Animal World with your 8 year old sister and her rainbow colored bear. and then you sat up and helped the nurse take your mom's blood pressure and he smiled at how clear her lungs were even with the asthma and told you that you could be a doctor if you wanted to because doctors save people they fix people.  

people can't be fixed.

there are so many different levels of mastery.  I have counted all of my fingers in rhythm backwards and forwards and I think I have mastered that there are 10 and only 10.  there are only 7 notes with little half steps increments in between them in the musical alphabet but the mastery of those? next to impossible.  who knew playing a violin could make you sweat down the nape of your neck while lining the rim of your forehead with frustration.  fingers become red and warm stop trying to play so quickly so much.  however, self-loathing is not healthy so maybe we should keep playing until I am red in the face and the loathing is cured.  

will it ever be?

you should stop doing the friggin peace sign at everyone you see but you won't and that's okay I suppose. I hope it's not true that people say what they really feel when they're angry...if it is I'm lost in contempt some of the time.

I am the most oblivious of the aware I hope salt skin is accepted here.

An egg, boiled fresh
a matryeshka doll watches
                                                     somewhere the last train
                                                     makes it's way down the tracks
past the lakes
& the reticent pine trees

                                                          ­            the street lamps
                                                           ­           shine wearily

                                                        ­                                        & again, the rain
                                                            ­                         is starting up once more
she reads Kurt Tucholsky
' Schloss Gripsholm' with a dictionary

                                                     ­                     writing down his odd words  
                                                                ­       daintily as if they were glass,  
not to be handled
except lightly                                                          ­          the city holds her
                                                             ­                              like a child

It's not about who you think of at 2pm when you're busy....
or 3am when you're lonely....
it's about the one who never leaves your thoughts...
the one who has you biting your lip
and blushing,
even though he isn't around....
The one that has you wishing for
A pause button,
Just so you can live on his lips,
A tad bit longer...
The one who awakens the female in you...
Who makes you feel powerful,
Beautiful,
Breathing, Alive...
It's about the one that quickens your breath...
That looks at you and just like that,
You'll willingly do whatever he says,
If only for a kiss or a spank....
It's about the one that has you thinking
You might be insane, slightly obsessed,
And yet you can't, or rather won't
Give him up....
Because no-one has ever made you feel
The way you feel,
When you're with him...
A crazed, passionate, starfucked love
A love of only poetry.....
A love of only Him....

©MV (cause I'm tired of that meme that reads its about the one at 2pm when you're busy not 3am when you're lonely, *******)

neon light of slow
revolving doors in this
dumb, silent sleep