Why did you do it?
How do you feel?
Okay, but is it the daddy issues?
Regret isn't always instant, ya know?
Eventually, i will explode.
so i'm not what, sorry who, you wanted. maybe even needed. what is the difference. turn me over and get your kicks, did you think it was your eyes i wanted to see when i opened my own? you are nobody. not to me anyways. i wish you had blinded me: maybe i would have felt more. more than the voices. felt the music over your moans - that by the way sounded like you wanted me. felt what it was to be whole, full, content. everyday something feels like it does not belong in me and you were no exception. when you breathed into my neck it was no cold biting breeze but the memory of moments before my dog threw up in my lap - at least he looked apologetic. but i let you take it and now it's yours and that is fine by me but you have this problem where you don't know when to close your mouth and maybe if you had ever put it to use i could forgive you. insult me. please. you don't know how good it feels to have my worthlessness validated by a stranger. someone who doesn't understand my jokes and my biting comments: alienates my tongue and forces it back into hiding. the moment i felt a crack following the path your fingers had once whispered into my skin: i felt home. back to base one. back to being an infant learning how to operate these strange extensions of my body - which brought me back to you, who taught you to use those fingers? i wonder if you can hold a fork, is it crooked? the moment you couldn't peel a tangerine i should have known better. speaking of, i know i do. and i want to say it wasn't what you did or didn't do but there was a lot you skipped over. i can see you're impatient, impolite, even impotent on occasion and i have to ask: how do you support yourself on such shaky arms? i truly didn't think you'd make it through the whole, what was it, 15 (?) minutes. and what did you want? a prize? a pat on the back? for ******* and spewing your loneliness into me? lips too big, neck too long, decision making skills nonexistent, looked like your last girlfriend - did I miss anything else that was wrong? did my catholicism make it better? did that help you mount the white steed, you were no prince charming and the dragon was better company. did it hurt me, to be rejected that is, only about as much ***** as it took to laugh about it. does it haunt me? like every mistake i have ever made: but it's no big deal, you're bottom of the pile. that should please you, you couldn't hold yourself on top anyways.

let your waterworks flow
your wall have held longer than expected
the cracks are visible while the pressure grow
your disguise was maintained and almost perfected

Now the imperfections are exhibited
subsequently and perfectly
attention to your cracks was prohibited
as the weeds in them grew abundantly

on demand when lovers need wall to lean on
but you had pain that demanded to be felt
crumbling walls is something you dream of
but you kept hope for others like church bells

its time to let your walls weep and plummet
its your turn to release pain and fears
remember this and keep these tears in a bucket
its turn to shed your tears

-t.m & mcdonald tsiie

they dance around the issue at hand
like two sparrows around a breadcrumb
and unaware of the cracks in their tiny hearts
they shed their fragile feathers, one by one
until neither of them can fly away

I'm glad to have history to look back on
I'm glad my heart did not pass in the last
minute of my life that I created,
It was an unpleasant thrill to live
and let go and to live again just
to look back on how I did not let go,

I am the heart to my heart
"I cannot live without you
and you cannot live without me"
said my heart, through its cracks

I promise, I heard it within the spaces
of each beat, I heard it whisper 'don't go'

- Kaya

Encountering suffering in a multitude of events,
does not soften the blow,
for the future
Numbness in this case becomes,
a coping mechanism.
Without much realization,
the same barriers crumble
and faulty shells,
attempt to stand.
The cloudy filled bottle,
has more then a few cracks
Leaks sprung, unprepared-
because issues,
lacked in solutions.

Let us sleep
like the staircase
that once led up to the Temple Mount
no longer able to carry pious feet to prayer,
but the well experienced cracks
over which they once walked
expose the heavy burden
of well worn memories
under which we now slumber.

Sunrise from Masada.
The view from the casemate wall
of Silva's camp below.
Shadowy ghosts
are cast and scattered
and given voice as the wind
shouts through the buildings ruins
L'-he-rut Zi-yon
and there is no reply.
Only the songs of the Tristramit
who mimic the voices
of every child martyred here, singing:
*Shalom al Ziyon, Shalom al Ziyon"
and there is no reply,
only the dreams of the interrupted
and the disturbed peace
of excavated ruins.

a false clay mask
covers clenched faces
hoping the edges wont break
held together by the cracks
of the bitten lips
a single drop of pain
reignite the agony
for silent it wont remain
behind the quiet yet heavy
mind full of deep confusion
black clouds of frustration
overlaps the screams of the
crying heart