black sky, black road
yellow lines like warning signs
i turn my head away
from those flashes of colour
and look out the window instead
at the grey fields of evening

grey fields, grey grass
bulrushes like sentries
and one bird that calls to me from beyond
as if it understands this feeling

some days it mocks me
other days, it lets me speak
and i hear it often late at night
telling me to dry my eyes
and sleep

black sky, soft wind
that creeps through the netting across my window
and sweeps the salt water from my cheeks
while the coyotes howl, voicing what i cannot
and the crickets play their violins
as if i needed a soundtrack to this

and the next morning, my door opens
revealing brown skin and a summery smile
and when the sun hits my face
i feel the cold embrace me once again
feelings washed from my body and escaping
back to my bed, waiting
for the sun to set and for my body to hit the sheets
and for my mind to remember a day full of nothing

and nothing sinks into my tear ducts, opening up
the river, and i cannot for the life of me
remember why i am doing this, but i am
and the black sky watches without comment
as i take the bird's advice, drying my eyes
and sleeping

the sun rises again each morning
and so do i

these are my apologetic heartbeats
i am sorry but i will be late
because my arteries are running behind
and you will get there before me
but please don’t take it to heart
(that’s a pun
to lighten the mood)

nothing but the metaphorical truth
because i speak better in images
and pretty thoughts
and objects replacing feelings
so i can actually hold them
touch them
prove their existence

i think i’ll take this tightening in my chest
and turn it into a rubber band
stretch it between my two hands
and snap it
releasing the tension

i think i’ll take this weakness in my stomach
and turn it into a butterfly
which is pretty generic
but i want it to fly away

i think i’ll take this somewhat guilty weight
and turn it into a stone
grey and lifeless
and pointless
and i will drop it into the water
see the ripples spreading outwards
and touch them for good luck
tasting the tips of my fingers
to alleviate the cold

i think i’ll take this weird emptiness
and turn it into a poem
so i can raise the words up and run my fingers
through the letters
so i can print it and frame it
and smash the glass
and take the blood
and stain the paper
and crumple it up
and throw it down
to prove that it exists

and see if
when i look down at myself
the words are there
the glass is there
the blood is there
the lines are there
and i have been thrown onto the ground

these are my apologetic heartbeats
saying
sorry
but you cannot make us concrete
until you write us down
are you happy now?

underwater, laughing echoes
faces smile and mine smiles along
while the brick wall remains strong
and so do i

break the surface, grab the air
with one cold hand and save it for later
might be needing an emotion or two
sometime soon

above the waves, all i can do
is observe and pretend to exist
while the background consists of the rest of you all
and i am separate
and the only thing i feel
rises up in my throat, hard and painful
and of all the things to surface, this
(crying)
is not the reaction i was hoping for

spent years wandering halls
cutting the "i" from my sentences
forming words from vowels
and emotions from consonants
hard and solid, but nothing
without that internal structure

guess that describes me pretty well
all consonants, harsh "t" and definite "d"
and the ever-slippery "y", like me
never making up its mind

felt like a half-learned language
still do, really
like someone forgot to learn the proper nouns
forgot to turn the sentence around
grab the sound and speak it

there's an accent colouring my life
awkward and stuttering, unsure
and never fluent enough
to step in time with the music
for long enough to make it matter

words from vowels
and emotions from consonants
hard and solid, but nothing
without that internal structure

felt strong and weak
like a paradoxical spirit
walking between the lines of
yes i do and no i don't

felt like a skyscraper
among all the other concrete mountains
blending in, sticking out
windows open, blinds shut
walls untouched by rain, but
the water still falls in through the gaping frames
and onto the floor
seeping into the surface in patterns of
yes i do and no i don't

felt like a city among many
like one among thousands
like the only one with my mind cut open
like the only one thinking
real thoughts

my real thoughts
have not yet been made material
are they still real?
yes they are or no they're not

all i'm really looking for
is an answer

sun shone down
moon broke away
and spring became a possibility

i spent time wandering the halls
of my mind and my body, up and down
my veins
until i found the oxygen

today i dug my nail into the knuckle
of my pinky finger
for an hour
because without the pain
i kept sliding into grey
amid a room of voices
that i knew i had to listen to

and it's ok, i mean the mark is barely there
but that clarity scared me

i think i'd rather fall asleep
than rely on crushing hard into soft
dead into alive
just to prove dead is alive
no matter how it may feel when untouched

and i have been left untouched for days
so when my heartbeat made itself known today
i was afraid, and i wish i knew
why

sun hid behind the clouds
moon ate at the sky
until there was nothing left

the sun shines crookedly
into the cracks that beat the light
into my head
and i blink away the weather, but only for a moment
as i am temporary
and it is forever
and i feel like forever too when i'm walking down this road
but if i look behind
my footsteps disappear into the melting snow
and i know that i will fade

but how? i feel like concrete
man-made and unmoving
while the leaves crushed into my surface
by rain
are the transient ones

i will remain long after i am gone, if only in spirit
since my mind and my body
have not been friends for a long time
when the time comes, i will cast
that shadow from my skull
and my thoughts will be the weather

if i beat you to it
(i don't dare think that thought, just this one time)
will you hear me on the wind?
will you smile back at the sun?

you know that you're the reason
i can say those silent words
and yeah, it's a burden
but it will be you who makes the sun shine

and now i'm done with that morbid thought

words, make me eternal
let each scrap of paper ***** with my letters
speak the truth, and nothing but
the stupid truth
but is it so stupid?
the truth, to me
is becoming less of a fear
and more of a blessing

and sure, it's still a fear
since the blessing scares me
but the sun has become less of a shadow
and more of a light
and i'm pretty sure that's a sign

i'm pretty sure you're a sign
that i should wake up and go outside

yesterday i was alone and walking down some tunnel
that was the opposite of crowded and yet i felt as if i took up the whole space and more
and my words ran long lines, longer than my normal short thoughts
breaking up in weird places
and then for the first time in a long time my mind spoke with my body instead of my soul
and my voice was coming back at me from the concrete walls
and i realized
i was talking to myself and i was answering myself and even as the conversation continued
i thought, all these times i’ve called myself crazy and now i’m proving my theories right
but there’s nobody here to bear witness to the fact
that i am arguing the existence of my own sanity
and i fell silent only when i encountered another human being and suddenly
i felt ashamed, even though the words i had been saying
were nothing short of some sort of honest truth, and actually
i kind of liked being crazy and i vowed that the next time i find myself
really, truly alone
i’m gonna check in on how i’m feeling
because my voice seems to know me better than i know myself
and i’d like to know myself

whiskey drips down into the skyline
and my sober eyes close, refusing to resist
another heavy night
and i wake up drunk on too much sleep
again

this is how it’s been lately, maybe
i’m making up for those three weeks of sleep deprivation
but i think there might be something else keeping me
tied to the bed so late every morning
finally standing up, still tired
and the shadows never disappeared
from beneath my eyes

at any rate, sleep is not doing its work
bringing me deeper down into the sheets
as the morning runs its course
and still i don’t feel ready to face the world

the more i sleep, the less alive i feel
now tell me
is this how it’s supposed to be?