My hand hovering above him, I hesitate.
There is a glint in his eye. 
Slowly I pick him up, just feel the weight.
We always meet when I feel hopeless, he promises so much, absolution, complete freedom and yet, I cannot seem to fully accept. I refuse him; deny.

 He somewhat quells my despair.
Roaming up and down my skin.
Tending to me when I can't let anyone else in.
Arms, legs, chest stomach, especially a thigh.
To me, he feels at home there.
 Never does he question; ask why.
He's always ready; on standby.

Her birth name was Ryan,
But she was a girl
In every aspect
Except the one you wanted to believe.

And her older brother,
His name was Simon,
But we called him "D",
Short for Denial.

Because that was all he could do,
Deny life was bad.

And we loved them so much,
But when the old German man died,
They went to a new home,
And then Reese couldn't take it,
After they cut her hair
And made her wear polos
And jeans.

No more sparkly shoes,
Only white sneakers.

No more pink,
Only blue.

So she was gone,
And most of D left with her.

And when he finally faded out of this world,
Everything broke.

In March,
Literally a year later,
We found his letter that he left for us.

To this day,
When I think of anyone I love dying,
I promise myself I'll try to be with them,
Because you were so alone,
And I don't want anyone,
Especially my Reese
And Simon Jonathan Marter
To feel so alone again.

what do you do with
the moments between
moments

the time when her head
leaves your shoulder
but before
her fingers lace yours

when his kiss
leaves your conscience
and you're just staring
waiting - what's next?

or when your bodies are moving
together
on couches
and you become separate
long enough
to make it upstairs

what goes on
in your head?
is this the right choice? maybe
am i hurting you? likely
am i hurting, too? always
is this enough? or anything?

what about
when you realize
that your whole life
is a moment
in between
moments
and we're just
trying
not to
notice.

miles away.

well I was plagued
and pale and panicky,
ripped up torn pages of a
glamor **** magazine,
coco lips pressed to
the cool floor
beneath the hoard

- lovely.

lowly lows loathing
show boats & warships.
flicked a spittle
writer ribbon atop
white middle fingertips
& said,

'praise the passive lord, pretty.'
'yes of course, of course.'                                  
'you are forever, ever golden.'

(oh & then some.)

such a fearless feeling
breathing like new
free fare blaring lights thru
iron clad glass and
such as life, the knifey night
comes to pass, short & sweet;
shock treatment, therapy.

shot right thru me.

weak need.
stripped bare and bored
I stare and mourn
& I laugh.

bliss
wrapped in magic,
you poor perfect *******.


I would just
hate
to be you right now.

Life to me was made up of days where we could experience
the highest of highs and the lowest of lows
only if we were lucky enough

Now if we weren't lucky, we would be stuck somewhere inbetween
that was what the majority of the world was
this was what the majority of the world spent their daily lives
stuck in the between of highs and lows, that part flattened out
in the middle and didn't feel anything
all they ever felt was gray

I look for twilight,
The dim purplish light
Signifying neither day or night
But merely time,
held in lofty suspension
For precious few moments,
Not so blinding as day
Nor as smothering as night
But a momentary lapse
In the gaps between heaven and here,
Wherever here might be.