Memory is cruel
Queen of attention to details
Defending intentions, yet he failed
Until now, he told me her name
It sounded familiar in a way
I could have sworn I’d heard him
Say it ten-thousand times
Oh, if only I had been listening

I'm unsure of how to persevere
in this role I'm supposed to
be pretending I was given.
And I fear that I'm continually
mistaken for my mask
when all that lies beneath
is treachery and deceit.
Yet you are fooled over and again
while I am left with the slimy remnants
after I've sent out the venom.
Tell me, is there truly such a thing
as a good-hearted executioner,
or am I only attempting
to fool myself as well?

How do you resist me
When you know I love you so?
How do you say no
So easily,
so constantly
How do you always go
And just leave me be?  

Are the lies from your mouth
from your heart as well?

The lies that you give me
when you cannot tell
the secrets you guard
the fears you hold
the reason why
your heart is cold.

was it your true intentions
to play me like a game
giving me hints and making your moves
walking 'round my walls
making me surrender a little more
with every sweet word

did you really just have the same intentions
as everyone else?

practicing mental gymnastics
insipid memories
seeping their way past
defensive buffers
remembering repressed poisons
as a catalyst for making
wiser decisions

lackadaisical reactions to
sharply defined parallaxes
warrant an immediate shift

fractal spectacles
the labyrinth of my innards

inhale the cosmological smoke of suggestion

words become meaningless
when repeated exhaustively
semantic satiation
slicing away at true intentions
paving the way to
false inventiveness

shallow river beds are loud
prouder than their counterparts
insecurity overshadows

a lack of faith in the faint of heart
everything worthwhile
falls apart

My world is spinning,
                               again,
    the way it used to
on an axis
           so tightly wound
    during the
                 day I can't see straight
    but at night
I see some clarity
                                and maybe I've got it
reversed
           misguided as my heart has been;
  my intentions
            have tried to be
                                      pure
                   ­ but maybe
       tonight
            I wanted to be
in sin

I stare at you and feel the empty air
begging to be filled with
the admirations festering in my lungs

And as thoughts form flavor on
my lips,
I choke them back and **** them
with the smoky cancer

I exhale in a thick white stream
and hope that it could be
enough of a
screen to hide my eyes
and the hole I'm boring
into your face.

I pray that if you
breathe it in,
you can taste the
honeyed intentions

I fill space with common talk
that distracts from the reality in
which real feelings burn quickly
and leave empty an air that you
ignore.

I swallow it like absynthe
as my jaw clenches with
the weight of my masochistic heart.

What does it mean to relax?
I think I've forgotten true comfort.
Fear is a constant hangnail,
and the summer heat makes my nerves kick in.
My teeth peel skin as I worry and my clothes dampen.
Drawing my own blood, it's a stupid self-induced sin.
Voices whisper in my ears.
"Watch your gaze, or they'll think you're up to something.
They'll assume the worst.
They won't see your chewed up fingers
and they'll only see the thirst.
Your lips parched from heavy breathing."
Who spoke first?
Was it me licking my lips-
causing questions within them?
Or am I the one asking?
Wondering like this when I should be relaxing?
"Close your eyes to heighten the panic,
seems like it's euphoric,
But you're really just frantic.
Open them but don't look at a soul."
I have eyes that penetrate
as deep as their goals.
They speak more than my clothes,
they speak more than my curves.
If I stare at them longer,
and release my nerves,
Misunderstood.
Misunderstood.
I'll relax when reality
And their thoughts become good.