desperately trying to extinguish the fire of my mind,
burning the pain on paper,
not on the edge of a knife.

She didn’t do it
I scream I scream
She couldn’t have done it
What do you mean

They show me the pictures
The pictures of her
They are the pictures
Of her in her fur

She’s a fashionable girl
They say to my cries
Must have gotten it from you
But the pictures are lies

I refuse to believe
Believe that she did it
There’s no **** way
They wait outside a bit

They’re wrong so so wrong
She’s not a murderer, doesn’t even own a ****
No she’s not the criminal in this family
I’ll prove them wrong, prove it was me

The kitchen drawer opens, no time to smile
I walk past the table, walk past the file
I slit the knife across
No apologies; it’s their loss

we were like a switchblade
sometimes a smooth surface
with pain on the inside
sharp edges hidden away

but we flicked out sometimes
taking it all out on the world
nothing deserves to feel the kiss
of our mind's rusty blades

She would hold us by the tips
polishing away the old blood
and revealing a dull blade
that never wanted to hurt anyone

What a beautiful surprising life
Is so precious but it cuts you like a knife
A painful sunset shakes thoughts awake
Every evening from the fantasies we make
A bright new sunrise in the early haze
Midafternoon hot like a blaze
Commanding time
Providing light
She rules day
He rules night
The moon cloaked in shades of black
The sun robed in white and blue
Perfect balance to steady the universe
Allowing meaning to all we do
King and Queen of humble Earth
Governing vast sky
Without reciprocation
No complaining
No asking why
How come I am so ungrateful?
Why can't I realize I am blessed?
I should be thanking trees for the oxygen supplied
Instead cursing the air inflating my chest
I need to open my eyes all the way
Look a little harder around
Because on days with no sunshine to be found
Just under clouds that star is still there
Reliably shining away from man's stare
It is true that every second in this world is a gift
Remember next time you feel low and seek a lift
Cherish miracles hidden
Great and small
Gaze towards the heavens when bowed by a fall
Even if you can't see its glow or feel its gentle burn
The sun is there in our stormiest hours
Eventually it's presence will return

I ran down the shore
as the knifes crested near me,
               never reaching the shore
that I stood upon.

For I don't want to drown,
          I want to breath.
crimson stillness isn't my
                                   sunset..

So I run, out of breath..
  but the shore line is further now..

No waves will wash over me this day..

you,
gentle beast
touching my skin like King Midas

me,
excavating your iced eyes and
devouring them raw with tenderness
and overindulgence

Not slowly, like sand washing up on shore, but rather all at once.


Like a bubble blown up too big,
Like a shaken bottle of soda with a loose cap,
Like a needle on a freshly blown balloon,
Like a KNIFE on a BREATHING RIB CAGE.


A second before disaster.

But the question is,

Who




Will




Push




The




                   NEEDLE?


No one does.

I return home deflated. A needle cannot end me now.
I wish someone would open the cap, pop the bubble,


But there is no knife on my breathing rib cage.

a minute too late
or a minute too
early?

solitude in spades;
loneliness laurels.

no avoidance of
the void dance.

shamanism in the
modern age.

the glow of consumerism
fading in and out
like shallow breaths.

the light flickers only
a moment before red
turns to black.

a lifetime arrives
like that.

I'm not here to tell you
how to live your life.
All I ask is that
you don't look at the knife
With admiration or longing.
Because there's so much coming
That you can't see.
So please hold on.
If not for you, for me.