An animal shriek
in the snowiest silence
is swallowed by eyes deep and brown,
                        not like mine.
Which're shallow and icy and
                                clouded with Sundays
                                shrugged off of shoulders
from peak down to plain.

These mornings are silent,
constructed from cinder blocks;
skeletal, rusting--yet inwardly
                                     wailing.
Why in the world can't I set those shouts free
when the achiest Mondays release
all their caltrops
               and I stagger through work weeks
on sore, shredded feet?

It's because of the way
      that your shrieks echo off
      of my wrought iron eyelids
      when frost fills your veins.

It's because of the way
      that I melt every Thursday
      and wash down the side
      of the night in cold sheets.

I can't shout out loud
and I can't melt the quiet
that screams from the mountains
to snow on the prairie below.

She bared my heart, that I did not know I owned,
and led me to the light. To redemption? Back to Hell?
To some in between twilight...

He saved my life, but ****** my soul,
confusing me my way. To Love?! To Hate?!
To find a hole and hide away...

I scream her name...
But I am alone, and only unrepentant ghosts can hear.

He can never know...
That much- Thank God- I know that much is clear.

I cry, and Demons are not moved;
To them, seeing a man in pain- even their king- is a sight not so queer.

I cry, and Angels do not care;
The only waters shed in heaven are joyful, pious tears.

When I left, my soul came again unlatched;
and my heart closed, left again to cruelty's treason.

When I returned, my wings were intact;
but my heart burned for the reason.

Though you thought I hid
my face from shame;
All the rage and pain... for you? All I did,
I would do it all again.

When you left, to my shame,
my heart followed you to Hell.
Though you wear such rage and pain...
I confess you wear it well.

But he can never know my shame
But you do not care to hear my pain.

I used to smile and read all the notes
The world was so bright I knew of no ghosts
You looked over me whispered You're one in a million
They way we both shined, it was too brilliant
Something went wrong a miscommunication
You refused to see past a few complications
I stood there alone realizing you were long gone
I tried to believe that I didn't have it all wrong,
That I could live in a world of dress-up and daydreams
When I woke up you'd stand beside me,
But fairytales don't really exist and waking up hurts
I'm not a child anymore so you did your worst
After digging through the rubble trying to salvage myself
I found no reminisce of you but the scars.

I hunger for all
the words you will never say-

the good in goodbye

Sometimes while sitting next to you
I feel as if we are actually galaxies away from one another
and I'll try my damnedest to gather up all the stars in the vicinity
and spell you out a message among the constellations.
But for some reason you can't read my signs.
Maybe we're not speaking the same language,
or I simply haven't gathered enough stars to adequately display what I'm attempting to say.
Whatever the cause, our miscommunication turns the inches between our bodies
into unconquerable territory
that spans light years.

Our old uncle, Daedalus,
     he'd grin when he spoke to us
His mouth was missing teeth
and so his wisdom flowed out free
He always smelled of cheap cigars
     alleyways and corner bars
He'd tell us he had seen the world
     and this was his decree:

     "Don't fly too high, you little *****.
       You just might live to pay for it.
       The Sun is always hot,
       the ground gets harder every day."

"But, Daedalus," we would complain,
"You are old and we would fain
see the sights you saw before
          we sleep beneath the clay."

And dear old Uncle Daedalus
     he'd laugh and spit and swear at us
"You ******* little ***** had better
heed the tale I tell.
This life is one big ******* maze
with twists and turns and tricks to play.
The kings control the monsters,
who make Earth a living Hell."

We'd try to listen, try to thank
him for the words, but his breath stank
and, anyway, we thought that he
               had prob'ly **** himself

But dear old Uncle Daedalus
hung Death from lips that spoke to us
and ****** if he weren't right
about the things he always said:
"Inventiveness works, by and by
with daring, you may taunt the sky
                                   like I did
                                  but the fall is long--
my dreams and son are dead."

He always smelled of cheap cigars
     alleyways and corner bars
"You ******* little ***** had better
heed the tale I tell..."

"Don't fly too high, you little *****.
You just might live to pay for it.
The kings control the monsters,
who make Earth a living Hell."

Silence
.      my best friend
                   never speaks to me at all