When a pen's point touches paper,
The ink spreads out,
The page bends around your words,
As you mark the page forever.
With computers, every word is written,
Removed,
And rewritten.
With a tap you can delete
Your words,
Your mistakes,
Your regrets,
Everything.
But you can never take back ink.
The drop can never go back into the pen.
The paper will never again be white
Or perfectly smooth again.
You can't delete pen.

Maybe she was looking for somebody to warm
her up all the time and God, when it got
too dark outdoors you cried kerosene and set
fire to yourself just to provide her safety and security.
And maybe it's true that everything
comes in a paradoxical form and that's
why even though you were born from
a warm womb, your soul was so icy cold
she burnt her fingertips just touching it
and probably mistook it for the heat she
had always been longing for. I know that it's ironic,
I know that your dreams lay somewhere
beside her perfect body and shiny hair
but your reality is four suicide
attempts and cutting your wrists open
over some permanent tattoo where
her love was supposed to be skinned.


-- Eleanor

His words said permanent, his words said stay.
His words described forever, lacing their way through my head and heart.
But in the end he was too free-spirited and transient--
he was just another vagabond seeking shelter in the crevice of my smile.

safety, a word i never quite grasped
but your arms pound the definition
into my head like a gunshot
impossible to ignore and somehow
a little bit frightening

nothing is permanent
whispers through my ears
whistling insecurities that you
can't quite catch can't quite drown
out of this whirlpool of a mind
you've entangled yourself in

you are laughter and light
and a steady beam of sunshine
that dances around the musty
abandoned museum of my heart
but, darling, light fades

these shadowy thoughts slip from my mouth
clumsily, gurgling fountains of messy words and
you kiss my lips quiet, murmuring softly
not today, not today, not yet

and so the whispers fade to just
a rustling background noise
just a nonsense worry for another day

i am so afraid of losing you
that i have not quite let myself
have you just yet

forgetting the traces of who i knew you to be and scraping off the dried blood
along my legs
and my wrists and picking the scabs of almost healed wounds
from when you slid your precious knife of prose across my skin
which carved our initials inside of a heart but skin doesn't last like bark does
and when we carved our poem into the concrete it dried only over my name
and our love is forever carved
into the sidewalk
along my hands.

My words will brand everything that you are. 
-AL

Glass; It does not
Break.
You can fix
Broken things.
Glass; It
*Shatters

Those passing clouds leave faraway and                                                                   We too ...                                                                                                                          Those who passed away anytime ,then                                                                          We will be inevitably following them one day ...                                                           Everything goes away and                                                                                            We will go with everything one day ...                                                                               We look like all other things                                                                                              That left ...                                                                                                                       We are here only temporary ...                                                                                     This world is not everlasting anytime ,but                                                                It's just a station towards immortality ...

It’s been 203 days
since I’ve had Dr. Pepper
with your lemon in it.

The first weeks
I had to hesitate at sit-downs.
Now I’ve upgraded to the
permanent taste of Cherry Pepsi
with a slice of independence.

I hope you still ask for
a water with a lime
instead of lemon.

And I hope when
they still bring you
lemon water you feel
my absence, and it
stays with you
when you leave our booth                                          
because I know you still sit there                  
pretending I never did.                                                   

Without a place
for your lemon slice,
you have to grit and bear.      
How does it feel.

I hope that acidic taste
stains your mouth
and reminds you of me.