I'm caught in the middle,
Of someone else's game.
Twisted as hell,
I stay the same.

Try as I might,
There is no reward.
No lover to hold,
No future to look toward.

How long can I last,
In this diseased state?
How long can I pivot,
And avoid my fate?

The road will end
With an unfulfilled dream.
A man torn asunder
By his self-esteem.

Tears will be wept,
But nothing will be lost.
For I am an empty vessel,
Battered and tossed.

Hotel ***—of neighbours dealing in services, buying into
the idea of momentary love by the high purchases. It's like
swerving in traffic, avoiding real love and looking for some action.
Well out here relaxing, feels **** fun. Sort of tragic, but these are the ways things happen. Imagines.

On the other side, the creep behind the hole in the wall.
The married husband, setting up a *******. She's a young girl,
and a ****** to all—of what it costs to make it big. He's not so big, but will drive into her like a heavy rig. Pay her off, call a cab to
take her back home. Rinse himself, spray a little cologne to cover
up his immorals. And switch his clothes. What she doesn't know, won't hurt his wife at all. Sort of tragic, but these are the ways things happen. Imagines.

But she's in another room downstairs, getting tongue licks
downstairs—downtown. The young man isn't to proud, at least
with the fact he wasn't the first one pointing her down his south.
The fresh taste of adultery in their mouth—his pants are
half down. His business is hanging out; ready to close the deal of
an interesting affair. Then he'll kiss his girlfriend back at their house.
I know she's cheating on me too. Sort of tragic, but these are the ways things happen. Imagines.

The cheating girlfriend is actually over eating in another room
alone. With shoes off, to stand herself and her weight.
Running to the bathroom with a finger down her throat.
A little choke, and upbringing those distasteful words. Her body
isn't her worth, and doesn't feel like the one she deserves.
Sort of tragic, but these are the ways things happen. Imagines.

These are the dark rooms, of all the stories in my head.
A couple stories high, to keep me up on my bed. They turn into
dreams, or have been premonitions for a later reality as it seems.

                                                         ­            Who really knows?

I hope it works out for you.
I hope your desires come through.
  As I'm lying in bed,
  The thoughts run through my head.
I guess thinking is all I can do.

All of the sounds;
fading slowly into the background,
the sound of love; swish, only a rush nowadays.
Too many breaking up, down on their feelings
of being down on their luck.

Could make you go, "what the f..k"

But I heard they were looking for things
they couldn't find. Vroom, vroom.
Long trips at night; two kids driving down a hill,
about to live their life. Making out with one hand on the
steering wheel. Stirring their will; with tough love bites
leaving a wheal.

Mxwah, mxwah.

"Let's just enjoy the thrill,"
following each other's commandments. They both know the drill;
of hanging their clocks, with some time to ****.

Chirp, chirp.

Birds in the early morning of the season;
deep emotions their love has; but they keep on swimming.

SPLASH!

"Do you think this feeling will last," she had to ask.
In the relax of paradise; with no memories to
the past. Past the times of counting seconds to finally
meet.

Tic Toc,

Waiting by the corner of her house; waiting for him to
pick her off the street. They kiss to greet. Tss.
They give one on each other's cheek.

Sip, sip.

Of that strong black coffee at their favourite café,
they've been there a couple of days; and it's become
their favourite place. He licks his lips, "I need to ****"

Vvvvrrr, vvrr, splat. Splash!
goes the vibrating tap; to give his hands a rinse.

I forgot to mention that baggage of bags under
their eyes. They've been driving all night.
aauggh, he quickly yawns.

Where has the time gone; felt like they've been stuck
listening to the same song.

The envelope message of eloping away from their parents,
they're living so careless. A couple more miles from a
borders freedom. She's breathless; while he's restless.

On the highway, his eyes pull down; and the car pulls
away to the side. CRASH! BOOM!

Nobody is left alive. Just the sound of a risky love, and no
sounds of life.

Now all we have is the sound of silence.


                                                  END­

I am tired, and I am tired of making it beautiful.  Petals flung over the edge do not soften the fall. Adjectives do not halt decay. Spinning corpses in sugar is a sticky, pointless ordeal. If I let the moonlight paint me in all her violet shades they begin to look more like bruises. A single star, a gunshot wound. I think about how small I must look from all the way up there. I think about how I won’t live past twenty.

It’s such a dramatic scene, a fanciful notion ripped from the history books by a girl who doesn't know how she’ll fit into them. There was one like her before, who dug her palms into the rails and stared out at her burning Versailles, and she wondered how it could be so cold when there was so much light. Another kisses her daughter and son’s shining cheeks goodnight, sits on the tiled floor of the kitchen with her head in the oven. There was the one who painted and broke, loved and broke, painted and loved and shattered and broke. The other flies all her life and goes down at Howland, sinks for its remainder. All of them, statues with shards of rose colored glass transfixed in their eyeball sockets.

Maybe we were made to be romantic and lovely and tragic. Maybe we have no choice but to carry these diamonds and bleed from the backs of our ankles, streak the pavement rose red. Maybe we were destined to scar everything we touch, for what is beauty without pain?

I’ll paint my nails and bite them to the beds, I’ll **** boys who are cruel by design. I’ll spin endless corpses, spin relentless circles in this frigid corner of mine.

Say hello to my tomorrow
When mercy ends today,
Raise your arms to embrace sorrow
As life's last love dies away