Beneath the floorboards
Is the continuous race of a lover's heart
Steady, an ocean forever crashing against the shore
Swimming with the familiar scent
Of your midnight skin

The constant warmth
Of your searching lips
A tidal wave of memories
Churning under our foundation
Rocking me to the core

My bones are rattling china
On a train racing to you
Tracks clinging to the edge
Like Your hands melded to my hips

My eyelids tattooed
With your name
Sewn to me
A second skin
Wonder if the me before you
Will ever surface again

I danced with Death,

he took me by the hand.

He lead me to the ballroom floor

where we both would stand.



Our bodies swayed

in perfect harmony,

but I knew in my heart

this was not right for me.



Watching us dance from the crowd,

a man so full of joy,

but you would never know by his hardened face,

that Life lived in this boy.



The figure with whom I danced

had cold hands which touched me so,

and when I caught a glimpse of Life himself,

I knew I had to go.



I bid adieu to my partner Death,

who I considered now a friend,

and as I walked away with Life,

I knew we would meet again.

you could say,
are long dirt roads that never end
trotted on by horses
(you can call them men)

Women

you could say,
are cobble stone streets
constantly impaled by stilettoed friends
(you could call them men)

Women

you could say,
are black tar roads
riddled with curves and bends
plowed on by Subarus
(otherwise known as men)

Women

you could say,
are nice footpaths in the park
run on by children
around the age of ten
(often boys that grow up to be men)

Breath dancing across my skin
Raindrops trickling down window panes
Lips nipping bared flesh

Offered up
My sacrifice
Tender splotches of you
Signatures across skin

Your voice a whisper,
just a hanging evening fog,
draping its arms around me.

I am stained carved oak-wood
Shaved by your skilled hands
I'm shaped anew

Become lost in the folds of now
I am unrecognizable
An object traced by my hands
Forever holding sharp edges

All in all, I have been relatively lucky,
everyone has their trials and tribulations.
We are products of our environment, more or less,
in comparison, my struggles are no worse than some.
That might be worse, knowing how rough others have it,
because guilt can be a powerful deterrent to communication.
I feel guilt about letting people in for they have enough,
they do not need me to weigh them down.
Because bearing my weight alone is more appealing,
I find security in keeping people at arm's length.
Keeping people far enough away acts like a vanilla roller coaster,
you don't get too high on happiness, or too low from pain.
I hide behind the illusion of self sufficiency,
as to avoid exposing any weakness.
Over the years, my joy has waned away,
to the point where I simply drift through.
Living this way, give plenty room for reflection,
isolation has led me to an epiphany, or revelation if you will.
I believe I have gone as far as I can alone,
I want something more. I need something more.
Holding everything inside doesn't make us strong,
but the willingness to give ourselves up to others.
I tell you this having lived life as a hermit with moderate success,
but it has all been superficial, nothing deeply helping.
You cannot make this journey alone,
believe me, I have tried.

I keep a jar in my corner of my head,
to the left
in which I keep all my fears
along with a couple unheard phone messages and some unused anger. Sometimes I'll go over just to look at them
sift
shuffle
turn over and over again
put them into boxes
take them back out of boxes
put them in other boxes
Most of them are silly really.
I fear either too much or too little,
But the jar completes the little room inside my head
so I keep it there.
I'll pull them out one by one.
I am afraid that when the sun comes again I will pale in comparison
I am afraid that I am not as much as you say I am
I am afraid after the winter you will no longer need me to keep you warm.

I used to break bottles on the ground
and the glass I would use to fill my words
just like people
glass never breaks the same
some will find its way into weapons
and others are simply
echoes in the night
some words are empty
and others are so full
that they spill all over the concrete
filled with water
or rocks
I want them to weigh you down
sometimes
and other times I want you to be able to stand on them
like I do
when I scream messages on street corners
blood dripping down my face
I will promise myself I will never write another empty word
and instead of filling my words with weapons
I'll fill them with sunlight
or unused happiness

I don't break bottles anymore
the only thing I can break well
is myself
and
silence

The world around me slows to a crawl,
No one around me knows me at all.
I look over the crowd of familiar faces,
From various times and different places.
They laugh and they play, one and another,
All with secret pains, I’m just like the others.