Only the eyes of an artist could see
the mistake I am,
and yet still think of me as his masterpiece.

Flaw by seemingless flaw
I was created.
Sewn together with intricacy and care
from my delicate skeletal structure
to my foundation of muscle and fats.
Knowledge and hard logic
corresponding with feelings
and favorable decisions.
Pain and tears,
blood and sweat;
is what I am.
And who I am
depends on the crowd I'm in.
Aligned perfectly in body and soul
just like the planets dancing around the sun.

And in all of this
he signed his name
in MY fingerprint;
looking past all my flaws.
Making it obvious
that I am his
and he, truly is, mine.

"Penny for your thoughts?"
His cigarette grins and meets my eyes.
Penny for my thoughts?
Heavy eyelash curtains drop and I chuckle in disguise.

Honest Abe won't buy you a piece of my mind,
You could offer me the wealth of the world and you still wouldn't win.
There isn't a level of confidentiality high enough for what goes on in my head,
Unparalled security lies behind green eyes and salty skin.

"Penny for your thoughts?"
The cigarette gives up and ashes mix with the sidewalk salt
Penny for my thoughts?
The security guards change shifts as sad laughter echoes in the vault.

She sipped her salt water and
wore glasses rimmed in a bloodred hue.
Behind them, watery blue eyes glistened.
Not sparkled,
Mind you.
She sniffled into her hand:
"I've got this dreadful cold!"
Makeup smeared and creased in wrinkles that had nothing to do with getting old.
She lifted her lips to reveal her teeth once in a while.
But not once, I tell you,
Not once,
Did she smile.

I love the idea of the tortured genius
the encaged intellectual
trapped artist
It's poetic,
Somehow
Bursting with knowledge
Intellect
Creativity
Except..
not bursting.
A balloon one breath short of
POP!
A prison cell for ideas
Always at war
A raging internal hurricane that only escapes in whispers, occasionally
"What did you say?"
"...Nothing"
Such a splendidly gorgeous mind,
Hidden behind a shy sweater and a pair of old conflicted capris
I love the idea of the tortured genius.
The life of one?
Not so much
It's poetic,
In a tragic sort of way

I love the way the leaves show their true colors every year right around my birthday
And
I love the way the trees sigh and fall asleep every winter under new white blankets
It's the in between seasons I can't stand
The hot tears of snow running down muddy sidewalks
And
The betrayal of red red leaves falling into the sand at the beach
But we're stuck in an in between season right now, and it's
Enchanting
The ground is littered with leaf bones that crunch under my feet
The trees are bare and spindly little things
Waiting for winter.
It's an ugly ugly world
But I love it.

Maybe it's the way the ground has stopped spinning.
The clouds hold their breath,
Not a single tree sways in the nonexistent wind.
Maybe it's the smell of the air,
The smell of nothing.
In fall the air is laden with the heavy aroma of wet leaves
And
In winter the air is so cold it bites the inside of your nose.
Right now, it's empty.
Inhale, exhale, nothing;
It's wonderful.

We make a perfect metaphor,
This in between season and I.
Maybe that is the reason I love it so.
Two unlike things with so much in common:
We're stuck, not moving forward and not looking back,
Full of emptiness
Holding our breaths
Teetering on the edge.
I'll let you know when they fall.
The snowflakes, I mean.

Her heart's desire is to live on the coast,
Where the salt water from the ocean and the depths of her eyes will mix until even she can't tell them apart.

I'm a thinker; master over my own mind.

Engaged in the intricate way words spindle together
through my ever racing mind.
The room is beautifully silent but in that created a scene so loud
it was unexpectedly ear shattering;
maddening it was.

Now I'm no longer in control of my thoughts
but instead a slave to the voice that no one else hears.

Inject me,
Pierce the skin
And it let it merge
With blood cells and
Bacardi,
Press your lips against mine
And slip the pill onto my tongue,
Don't pull away until each grain
dissolves
Stacks of cash
From selling love in bottles,
Capsules,
IV drips,
Losing our minds as we
Become entangled in unconsciousness.

But when I wake up you're gone.
Sweaty palms,
Goosebumps,
The fear of relinquishing control,
Or even losing my mind?
We become addicted to the visions
In our head,
The dreams we steal from dark corners
Of the brain
When we are intoxicated,
Yet with each passing of time
We rely on what numbs the pain
Of what we lost.