Your lies so killing,
This morning in May.
My screams internal.
I cannot stay away.

I must statue on,
Must parade this good day.
As your lies dismantle
This morning in May.

There is this deep, evasive emptiness
that never ceases to lack control.
That conquers and escapes,
that stirs quiet chaos in my soul.

And there is this voice of vacant words,
which implore me to find structure instead.
But the broken writer cannot rebuild.
The unabridged poet is dead.

And I look at this self pity,
embodied in this girl.
And I have no inclination-
no desire
to be her.

So carve my name into your chest
and send me pictures, dear.

Write me letters in the red
and bottle all the tears.

Call me an angel.
Tell them I'm lying.
Scream it 'til your words make sense.

Fill your lungs with hatred
and spew out penitence.

Because you know with all your silent flames
and pledged ambivalence,
You know with all the months and years
of burning my pictures as incense.
You know that I'm your demons.
The burden that you bear.
I drove you to hysteria,
you say I brought you there.

So discard your kilogram of flesh
to punish me, my dear.
Leave it at my doorstep,
sweet nostalgia for my tears.

Tell me I tore you apart.
Whisper that I ripped out your reason.
And I will say I'm sorry.

I'm sorry.
I will say this.

But you never voiced your anguish,
your complete disappointment in me.
How was I to know that it was I
who drove you to insanity?

He felt something cold making its way down his leg.
When he looked down he saw that it was only his last ounce of sanity,
pure and red, finding an escape from this inhospitable environment.

And your intellect is wasted.
Let me tell you, your words will lose their depth.
Because she hears them and smiles,
but they are hollow to her.
They are just an extension of you.
Just another second, third, hundredth chance at half-assed affection that won't last the week.

I wonder what will become of your words.
Of your presence that fills all spaces in conversation.
I wonder what will happen to your heart.
That is more authentic than most and so contrasts her own.
Your mind that follows no one else.
And eyes which love your mother
and long patiently for the sea.
Your head that is tighter than your hold on me.

If she manages to ensnare you
with her black lips and hungry heart,
then I will forever wonder
If she is pulling these things apart.

Touch
go
yes
no.
If you're leaving make it fast,
and tell me who I am.

On
off-
It's all I've got
Tell me things that no one asks
and tell me who I am.

There is ocean in your eyes.
And there are storms which no one sees
So lead me on, bring me close,
and tell me who I am.

Put the autumn in your smile.
Weave the sunlight in your hair.
Let it linger for a while.
(And maybe you could take me there)
But tell me who I am.