If ever there were no secret depths
inside the corners
of a heart,
perhaps lips would not
whisper words
with no preconceptions.
We could paint the air we breathe,
gentle colors that softly speak
to the mind
in a misty lullaby’s reflection.  

If we could swim within our words
touching gray areas
with kisses of time
perhaps, we could gather waves
to last throughout the years.
In the dark of night,
our hearts' would blush,
as they existed side by side
on the edges
of our atmosphere.

Wherever our hands desired to wander,
unnoticed they would never be,
flaming winds stirring
precious hours.
Once again, we could sleep on beds
of soft words raining down
into all of our emotions
and dream
in poetic showers.

Tired of all the wasted days
All the wasted years
So tired of running backwards
How time disappears

Sick of being sick and tired
Tired of being sad
I decided that only I could change it
Be happy with what I had

Tired of feeling lost
Always seeking home
I took a good look at myself
And how far I've roamed

I've never put down roots
Or clung to anything
Never stayed in one place for long
Afraid they'd clip my wings

It's no wonder I feel I don't belong
Anywhere I roam
I've never stayed there long enough
To call any place my home

I gave your voice to the sun
I tried to catch the stars in my hands
But they fell through and cut me
Sliced my fingers into two

There is nothing in the sky but your silence
Looks like the sun burned the sound of music away
And the stars sparkle on the floor from when they landed here
As for me I am nowhere
Nowhere

I tried to give your voice to the sun
But the sound of music burned away
And the stars, they fell one by one
Cut my hands away
Tried to give you to the sun

Our moon is incompatible
November's cold and grey
You have ***** fingernails
Whereas I try to wash the dirt away

And what I once thought was music
Was just the sound of a thousand shattering stars
And what I once thought was beautiful
Was merely a thousand glittering scar's

You are a silly little man-child
And I am just a little girl
But as for me, I am tired
Of the blunt beauty of this world

I am on Pluto dear
You are on Mars
We sold each other out honey
We destroyed the stars

Are you
my detour,
my shifting road,
my dead-end street?

i guess there are
some people
who just don’t realize
how preposterous they sound when
using social media.
yeah, maybe you’re one. no one
is safe from suspicion:
-the comedians (their own biggest fan types)
the witty commentators
                    jumping in from the far corner.
(you wonder how
someone who learnt every word they know
     from about six Archie comics is allowed to
use social networking)
-oh and the girls
                   who post new selfies
every day. (in fact there’s one,
i swear, posts so often
                      so regular
                                      i barely need a watch.
“here’s the three-fifteen cleavage shot.”
—she’s long since been hidden!)
and wait here’s that
fella who speaks out about injustices;
firecrackers taped in a doberman’s mouth,
which is awful, sick, repulsive—and bravo
for making the universe aware, i applaud thee,
but it’s the rambling included about what you’d do
if you ever caught them
(curbstomping, mutilating, beatings)
that gives
me goosebumps.
i don’t wanna see this kid’s mug in
the paper next week/point & say
“christ i knew it!”
..so maybe keep the ****** fantasy off the web, eh?

& then of course the weirdness
too weird to
properly recall
example:
an acquaintance's call for attention “i need a hug :(“
and the random girl
probably th’sister of a friend
(which is bizarre in its own right,
adding a friend's younger sibling..
but i
won’t bother delving
there tonight)
who replies:
“hey you should come here instead
and see the skunk that just came
by my window
if you wanna?”
—what is this absurdity?
and hey here’s an answer
to your original call:
internet hugs don’t work.
    computers don’t hug in binary, man.
0110101110101101111001010010101011011010110101110101010101
 ­                                        >—O—<

—i’ll never understand it.

Your fingerprints are all around me, making it hard for me to see my own.
Like permanent scars they define us, written in words we don't understand.
I could follow your trail from my hips to my feet, caught around my ears, they drift across my nose.
My own can be traced to the place where confusion starts and stops.
Secrets lie in their curves.
Stronger than their definition is our desire.
Fingerprints.