Yom Kippur this year was celebrated on Oct. 12th 2016.
Leonard Cohen passed away on November 7, 2016.


~~~

faint knocking at the door to the Tower of Song

the ministering angels, hearing a rhythmic, lyrical rapping,
sigh, thinking the atonement day,
the holiday/holy days, are supposedly over,
the human balancing act, the rush to judgement period,
all tallies totaled, the busy sale season for souls,
at last completed, each fate inscribed & sealed,
in the book of life^

but, always one,
the itinerant straggler, the last reluctant sinner, a judgment resister,
flaunting an expired coupon, trumpeting demands for a recount,
waving it, claiming it, the bearer, entitled to a mercy discount and
an extra 30 days

"who shall we say is calling?"

the Angels are stunned to hear,
a familiar raspy, growling, almost indescribable,
yet, stammeringly, beautiful voice enchanting,
equally asking and answering,  how both,
with a strident humility, "a man in search of answers"

this voice, instantaneous recognizable,
the asking superfluous,
all beating wings now, all in vast excitement,
this psalmist, long awaited, one of His best,
a chosen one, a courtly singer in the Temple of his people,
blessed with the curse of seeing and believing,
the comprehension of beauty of the human superior interior,
never being quiet or quite satisfied,
in capturing, its multifarious variations,
in every language spoken

this is the man who took ten years
to compose just
one song,
one poem,
one word,
Hallelujah,
whose faith was strong,
but still needed proofs,
whose every breath of oxygen inhalation,
brought more questions,
every exhalation, only releasing partial answers,
and yet, still, yes, yes! finding hidden verses inside

a simple, everlasting
hallelujah

the hubbub subsides, the man sings~speaks:
how came I here,
was I one, who by fire?
that fire afeared,  that my finality was spirit consumer?

one voice, answers,
in one voice, the swaying back-up singers answer,
not by fire, not by water, not by stoning or
even drowning
in tea that came from all the way from China

when sing we Angels, the Judgement Day poem,
we alone, on high and above,
we, keepers of the books and records of everyone,
are permitted this to query:

Who by Sufficiency?

you, the sidekick of the creator,
special commissioned by him, anointed to live a life of research,
record in word and song the mysteries of musical gene strings,
that intertwine the skin cells of man and woman,
man and his fellow us-human,
your soul commandeered, ordered, delve deeper,
into the consolable chasm tween divine and mortals,
all those who are poorly constructed
in his image

he, who has earned his place, his best rest,
his works adjudged sufficient,
he, who best answered
this judging,
this calling out,
calling in
incantation,

Who by Sufficiency?

now forward on, write only of answers,
wade in the troubled waters no more,
no more passports, or borders to cross,
no more measuring the days,
the last road trip finale
finished & feted,
fate meted

no more changing thy name, changeling priest,^^
sing songs of solution, salvation,
for the questioning hours of confusion,
the urgency of revolution,
no longer need a hallelujah resolution


                                                    ­| | |
Who By Fire                             Who By Fire, Who By Water:^
(lyrics by Leonard Cohen)     (A Yom Kippur Hebrew Prayer)

who by fire                             How many shall die and      

who by water,                                how many shall born,
Who in the sunshine,                 Who shall live      
who in the night time,                   who shall die,                      
Who by high                                Who at the measure of days,
who by common trial,                    and who before,
Who in your merry                            
                                                          Who by fire
month of May,                                 and who by water
Who by very                                 Who by sword,
slow decay,                                       and who by wild beasts,
And who shall I                      Who by hunger,
say is calling?                              and who by thirst,

And who in her,                           Who by earthquake
lonely slip,                                         and who by plague
who by barbiturate,                      Who by strangling,
Who in these                                    and who by stoning
realms of love,                               Who shall have rest,

who by,                                             and who shall go wandering,
something blunt,                            Who will be tranquil,
And who by avalanche,                  and who shall be harassed,
who by powder,                            Who shall be at ease,
Who for his greed,                           and who shall be afflicted,
who for his hunger,                      Who shall become rich,
And who shall I,                             and who shall become poor,
say is calling?                                Who will be raised high,
                                                         ­     and who will be brought low
And who by brave assent,                  
who by accident,
Who in solitude,
who in this mirror,
Who by,
his lady's command,
who by his own hand,
Who in mortal chains,
who in power,
And who shall I,
say is calling?




^From the liturgy of Rosh Hasanah, the Jewish New Year and Yom Kippur, the  Day of Atonement, there is this truly stunning prayer (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unetanneh_Tokef) in the Jewish liturgy. The Book of Life contents the fate of every sinner. From the first day of the new year, until ten days later, on Yom Kippur, depending on whether the sinner repents or not, his fate is sealed.

Barbiturate is one of the few drugs capable of killing you painlessly, so of course the state has banned it. Instead we get paracetamol, a ****** over-the-counter painkiller that leaves you in pain for up to five days while your liver and kidneys shut down. Suicide prevention is a ******* joke. Secular appropriations of Christian values that assume life is worthwhile, whether you desire it or not. It’s long been known that rates of suicide rose dramatically with the birth of modernity—techno-scientific paradise for the middle-class which stresses efficiency over existence. New forms of automation, the human body disciplined into repetitious acts, the partitioning of workspaces so that no single worker could operate the whole—so that any worker could be fired and replaced with the minimum amount of training necessary for capital to continue circulating. The body is individualised, scrutinised, and punished by rich kids playing panopticon, so that any mass agitation is coerced into silence through the threat of destitution.

Slitting your wrists barely succeeds and more likely than not leaves you with tendon and muscle damage. Catalytic converters in cars now convert carbon monoxide into harmless CO2 and H2O. Drowning is one of the most painful ways to die. You cannot escape. The state places helpline numbers around suicide spots to treat life after the fact, rather than at the source of suffering. Vocal band-aids, ****** ******* aphorisms that seek to revert you back into a happy state-serving commodity. Things will get better. Life is worth living. Think positive. Alienation is omnipresent. Neoliberal discourse requires you to be subservient to the greater system of capital and the easiest way towards this is the instilment of comfort, of pleasant nullity, the circumscription of emotional capacity and reflectivity. Suicidal thoughts are abnormal, because life is worth living. Eat your packaged food item and watch Netflix.

For a drop into water to be fatal, it has to be 250 feet. Try to aim for your head to maximise brain injury. The most prominent suicide spot around here has a drop of 100 feet. They cordoned it off anyway. Your life doesn’t belong to you. The first time I tried to suicide my mother asked ‘why would you do that?’ as if it was the dumbest thing in the world. The second time, the doctor looked at me in an exasperated manner and prescribed me lots of drugs. Geettt bettterrrr. Nobody cares about you, they simply want you to return to normal. Normality as in serving your parents, serving your friends, serving the state, and serving the market. Normality as in not questioning social norms and institutions. Normality as in get a stable job (i.e. compete against other workers in an exploitative, undemocratic system that values and inculcates self-serving desires), get married (preferably to someone of the opposite *** who is middle-class and imbibes European culture), get pregnant/get someone pregnant (but only once or twice, because anyone who has more children than that is backwards), invest in housing (those students and lower-class families need to learn how the world works; really, it’s a benefit to take their money), watch sports (to instil national pride in your children; no son, we didn’t colonise the Pacific Islands, keep watching the man with the wooden stick hit *****), eat out every week (preferably exotic restaurants), go see the world (preferably exotic locations, so you can be served by exotic people, take in exotic sights, then leave without considering where any of your money has gone to, whether any of it has reached the slums, whether the beach you lay on is accessible to the people living there, or whether it has been privatised by the tourist firm so that only rich tourists like yourself can lie on it), join a club (those capitalists were innocent, it was the indigenous folk that were making a ruckus over the new golf course; it’s not like we’ve been colonising their land and culture for the past three centuries), donate to charity (but never any charity desiring systemic change; that’s crazy), consume, always consume (keeps the economy going; why question the desire for infinite growth in a world with limited land, resources and markets?), replace your phone every year (those poor workers in Asia need our help), repeat to the point of nausea.

The most successful method to suicide is a shotgun to the head; high calibre, slug rounds. Of course, with all these methods, the chance of failing may leave you disfigured, paralysed, mentally disabled or physically crippled (spinal damage, broken limbs, failed organs), with no guarantee that your family, or even your state, will allow for euthanasia. After all, the popular discourse paints suicide as selfish—an irony, considering liberalism places the self first and society second. It is viewed as sinful regardless of context—deontologically detached from anomie, alienation, material deprivation, social pressures, psychological affectations, any cause or structure. Life is worth living. This ignores that the subject is situated in existence. The subject moves through existence to live. Life, then, is the totality of the subject’s interactions. It cannot be universalised into a single state or judgement that merges all subjectivities into a catch-all worthiness. Worth is dependent of the subject.

I don’t know why I’m writing this. Maybe I just want everyone to **** themselves, because the world is ****** and the majority of people are ******* it worse. Most people think being nice makes them good. They turn blind to the systems of oppression they partake in. A while ago my mother was asking if I’d heard about the mass suicides happening at Foxconn, the largest electronics manufacturer in the world. This year she showed me her new iPhone. I don’t ******* understand. I don’t understand how people can be outraged at humanity abuses, yet do ******* nothing to help or change their ways. Yes, market solutions are ******* ****, but these commodities are still coming from somewhere, and while capitalism is in place, our money is still flowing back. I don’t understand how people can be concerned about ecological issues, then pour dishwashing liquid down the sink every night, dissolving the gills, eyes, and organs of fish in rivers and oceans. I don’t understand a ******* thing. I feel physically sick most days. I can barely function outside of university, because engaging with real people, in real systems, just reminds me of how careless, worthless, and disgusting they are. When I first turned vegan, my dad simply said plants are living too. Well no ******* **** dad, why didn’t you ask me my reason for turning vegan, rather than simply repeating the dumb **** everyone else says? If you were stuck on a desert island. Well I’m ******* not. I’m stuck on this **** world filled with nice people who don’t give a **** about anything. I’m stuck every week walking the same roads, to the same university, where I become more and more distanced from reality through abstract philosophical theories that no one else cares about. I’m stuck walking through the supermarket every week, to purchase overpriced commodities produced by transnational corporations I don’t support, but nonetheless have to buy to survive. What alternatives I buy are mocked because it's so funny being ethical in our day and age. Because it’s so much more normal eating pies, and drinking beer, and treating women like objects, and affirming nationalistic sentiments of white supremacy, and making fun of ethnic minorities while they’re incarcerated, and beaten, and killed. All lives matter, the liberal conservatives cry out, while doing ******* nothing to help any cause. I don’t understand this world, and I have no desire to be in it if this is all there is.

An endless series
Of refreshing pages
Lost in the
unfathomed depths
Of the lucent screen
Mindless automaton
Caught in a life

No expression
Only a blank stare
Destroyed morale
Acute fixation
With the *******
Cultural barbiturate
The absurdity of it all
Would be comical
If it wasn't unfortunate.

Your lips may be my barbiturate
But your words are my poison.

I need you to dissolve me
Liquidate my mind
So I no longer must suffer from the toxins.
You cannot hurt a liquid.

Quick, put your lips to mine!
Crash them together to calm me, sedate me.
Your kiss will melt my thoughts
Allowing me to pick out the solids.
To pick out your crystallized contamination.

I need to build up a tolerance
An amount of your fatalism that I can take.
But I cannot do that right now-
Your poison has sent me to a coma.
Your poison is coursing through my bloodstream.

When you live with someone who has Alzheimer’s
your house feels haunted

Mostly at night

Only ghosts wander like that

            So aimlessly

It is metal pounding in the garage
a knife in my hand
and the deep breathed fear of

         What’s behind door number 2

It is him halfway inside a dryer

             Trying to get out

I sleep with my door open
listen carefully like a ghost hunter
for the way he haunts the halls
for the soft pat of skin on tile collapse
fnd the moaning

I carry him to the bathroom

He is the heaviest ghost ever

              A different kind of dead weight

I light him a cigarette
The cherry glows red in the dark
The tobacco crackles with each puff

He calls me nurse
calls me some other name
one I’ve never heard before

He is just practicing

                  It is hard to be good at being so lost

Even now that I am a man
he still scares me
scares me differently

Startles me in the dark
comes around corners
crawls on the floor towards me

              I am not always ready for that

Before

He scared me
the way a feral dog scares living food
A certain kind of animal inside of him

Now he isn’t so wild

           Taming takes so much away

He is dark spots on tan paper
crusted blood on nose and head
yellow ET cigarette stained fingertips

                He is me in thirty years

He is barbiturate slack jaw
Forward lean balance struggle

And at night he is so much a ghost
I forget about his good days and wonder

               What’s the point?

My house is haunted
by a man who has never not gone
Bump in the night

Barbiturate sunshine afternoons
obscure the niggling work pile
and with fat heat, cool anger,
opening evenings to virtuous
leaf based dinners
only slightly ruined
by too much beer and ice cream

In the year 2016,
Yom Kippur was celebrated on Oct. 12th.
Leonard Cohen passed away on November 7th.


~~~

faint knocking heard at the heavenly door of the Tower of Song

the ministering angels, hearing a rhythmic,
lyrical rapping, sigh, thinking the atonement day,
the holiday/holy days, are supposedly over,
the human balancing act, the rush to judgement period,
all tallies totaled, the busy sale season for souls,
at last completed, each fate inscribed & sealed,
in the book of life^

but, always one,
the itinerant straggler, the last reluctant sinner,
a judgment resister, flaunting an almost expired coupon,
trumpeting demands for a recount, waving it,
claiming it, the bearer, entitled to a
mercy discount and an extra 30 days

"who shall we say is calling?"

the Angels are stunned to hear the responsa,
a familiar raspy, growling, almost indescribable,
yet, stammeringly beautiful voice enchanting,
equally asking and answering, (how both?)
with a strident humility, "a man in search of answers"

this voice, instantaneous recognizable,
the asking superfluous,
all beating wings now, all in vast excitement,
this psalmist, long awaited, one of His best,
a chosen one, a courtly singer in the Temple of his people,
blessed with the curse of seeing and believing,
the comprehension of beauty of the human superior interior,
never being quiet or quite satisfied,
in capturing, its multifarious variations,
in every language spoken

this is the man who took ten years
to compose just
one song,
one poem,
one word,
Hallelujah,
whose faith was strong,
but still needed proofs,
whose every breath of oxygen inhalation,
brought more questions,
every exhalation, only releasing partial answers,
and yet, still, yes, yes! finding hidden verses inside

a simple, everlasting
hallelujah

the hubbub subsides,
the man sings~speaks:
how came I here,
was I one, who by fire?
that fire afeared, that my finality
was spirit consumed?

in one voice, answers the angelic choir,
in one voice, the swaying back-up singers answer,
not by fire, not by water, not by stoning
or even drowning,
in tea that came from all the way from China

when sing we Angels,
the Judgement Day poem,
we alone, on high and above,
we, keepers of the books
and records of everyone,
are permitted this special query:

Who by Sufficiency?

you, the sidekick of the creator,
special commissioned by him, anointed to live a life of research,
record in word and song the mysteries of musical gene strings,
that intertwine the skin cells of man and woman,
man and his fellow us-human,
your soul commandeered, ordered, to delve deeper,
into the consolable chasm tween divine and mortals,
all those who are so poorly but perfectly constructed
in his image

you, who has earned his place, his best rest,
his works adjudged sufficient,
you, who best answered
this judging,
this calling out,
this calling in
incantation

Who by Sufficiency?

now forward on, write only of answers,
wade in the troubled waters no more,
no more passports, or borders to cross,
no more measuring the days,
the last road trip finale
finished & feted,
fate meted

no more changing thy name, changeling priest,^^
sing songs of solution, salvation,
for the questioning hours of confusion,
the urgency of revolution,
no longer need a hallelujah resolution,
you have been judged sufficient...
it is his will


                                                    | | |
Who By Fire                             Who By Fire, Who By Water:^
(lyrics by Leonard Cohen)     (A Yom Kippur Hebrew Prayer)

who by fire                             How many shall die and      

who by water,                                how many shall born,
Who in the sunshine,                 Who shall live      
who in the night time,                   who shall die,                      
Who by high                                Who at the measure of days,
who by common trial,                    and who before,
Who in your merry                            
                                                          Who by fire
month of May,                                 and who by water
Who by very                                 Who by sword,
slow decay,                                       and who by wild beasts,
And who shall I                      Who by hunger,
say is calling?                              and who by thirst,

And who in her,                           Who by earthquake
lonely slip,                                         and who by plague
who by barbiturate,                      Who by strangling,
Who in these                                    and who by stoning
realms of love,                               Who shall have rest,

who by,                                             and who shall go wandering,
something blunt,                            Who will be tranquil,
And who by avalanche,                  and who shall be harassed,
who by powder,                            Who shall be at ease,
Who for his greed,                           and who shall be afflicted,
who for his hunger,                      Who shall become rich,
And who shall I,                             and who shall become poor,
say is calling?                                Who will be raised high,
                                                         ­     and who will be brought low
And who by brave assent,                  
who by accident,
Who in solitude,
who in this mirror,
Who by,
his lady's command,
who by his own hand,
Who in mortal chains,
who in power,
And who shall I,
say is calling?




^From the liturgy of Rosh Hasanah, the Jewish New Year and Yom Kippur, the  Day of Atonement, there is this truly stunning prayer (https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unetanneh_Tokef) in the Jewish liturgy. The Book of Life contents the fate of every sinner. From the first day of the new year, until ten days later, on Yom Kippur, depending on whether the sinner repents or not, his fate is sealed.

all the songs i lost on lovers

no longer mine

*****-inducing

barbiturate of old guilt

and even older happiness

all the songs i lose on lovers

all the lovers i lost to verse

You were my everything,
I've always known  you were special.
But only now I realise,
How much I needed you my little girl.

You were my constant companion,
Never left me alone,
Always by my side,
Even after I left you alone.

You forgave me everytime,
I left you home alone,
Sometimes months at a time,
I was gone.

You trusted me always,
At the door on my return,
Waiting to greet me,
But I could tell you were concerned.

You had been abandoned,
Early in life,
I know you had a difficult start
Moving from shelter to shelter is no life.

We were supposed to be together,
I knew I needed to help you,
Rescue you from a sad untimely death,
And give you a loving home.

You had nowhere to go,
All those years ago
I couldnt let you die.,
You had to come and be mine.

You were more than just company,
You were a true friend,
They told me you didnt like cuddles,
But I found out thats all you wanted in the end.

You helped me more than any human,
You were so loving and kind,
You understood everything about me,
You were there when I lost my mind.

You let me cry on you,
You saw me cut myself,
But you never ran away,
Although I know you didnt want me to cut.

I loved you very much,
And I know you loved me too,
And I hope that you understood
How much I really loved you.

You saved my life one morning,
When our smoke alarms failed,
The house filling with smoke at 5am,
You got me out of bed.

Even Qasem loved you,
For when I was stuck in hospital,
He got over his fear as a Muslim,
He made friends with you, didnt mind your poo.

I always knew how you felt,
You showed me your disgust,
When I brought home the school gerbils,
And you pooped on my bed in disgust.

You looked after me in Aberdeenshire,
As I looked after you,
I know our house was very cold,
You got used to the coal fire so soon.

You helped me move back to Arran,
Im sorry for how stressful that was,
Such a long time to spend in a box,
But we had no choice but for trains, boats and bus.

I had lived here before,
But for you it was all very new,
Yet you adapted so quickly,
Walked out of your box, like you knew.

I know you were happy on Arran,
You settled in so quickly,
It was liked you'd always lived here,
Maybe because we were close to the sea.

My people got fewer and fewer,
But your loyalty was forever,
I know sometimes you were hungry,
We were both hungry at these times.

I never meant to neglect you,
And I know you understood,
I'd do anything so you didnt go hungry,
When I couldnt get out of bed.

I cooked fish from the freezer,
Though I know it wasnt your favourite,
I never meant to make you sick,
Your body just wasnt used to it.

I am sorry for how much I left you,
You lit up my life when I returned,
I trusted the people left to feed you,
Knew they'd take care of you while I was gone.

I was so happy to see you,
Looking healthy and content,
With your bright yellow eyes shining,
And your comforting purr of content.

Thank you for looking after me,
Many times you kept me going,
Although I have wanted to die,
I could never leave you my darling.

I had to stay alive,
I know you needed me,
No one else could be here for you,
And I know how much you loved me.

I may have gone away at times,
But I was always pleased to see you,
I knew you were here waiting,
And I always thought about you.

You became my only companion,
Nearly everyone else had gone,
You showed so much compassion,
You never left me alone.

I got to know you so well,
You went out a little in the sun,
But you never wandered far,
Wanting the door left open for a quick return.

Im sorry for the times you got stuck outside,
I know it didnt happen a lot,
But you always went to hide somewhere,
I know the fear now, it can be too much.

I know how it feels now,
I get the panic and fear too,
My legs collapse for no reason,
I know how it must have been for you.

When you got so sick,
I hated seeing you in pain,
But I knew you still wanted to be here,
And I kept promising, mummy will end the pain.

You were like a little angel,
Took your medicine so well,
Let me feed you by syringe,
You wanted to be here still, I could tell.

But then you were in such pain,
All night you'd lie so close to me,
Resting your bleeding tumour
Against my neck, the pain I could see.

Then I knew you didnt want to be here,
You were tired and had had enough,
You looked at me, trusted me to end your pain,
The tumour bleeding, swollen, you couldnt close your mouth.

I knew when you sat out in the cold,
You wanted it to end,
You were hoping you would die,
But I didnt want you to starve, so your body was still strong.

I could see you were in pain,
I could feel it too,
I even got used to the smell of your tumour,
So close to my face, as I tried to comfort you.

I'd wanted to give you diazepam,
But I knew from my training its not right,
But I did give you extra pain killers,
On your very last night.

I didnt want you to suffer,
Anymore than you were,
And it seemed to help you settle,
And these nights would now be no more.  

Mummy asked the vet to come tomorrow,
You had told me it was time,
I let you listen to the birds and music,
Comforting you until she came.

I wanted to take you to bed again,
But I know that would have been wrong,
I didnt want to end you life,
But otherwise, I would have been cruel, and wrong.

You enjoyed your last meal,
Some tasty treats came in the post,
You had more medication,
To ease the pain, as the time drew close.

The hours seemed to last forever,
But I was happy to see you at ease,
The vet came to our house,
You had your sedative on my knees.

You are not keen on strangers,
And tried to go and hide,
But the sedative worked quite quickly,
I picked you up and cuddled you till it was time.

Your body went limp,
You were so sleepy,
And the vet shaved your leg,
Much more humane that the heart, I agree.

Then she injected a huge dose of barbiturate,
Your heart stopped almost instantly,
Mummy wanted that injection too,
You died quickly upon my knee.

Now you are in the garden,
And I am so sorry,
But I did everything I could,
I cant let you in anymore, but I really wish I could.

I am really lost without you,
More than I expected,
Never knew i'd feel this alone,
Dont know what I expected.

The house now feels unsafe,
The panic does things to my body,
Nightmares wake me up,
And now you're not here to help me.

I wish I could have gone with you,
And we could still be together,
No more pain for either of us,
We'd be together forever.

I am so sorry Tiggy, please forgive me, thank you for everything,
love from mummy ***

Who By Fire?**

And who by fire, who by water,
Who in the sunshine, who in the night time,
Who by high ordeal, who by common trial,
Who in your merry merry month of may,
Who by very slow decay,
And who shall I say is calling?

And who in her lonely slip, who by barbiturate,
Who in these realms of love, who by something blunt,
And who by avalanche, who by powder,
Who for his greed, who for his hunger,
And who shall I say is calling?

And who by brave assent, who by accident,
Who in solitude, who in this mirror,
Who by his lady's command, who by his own hand,
Who in mortal chains, who in power,
And who shall I say is calling?

And so the song flows -
a messy trace of barbiturate haze,
the song flows,
tinged with a red-eyed, cathartic
sort of sparkle about it in the dark,
like the backalley streetlamps by my window
at one in the morning.

July 1st-
I take a step outside, climb to the roof.
My eyes swell from the sunlight,
glasses steam up from the heat.
I have no need for lifting my *** off these sheets anymore but to write.
Manhattan rooftop, why did you have to betray me?
There was a time when
you were the glistening silvertoned backdrop to all of my surreptitious loves
as I sat on you,
idly humming jazz,
peacefully watch the go-and-come
of the synagogue pouring into the
streets below,
pitifully bemused
at the concept of dejection.
You once gave me a view of opportunity,
and ever-alert, always-foreseeing eyes that could have seen all the way to the buildings of Stamford.
Now I'm eighteen and terribly myopic.

What at all at this point is to exist
with implacable certainty?

Manhattan rooftop,
Tell me that
solipsism is the universal truth,
then I will not feel as alone.

I’ve always loved him from a distance
This time it just feels different
It’s the indifference
Like, our souls they differ and
Im pondering if it’s deliberate
Ending feels imminent
Love in a moments end
Fate is not discriminate
It’s saying that we’re dissonant
Harmonies on a barbiturate
Subtle lies are tasting bitter as,
My intuitions shaking with a vigor
Cause my hearts feeling ambivalent
I can’t make a decision and
I don’t want this to end and
I can’t pretend or understand
How we got here and
I’ve always love him from a distance but this just… feels different.

sometimes i wonder how you are
i dress myself in spy fatigues as i twist my mouth
you're laughing, bright. you bleed the aura of apollo and you are ensconced by fiery legs, moscato-stained lips, bejeweled smiles
nothing could yank your lyre from you
you expose rows of teeth as you coil and
you laugh. i see the hurt in your eyes in the seconds before you blink

i wonder if you've forgotten to rest them, just as i have
i wonder if that hair of yours is lovingly tussled
or usurped
under infinite gleanings of your own manic hands
when liquid barbiturate tears roll from your eyes and make house in your ears
when the darkness of your room softly suffocates you
and you pretend that it is me

i wonder if i've destroyed you and it
takes the opulence of an entire faerie festival to turn your racing head
to wrench your furrowed brow away from the
slight dip in the passenger seat
where i once occupied

“Sorry, not sorry,” says the nature of change
Brought through with cameras and champagne on the brain
Sometimes I wonder how you handle it
New York is a drowning city
What a pity -- strangers
Lose themselves in the noise a bit
But know your clothes, your face
The smell of Chanel
And cold bedsheets

Keeps the mind’s peace and pieces  
Flittering on fame’s release
Hollywood’s a real scream
Isn’t it? Winding and navigating the museum of dolls
Please! Give a little more

In the room with the TV blinkers
Smile
And then you’ll mean something to me

Blue haze of taffeta and ballyhoo
Cold haze of taffeta and ballyhoo
***** burns the throat and is a heavy glory
Holds itself on your brain and the mirror’s a real thing
To illuminate inside and out and who
You are nothing short of a barbiturate queen
Take a breath

In the room with the TV blinkers
Smile
And then you’ll mean something to me