Fighting the sensations;
I am speechless and consumed
With nothing
       As well as everything.

The drinks all taste the same.
Conversations become dulled down
       To empty promises.

Skeletons of chandeliers;
Ghosts of past lovers.
       Memories distorted.

The inadequate use of words
Dripping off your
       slurred tongue.

I’ve been burned before,
Leaving me fearless                 in front of the fire.

Searching for a cure;
In the coffin of
                      false happiness.

Trying to balance between    
       Reality, and self-inflating lies
While I dream of falling,
       And crashing to my demise.

Detached,
floating beyond the confines of existence.
I hear and
see and yet do not
feel.

No pain can touch me here,
no hand near enough to reach
beyond my cloudy veil.
Ecstacy,
Joy,
Sorrow,
Panic.
These states bubble across the
surface of river,
my fishbowl,
my cauldron.

I lie underneath,

The emotions slipping gently from my lips
to the surface,
a perfect finish to the puppet beyond
my reach.
High above, my head floats
whilst my *** sits cold on the bench
near the boats
Alone
yet everywhere
Who knows if I can yet
be guided home
Again.

When it fades, its like a candle that ceases
to exist and so the flame was never lit..

You cherished a moment that was as
threadbare as the good reflections of us.

I look into your being and I see through
you as my heart now sees nothing within.

I try to be distant.
Detatched.
Drink a 50 cent Mountain Dew.
Dressed all in black
on a blistering day.
My back is a waterfall.
Pop two more quarters in the machine.
The mass gathering makes this funeral home
feel more like a sweat lodge.

"It's cooler in the chapel"
but that's where the body is.

I enter the mock church house,
close my eyes in passing the casket,
and sit in the back,
where everyone obstructs my view
of...
it?
him?

Eulogy delivered.
Songs sung.
Get up and take your last look.
My pores become geysers.
He's too still.
Too quiet.
Too peaceful.
Three observations
in a third of a second.

I remember his voice,
the way his palm felt on mine,
shaking hands.
Shake the preachers hand.
Remember.
Pull away.

Pop two more quarters into the machine.
Wash my hands.
Twice.
Go out to the car
to try my best to calm down.

I want to blow myself to smithereens.*
There's a tightening in my chest that accompanies the shame I feel.
I can be a good girl
I can fake a nice girl
I can detach from my own skin.
Smile. Nod your head. Agree with everything being said.
And when it hurts to be a shell of a person
Remind yourself that you've hurt him worse.

I hate my body,
But that's nothing knew,
Because I've always hated my body.
I hate my rock solid bed cover,
But I've always hated the bed cover.
I hate that it's hard for me to make friends;
It's always being hard making friends...
I hate that I have acne,
While other girls are tan without acne.
I've had acne for a while now...
I hate my phone,
I hate my clothes,
I hate my face,
I hate the fact I have massive anxiety,
Every day...
I hate that I'm never happy,
That I can never just simply enjoy life,
Even though it is summer now...
I hate that I can't communicate well with my boyfriend,
After already being with each other for other nine months.
I hate my huge ****,
Always did...
I hate not having anything to do,
For the time being.
I hate that I can't open up to my boyfriend,
When he certainly can't open up to me.
I hate losing.
I hate always being angry,
Always having something to worry about.
I hate pushing myself,
Even though I know I have to.
I hate that I don't really have the connection,
I used to have with my boyfriend.
I hate that it sort of faded away after nine months.
I hate that my boyfriend doesn't understand my feelings,
Yet I can'topen up to him,
Because I feel he won't care,
And he has no time to listen.
I hate we don't have fun in our relationship,
As much as we used to.
I hate that there's very little spark he feels,
I could see it in his eyes...
I hate that I'm starting to feel detatched from him.
Maybe he deserves better,
Than me.
Maybe he's not right,
For me.
I hate that he has no clue,
Of how much I still love him.
I hate that I can't show him,
How much I still love him,
Because we're becoming too distant.
When will we have that talk,
Where I could fully open up to him?
I hate that he's too good of a guy for me,
Intelligence, handsome, funny, respectful, athletic, etc...
But am I doing this to myself?
Or does he not feel the same way,
I feel about him every day.
Did he install a video camera in my house,
Or on my body,
Where he watches my every move?
And doesn't like what he hears or sees?
I might be thinking way out of the box,
But there's something not right now...
I hate myself,
I hate myself,
I loathe myself...
People say it's not your fault,
Or not everything is your fault,
But through my problems,
It is all my fault.
And I'm always going to think that way.
Maybe I'll become depressed again,
Maybe even suicidal...
Again...
I hate that he only talks to me,
In a matter of need,
Not want...
I hate that I'm not interesting enough for him,
That I'm just a casual seventeen year old girl.
Maybe It's me,
Because I feel it is always me.
Maybe he actually wants to leave this relationship,
But doesn't know how to do so...
Maybe he's not telling me something..
Maybe there's another girl...
Maybe he's mad at me...
But I still feel no spark.
I can only love him now,
If he loves me.
And I've never stopped loving him since our relationship.
I hope he loves me back.
And doesn't just say he does.
Because he really is an amazing guy.
It tore my heart apart when we were apart for so long,
Throughout the school year.
Maybe this is the best I'll ever get...
He is offely quiet and reserved,
When I invite him to special occasions,
But maybe he's scared,
Or nervous,
Or scared of me,
Or scared of us,
Or has doubts of us...
Maybe I'm wrong about everything......
But I know what I'm right about,
Is that I cause myself too much pain inside,
To the point where I wish I could just,
Run far away and hide...

what can i even say?
he fell in love

The black sun coiled around you by morning,
Gingerly tending your wounded mind
You basked in the tall shadow of two lovers;
Waltzing along the line of indecisive love

Seven has always been your favorite number,
As we embarked to raise the tiger-eyed moon
That desolate soul wrapped in your inked bones
Couldn't silence the riptide that conquered like our kiss.

You were an addiction that took five months to sober,
Feathering every "I love you" with a pitiful look to me
I guess we just headed off to war in different directions
We were spilling blood in agony for each other.

There are regrets surfacing in your heart
I would know,
It's in my palm, right?

"I am unwelcome and detatched, it seems.*"

How do you describe the feeling?
It's not just an ache,
aches leave you feeling empty,
make you yearn.
It's when your body fills,
no not your body,
your heart.
& for a minute you feel calm,
you're a paradox,
you're at one with the world, the universe maybe, yet completely detatched from everything.
A spectator.
It would be as though you were looking down upon yourself,
this human,
this soul,
that you know every secret of, every detail about,
but you're unconnected.
Seperate.
Alone.
I feel this way when I look upon a view, watch the world in wonder.
Like when you see your reflection,
no matter how vague,
in glass,
looking up at you from water.
& you reach your finger out,
& you connect.
The way the lines blur between what is really you & your double.
They blur until they are no more.
Like the lines between realities.

I once was a Heaver, just like you
Lost in a sea of solemn blue

My boat capsized at an early age
My mind was so detatched I barely remember this stage

Slowly I found my way back to shore
But I sometimes fear I'll end up like before

The night will haunt me still, with things I've overcome
The dark reminds me of what I can still become

So you see, I've had scars where a light is shone
And I've rowed in a sea that was not my own

I have found my breath and now I give it to you
A blot of yellow in your solemn blue

Once again I've shown my heart
Gave my all to people I know
But they've disappeared, on with their life
Leaving me to feel like Joe-Shmo

I'm always there in time of need
For that's when they come running to me
Comfort and console, do all I can
As soon as they're better it's time to flee

Alone, afraid, stuck with my thoughts
Reach out to find help
But it's dark and silent
Screams turned into a yelp

So a slice will suffice
Because a drink won't do
All I really needed was
A little empathy from you

im comfortable nowhere
i always want to go home but i never want to stay inside

he never fully understood what the warnings meant
he just detatched him and his soul
so he could witness his life from above

nowhere in my dreams
head on a pillow
going nowhere

The tender girl had qualms with none
Detatched, there was nothing for the son
Forced to backtrack whilist rolling downhill
Flashing images remain
Of that private, idealistic mill
So I called her name
In the Nether Realm, she screamed
Yes, she is a hard one to please
Especially when she sees
One going through the motions
Rotations into false vocations

So tell me
What was your question again?

her words
were rainbow birds
chirping light
and i was dazzled

inside, i find feathers
detatched and *****
blackened
without body

like
her rattled, twisted words
taken from the world
wasted
on open and unknowing skies

and i listen to the lies

Wet pavement and orange street lights
The sound of distant tires
Cutting a path through the moisture
Laying in the cracks of the highway
Wet and thick
Breathing in the fog
A record playing in my head
pops and cracks, jazz, singing out
Some lonely saxaphone

Buzzing
Humming
The entire world is black but orange
Sitting on a curb
Smoke another one
I fit so perfectly in this performance
Yet I've never been so detatched

This moment, this juddering dread.
Its purely circumstantial
and it will pass
One explosive act, drunk on adrenaline I chose to be strong
for once
and Now I look where it has got me
“you did the honorable thing” they will say.
And they will be right
“for the first time in living memory”
They will add.

Scooping up the layers of ugly truths that coat this place
these walls, today, this life
like so much finely powdered snow
like so much asbestos...
easy to ignore. But never forgetten.

I wash them out out of my eyes each morning
And start my day.
Dismissing them as mere dirt.
I empty my pockets and find them there,
They are under my fingernails.
A taste in my mouth.
The parts per million build up inexorably .
I will sicken and die.
You are kind. You try to help.

But you are wrong.
Soon you are contaminated. Sickened.
This failure to do what's right
provides the background white noise to waking life
The scratching and chittering of the conscience
Like rattling pipes, Like rats in the walls
disturb sleep
you see the powdered snow
Innocently.
Trying to clear it up
hands cracked
Thinner, weary
Uncomprehending and trance-like. You have felt the sunlight dim.
You have gazed into the abyss to long…

“It's time to talk about this” you say
I resist, deny all knowledge, stare out with detatched wonder
at the swirling blizzard
of toxic flakes
That blows in through the open window.
You begin to talk about this

I cough out a weak joke,
splutter some excuses. Polluting the air with benign untruths.
Which settle in heaps about the place like finely powdered snow.
Your face it streaked with tears.
I scoop up the snow, now discolored by age and filth,
Compress it, hard like a diamond
Your face is streaked with tears
Your eyes, your ears, your pores are open,
At least you are brave enough to feel something.
You face is streaked with tears.
Your eyes bright with the still-hot fire of life, are desperate to meet mine.

Downcast, I shrink from them
Merely distracted, not happy, not sad
Solemnly kneading the crystals of poison snow in my palms...
Bent Double, wrenched inwards  in an agony of unfeeling calculation.
The task is beyond my Jellied spine.
You are pleading for me.
The man, the ******* man
To make the decision.

Somewhere beneath the layers of carcinogens an old voice, rendered unfamiliar by time is crying out.
I listen.

Unsteady. Drunk on adrenaline. I take aim.
Doubled up. Wincing. God only knows what how you felt when it hit.
When the full weight of these months of accumulated deliberation
and guilt
and truth
made contact, with the face I have kissed a thousands times before.
And now here a quiver, judder
a lame and broken invalid
I first time I made a decision.
“You did the right thing” they will say.
I pray that it's the last time.