Janie pushes the metal book cart back into its parking space in the Document Delivery Department of the St. Louis Public Library and hangs the last sticky note for October 30, 2012 on the wall by the head of the department’s closed door. She retightens her brown scarf under her chin, tucking the wispy hairs above her ears back into hiding. Having your hair begin to prematurely gray as a teenager has dramatic effects on a person. Her mother wore scarves around her wrists when Janie was growing up and when Janie begin to wear scarves to conceal her salt-and-pepper hair, her mother just smiled. The clock hanging on the wall above the children’s section reads 11:28pm.
Two more minutes.
She reorganized the pens and books on her desk and set the box reading NOTES onto the right corner or her desk with three blue pens and a stack of note cards. Her coworkers learned fast that Janie does not like to talk. She does not like eye contact. She loves the silence, and never ever to ask her about her hair. Her manager gave her the NOTES box after about a month of horrible miscommunication and everyday it fills with requests for books or tasks that Janie has to complete. She completes the tasks one by one, alone, in her back office in the Reference Department and hangs the completed sticky notes on the wall by her manager’s door. She works the night shift and locks the library up every night. When she’s alone she can talk out loud to herself and those are the only voices she cares to hear.
“Goodnight, books. Good night, rooms.” Janie shut the heavy wooden door to the library, placed the color-coded keys in the front right pocket of her jacket, and began her walk to the bus stop one corner away. She avoids the main road, taking her first right onto a side street that she knows would spit her out right beside the bus stop.
“Goodnight Taco Bell Sign. Goodnight Rite-Aide. Goodnight Westside Apartments. Goodnight Jack-o-Lantern smile.” She stopped in the middle of the alley and peered up at the Jack-o-Lantern grinning down at her from the third story window above. “Mother wouldn’t’ve liked your smirk, Jack. She would’ve slapped that **** right off your face.” Janie, satisfied the pumpkin was put in its rightful place, smiled as she trotted on.
“Mother carved smiles into her arms and that’s why Daddy left, it is, it is.” She kicked at a crushed Mountain Dew can as she remembered that night from years ago.

“Mommy?” Janie pushed opened the door to her mother’s bedroom and saw the moving-boxes torn open and all their contents scattered across the floor. She tiptoed through piles of scarves and silverware and corkscrews until she reached the bathroom in her mom’s room.
“Come to us like rain, oh lord, come and stay and sting a while more, oh lord…” her mother’s voice was slipping off the tiled bathroom walls. Janie pushed open the door and saw the blood for the first time pouring from her mother’s wrist. Her mother was naked and perched on the bathroom sink, singing to a red razor blade.
“Mommy?”
“GET OUT!” Her mother jumped from the counter and perched on all fours on the floor. She began to growl and speak in a voice too deep to be coming from her own throat.
“Mommy! It’s Janie!” She began to cry as her mother, still naked and bleeding, twisted and writhed onto her back and began to crawl towards the door that Janie hid behind.


“Thirty-Three percent, dear. Just a thirty-three percent chance.” She shivered trying to clear the last memory of her mother with the words that all the shrinks had echoed to her over the years. “Schizophrenia is directly related to genetics, little is known about the type of Schizophrenia mother was diagnosed with except that it is definitely passed on genetically. But, there is only a thirty-three percent chance you could have it, dear. Thirty-three percent.” The sound of the bus stop ahead reminds her it is time to be silent again.
“Disorganized Schizophrenia.” She mouthed to herself as she stepped back out onto the busy street from her alleyway. She tightened her scarf and saw the bus pull into the pickup spot. She walked forward to the bus, again immersed in her self-imposed silence.
Stepping out of the February cold, Janie removes her wool scarf as the bus doors close behind her.
“Where to baby?” The driver smiles a sticky smile. Her nametag reads, “Shannon” and has a decaying Hello-Kitty sticker in the bottom left corner.
“The Clinton Street drop.” She hands the driver her $2.50 fare and avoids the woman’s questioning eyes. The night drivers are always more talkative, curious.
“Your ticket hon.” She tears Janie a ticket stub. “Everything is pretty dead this late, I’ll have you there in ten minutes top.”
Janie begins to shuffle towards the seats, ignoring the woman.
“You mind if I crank up the music?” The bus driver asks, purple fingernails scratching in her thick blonde hair. “I need to keep my eyes open and blood flowing and music is my fire of choice you know?”
“Sure.” Janie shrugs her bag onto her shoulder and walks on before the woman can say anything else.
“Route E-2, homebound.” Shannon’s voice crackles over the loudspeaker.
She shuffles down the bus towards her usual seat; second from the back right side.  Shannon starts the bus rolling before she reaches her seat and Janie can hear her singing along to “Summertime” by Janis Joplin. The bus floor, today, is sticky because of the morning rain. Two years of riding public transportation has taught Janie that staring at the floor as she walks to her seat is better than the risk of making eye contact. The bus is usually empty this late but if there ever happens to be anyone else on, it’s better not to converse. Safer that way.
She plops into her seat filling the indention that ghosts of past passengers left. The seat is still warm and Janie squirms around until the stranger heat is forgotten. She tightens her scarf and sighs. The brown pleather seatback in front of her is peeling towards the top. Janie leans forward and idly picks at the scab-like dangles of brown as she watches the sodden city canvas roll past her out the foggy window. As she picks, the hole grows. She twists and digs her unpainted nails into the seat until her hands feel wet, warm. Looking down, they are covered in blood and mud.
“What. The. Actual. ****.” she whispers, wiping her hands on her pants leg. She cautiously picks off another piece of pleather and a trickle of deep red begins to run from the seat back, clumps of mud now falling onto her knees. A puddle of blood and mire splatter down her legs and pool around her feet as she picks at the seat. Her white tights are definitely beyond saving now, so she digs faster until her thumbnail catches on something, bends back, and cracks. She gasps and withdraws her shaking hand, watching her own blood mix with the clotting muck in the seat, half of her thumbnail completely stripped off.
Looking around, all else seems normal. The driver is now muttering along to some banter by Kanye West, completely unaware of Janie’s predicament. She closes her eyes.
This is a dream, this is a dream, wake the **** up.
She opens her eyes to see the pool of filth around her feet trickling towards the front of the bus. Panic sets in with a whisper, They’re going to think it was you, your fault, you’ll be thrown in jail.
“But I didn’t do this.” She lashes out to herself. “I didn’t hurt anyone.”
Next stop, E-2. Shannon blares on the intercom.
“It’s just a dream, get your **** together, Janie.” She laughs at herself, manic.
Prove it! Her subconscious screams.
Convinced to end this moment she has to continue; Janie plunges her hand into the pleather grave one more time. Frantic and confused she laughs as she digs, spittle of muck splashing on her bus window.
Faster, faster, faster.
Deeper, deeper, deeper.
Realer, realer, real.
Wake up, now!
Then, as the bus slows, one last chuck of mud splatters to the floor and Janie sees a pink piece of her thumbnail stabbed into the white of a bone in the bottom of the seatback pit. Her white Ked’s were becoming so red they were almost black. She pulls her knees up to her chest and begins to rock back and forth. Clenching shut her eyes she begins to hum. Janie’s sweet soprano harmonizes with the buses deep droning purr, their wet melody interweaving with the driver’s alto and Lil Wayne’s screech made her feel dizzy as the bus turned right.
She take my money when I'm in need
Yeah she's a trifling friend indeed
Oh she's a gold digger way over town
That dig's on me
The bus slows to a stop and the bass is shaking. Janie is cold. She slowly peeks out of her right eye, expecting to be instantly immersed into the same dismal scene. The seatback is whole again. Releasing her knees, her feet fall back to the floor and her shaking fingers stroke the solid pleather.

“Ma’am? We’re at the Clinton Drop.”
Janie hurriedly picks up her bag and flees down the aisle to the bus doors.
“Everything alright, dear?” The bus driver asks, smiling.
“Fine, just fine.”
“You be safe out there tonight. The night is dark and only ghouls stroll the streets this late.”  Shannon laughed as Janie’s jaw dropped. “Happy Halloween, dear. It’s midnight, today is October 31st.”
The bus doors opened and a cold wind ****** the warm bot-air surrounding Janie into the streets. She begrudgingly followed, her mind spinning as she stepped onto the pavement. The doors slammed behind her and she turned to see Shannon pull out a tube of lipstick and smear it, red, across her cracked lips. Shannon made a duck-face in the mirror and reached down to crank up the music as loud as it would go. The bus exhaled and rolled forward, leaving Janie behind as it splashed through the potholes.
She surveys the surrounding midnight gloom and the street is quiet and dark. Even the stars are hidden behind swirling clouds. She begins to hum, hands in her pocket, and shuffle towards her apartment.
“Goodnight, stars. Goodnight, street.”
As she approaches her single-bedroom apartment, digging through her coat pocket for her keys, her thumb pulsates. She grasps the keys and pulls them out as she steps up to the apartment. Sticking the cold, silver key in the lock she looks down at her thumb and in the shadows of the porch sees half of the nail completely missing. She laughs as she pushes the door open to her bare apartment, light flooding out. Without any hesitation she closes the door behind her, sheds her clothes, and slips onto the mattress in the corner of the room gripping her thumb tight. She reaches out for the glass of milk on the floor beside her bed from the morning and it’s still cold. Nursing the milk, surrounded by blankets and solitude, she reminds herself,  “Only a thirty-three percent chance. A nice, small, round number. Small.”  
She sets down the empty glass and curls into the fetal position under the heavy blankets, pointer finger tracing circles on her thumb. Only when she has heated her blanket cocoon enough to feel safe does she remove her scarf and allow her thick white hair to fall around her face.
“Goodnight, room. Goodnight, mother,”

1.  the night is all the day wishes it could be; it's better for thinking, and loving, and dreaming.
2. each night i go out to look at the sky and admire the stars.
3. to see the stars, a certain amount of darkness is required.
4. all the darkness in the world can't ***** out the light from a single candle.
5. i overthink impossible amounts of scenarios, as many as the infinite stars spanning the sky.
6. you are the last thing on my mind as i fall asleep.
7. you are all i ever dream about.
8. you are the first thing on my mind when i wake.
9. you don't love someone for their looks, or their clothes, or their talent.
10. you love them because they sing a song that only you can hear, a song that resonates and harmonizes with your soul.
11. music is a language, just like english or spanish, that's why it's difficult for some people to learn and understand.
12. the sky transitioning from cool blue to warm orange-pinks to freckled black gives off a 5-1 cadence feel.
13. the moon shines brightest when there is no one there to see.
14. the sun may watch me during the day, but it's the moon who knows all my secrets and desires.
15. like the stars, gentle and beautiful, you are exactly like them: i couldn’t be with you, only admire you.

Seductive being.
You have captured my eyes.
Blown away by an angel.
Tricked by diguise.

I'm lead astray by this angel.
The way she courses with grace.
So I follow the shadow.
Fooled by the veil on her face.

I have commited a crime.
I have visualized this affair.
Acknowledging this moment.
This innocent state of mind.

I admitt that this diversion.
Has corrupted me inside.
Leaving me empty.
Leaving me alive.

I'm drawn by her beauty.
Harmonizing her rythm.
While she harmonizes with mine.
Concious of this unlawful act.
Acheiving the impossible.
Acheiving this lie.

I'm taking you in and drinking you down
Like a tidal wave.
Our hearts beat in tandem -
A symbiotic rhythm.
I can't take my eyes off of yours.

Though my skin might wrinkle and swell,
I could sit here for hours,
Content in getting lost in your presence.
Water fills my mouth
And runs uncontrollably from my lips,
Falling in a steam of a repeated "I love you."
I say it over and over again;
The phrase comes as naturally as breathing.
It harmonizes with the way the water falls,
And the way my soul reverberates
Against your own.

Every time you pull me close,
Meeting your lips with mine,
The earth pauses on its axis.
With my hands either up to your cheeks,
Or down at your lap,
I'm reveling in you.
I'm content with drowning
In the affection you shower me with.

Even when the faucet eventually runs dry,
I am not.
I don't think I'll ever be able to fully dry off
Your love.

As my father lay,
passed out in his chair
with whiskey nursing his dead heart
and healing his origami wrists

My sister and I's stomaches ache with hunger
I sacrifice my last piece of poptart to her
and pray to make it till my mother comes home

She crashes into the door
An alarm for my father harmonizes in a disastrous symphony
He dashes out the door for the next shift
Leaving my mother, crying after seeing the mess and her children passed out by the empty fridge

Her grease burnt arms scrub the wine covered coffee table
Until red stains turn pink and empty cigarette packs fill the trash

She picks up a glass and fills it with wine
and drinks away the memories until everything is warm

Thus continues the cycle

Money sparse, bills unpaid, cupboards nearly bare
Two parents whose love had been infested with addiction and depression
stemming from broken, abusive homes and even more abusive past relatioships

Leaving two children in the destruction of constant fighting which led to divorce

The eldest following her mother's footsteps of constant abuse and taking on her father's pain with origami wrists to match

The youngest never bounced back, a brick wall built from years of silence left her permanently mute. Every day she drifts further and further away from reality and lives in her fantasy world.

Best and brightest, come away,
Fairer far than this fair day,
Which, like thee, to those in sorrow
Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow
To the rough year just awake
In its cradle on the brake.
The brightest hour of unborn Spring
Through the Winter wandering,
Found, it seems, the halcyon morn
To **** February born;
Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth,
It kissed the forehead of the earth,
And smiled upon the silent sea,
And bade the frozen streams be free,
And waked to music all their fountains,
And breathed upon the frozen mountains,
And like a prophetess of May
Strewed flowers upon the barren way,
Making the wintry world appear
Like one on whom thou smilest, dear.

Away, away, from men and towns,
To the wild wood and the downs -
To the silent wilderness
Where the soul need not repress
Its music, lest it should not find
An echo in another’s mind,
While the touch of Nature’s art
Harmonizes heart to heart.

Radiant Sister of the Day
Awake! arise! and come away!
To the wild woods and the plains,
To the pools where winter rains
Image all their roof of leaves,
Where the pine its garland weaves
Of sapless green, and ivy dun,
Round stems that never kiss the sun,
Where the lawns and pastures be
And the sandhills of the sea,
Where the melting ****-frost wets
The daisy-star that never sets,
And wind-flowers and violets
Which yet join not scent to hue
Crown the pale year weak and new;
When the night is left behind
In the deep east, dim and blind,
And the blue noon is over us,
And the multitudinous
Billows murmur at our feet,
Where the earth and ocean meet,
And all things seem only one
In the universal Sun.

We are separated
Like the sky and the earth

You are filled with potential that once felt like expectation
the ruggedness of a thousand wild stallions running to the course of their strong united heartbeats
and of the sweat and blood that you've merited your endeavors with

I am filled with ribbons of gentle caresses and a familiarity with the unnoticed weight long hair brings
determination like that of the tired
ceaseless tide that rises up again each morning
and of sweet and salty compulsions

We are separated
Like the Heavens and Earth

You are more than the smell of leather and Copenhagen
You are more than the litter of miscellaneous items next to an inevitable jar of change sitting on your wooden dresser
an exact replica of the Skaggs males' before you.
You are more than calloused hands and a beautiful voice that crawls out and harmonizes with cicadas in the heavy heat lingering into the August night.
You are more than the millions of melodies you've blessed us with
More than the far away look in your hazel eyes as you master your guitar
More than your hearty laugh that delights my soul
More than your kind spirit
More than your careful words
More than your wise wife
More than your delicate girl that I hear call me Aunt
But these things stack on top of one another
Like bricks of a building under construction
Beams of titanium not unlike a skeleton protude into the clouds
Ultimately creating the tower I will proudly claim as my older brother
Directing my acquaintances' attention to the structure that
in this moment
unfinished even
eclipses the sun
Casts a shadow over me
a cool blanket of security
I know the closer that I draw to you
the less I will see of the shambles of other buildings that never compared to you
My view of the misleading wooden structures behind you that will be set afire or deteriorate in the constant turning of gears in the clock of time
will be obscured by your sheer splendor

We are separated
Like the sky and the earth underneath me

And just like the two we are connected further down
The horizon
where we will meet is filled with bittersweet triumph painted in the oranges and pinks of the sunset
I turn and see the horizon behind me
where we began
in all of its plainess
Our childhood in a gray
Hillcrest Terrace
Friday night prayer
Denim and pattles
Oatmeal and cough drops
Iced tea and lilac bushes
All threaded neatly into the full drops of rain that fall from you to I
Connecting the ground and the sky
I turn back to the front and admire what I imagine it will be
Our children's loose teeth
and long cramped car rides
Porch swings and homeschool books
Owned land and old trees
Laughter and loyalty
Irony and victory

We are separated
Like the sky and the ground

But we run in the same direction
not interrupting the others' path
I was not there with you when you let the heaviness of the thoughts in your head fall into your awaiting hands as your shoulders shook
Every ragged breath tinged with cheap whiskey
But I have followed suit of my own accord
I was not there with you when you questioned your very identity until you wondered if you would  recognize yourself if he called you by name
But I may have been caught contemplating the same
I was not there with you when you were overanalyzing one of our sisters' new boyfriend's character and gauging his deservingness
But I often did exactly that
And I was not there with you when you fell in love with your beautiful lady and decided to make her yours
But I was praying for it to be her

An endless fire burns inside me
Searching for
courage I won't have
and words I can't find
Until I can heat you with these flames
I will continue to look at you while you are preoccupied and let the words choke in my neck as reverence floods me for this man who
like his father
remains oblivious to his massive impact and priceless company

Winter dies
Spring comes alive
There is no Autumn in Chicago
And Spring leaves as quickly as it arrives
Jolting us to what is always an uncertain Summer
That’s my city
Just like my heart
My love life
Chicago
I don’t have one without the other
Mashed up together
Yet separated
Segregated
Deep Love on the Northside
Lover on the Southside
Sidekick on the Westside
And when it’s all too much to handle
The East is my escape
Sitting on the rocks letting my legs dangle and toes dip in the icy cold greenish lake
I feel comfort in it
Immense and wide spread, like me sometimes
Clear but *****
Supposedly the cleanest water you can drink
After the city purifies it of course
Just like me, just like mine
My vessel pours clear and *****
But the city purifies me through cleansing nights
Through raised glasses of wine and music that harmonizes my heart
Kisses that clean and absorb
Tongue that licks off the saltiness I’ve accumulated
A thin layer
Its washed off and cleared from one moment to the next
Like the city skyline
And I’m ready for a new day
A new love
Or lover
I reincarnate in the Spring from what seems a slow death but was only a tormenting hibernation
Led into another uncertain Summer
Returning with scorching tenderness through cool breezes and radiating heart
Radiating sun
That’s how it feels in Chicago
That’s my City
Just like my Heart
I don’t have one without the other

Soul of black folk Trevon Martin and Emmett till..
A image of the worlds ills
There's a different between mans n Gods will..
The physician has  stethoscope now breathe Yes the worlds ill
A deviant of society words that the deaf can feel..
The difference in a person defines whats real..
My ancestry.
Oh yeah cotton fields
In a dressing room being asked how my jeans of cotton feel..
I don't know cause my genes are imprinted
Reaction to fashion..
How corrupt are these thoughts of blackness that have us branded..
Called to be continents of Christ but island mindsets have us stranded..
Like how u white and you talk black..or how you black and you talk white..
There's no discrimination to ignorance Just like Gods sight..
Yet a clear division he judges the heart its darks and its lights.
He sprinkled his people the salt on earth.
Eat dirt the earth lacks flavor
Transformed to salt 
We should not conform to dirt..
Express food I wonder if God taste buds hurt..
Chefs cooking lukewarm dishes..
Serving Jesus as he spits the food out.
Now he raging through the kitchen....
Looking for the ingredients like this is not the recipe..
Where is the complex simplicity ..
No surprise that there's sickness due to obesity...
A melting *** stirred my God  blends together...
He makes us all the same feather..
Once realized we can fly together..
Wings strong enough to fly through any weather..
Fly higher than Satan's paws that filthy jungle cat...
Yet some still want to perch on his back..
A bird singing but can't see the bars on the Cage..
Try to escape and hit the bars  which causes flight to disengage..
Racism damages the wings..
Hate damages the wings..
Why does a cage bird sing....
Well I don't think Its a song its a scream..
Because if you pay attention the pitch changes once freed..
That same sound harmonizes with the breeze..
A wonderful song heard through the trees
As trees we should be deeply rooted in Christ..
In Faith not flesh that's why the forest is a mess..
Like a tree planted next to a oil spill or nuclear reactor..
And some radiation has disturbed the soil..
Fruit spring up already spoiled..
And I think of the seedlings..
Without proper cultivation grow up to be weaklings..
Jesus is the gardener prepared to work a miraculous healing..
But he only heals if your willing
Church never stops whether in or outside of the building..

******* it.

i am a sucker
for the word
"sweetheart".

and you, darling
you say it so pretty
and your laugh
sets mine off
perfectly...
and if anything is worth anything
is not a laugh that harmonizes with your own
something worth
going after?

you are too old for me
thirty three
is quite a long ways
from
twenty
but baby...
call me
sweetheart
one more time
and you can take me
to the bank.

Crouched by the lakeside I grasp
a small stone, same as all its neighbours:
no jagged cliff-shorn shard of concussive weather
to be sent pounding across the surface,
but a smooth, round pebble, who traces a single arc
then vanishes from sight –
and the growing ring of ripples
the only testament to its passing.

As I wander on,
the waves of my lone effort are fading.
Yet, as each passing stranger
adds their own voice,
every wave harmonizes,
compounds upon its predecessors,
and once still waters accelerate
towards a resonating crescendo.

And my pebble rests below the surface,
unaware of the exultation above,
until wandering currents sweep it up,
back onto the lakeside once more.

I arise from my idle contemplation,
and pour myself in.

Let me tell you my life story.
I was left. But in some ways what I mean to say is that I turned left on that dead end road that our knees shake just thinking about.
I am not alone on this journey if you believe my words. The moon’s shadow holds me at night. The sun’s rays kiss my skin on days that are even ravaged by rain.
But the rain isn’t my enemy. The rain is a savior, a second chance, the miracle cure that washes away all of the pain in the world. My rain boots are my guides, sloshing through every challenge that dares an attempt to drown me.
No, I am not alone.
The wind whispers love poems into the shell of my ear. The rough sand scrapes away the imperfections between my toes until all that is left is wisdom. And love for the hard things in life.
Because it is the wave that knocked me over that taught me how to stand.
It is the bully on the playground who taught me that my Wonder Woman cape really does fit my shoulders.
And it is the heartache and the pain that punched me in the stomach that taught me how much I love air.
The words on the leather pages of dusty books leap into my arms and scream, “the past may be permanent, but it is written down just for you to breathe in their lessons.”
You see, no beautiful moment is ever lost. They are merely built upon until they are skyscrapers tall enough for every suicidal person to escape ever reaching the ground.
I have heard stories about reaching for cloud nine, but that isn’t what I want. Flying isn’t the dream that caresses my shaking body when the midnight air turns cold.
No, I aspire to go higher than that, to shoot way past the moon to those stars that have always been flickering just to prove that the darkness takes over sometimes. And that is okay.
Without the darkness those stars would never shine.
Life is made out of sugar and can crumble at any touch but I will never be afraid to stick out my tongue and taste it.
I may have been left, but that doesn’t mean that my decision wasn’t right.
Because now, forever I can say that the universe is painted on the back of my hand. And I can tell you that I know myself like every drop of color that has mingled with my skin cells.
I may have been left, but at the same time I was given to the matrix that harmonizes this world.
I now know that sometimes, we are just as naïve as the caterpillars who have no idea what life has in store for them.

I smile as tears fall down my cheeks
Saltwater as response
Tear ducts open to melancholy music
I smile because I am experienced
I know these tears like family
And yes the thought of my family makes me cry
They are all like songs themselves
Tragic and cutting deep
I cannot look at them
without
       falling

Violin harmonizes with her voice
My soul harmonizes with the ambiance
The atmosphere of this place is
Haunting

It’s bones echo as her song is sung in sorrow
Petrified eyes wander aimlessly until they’re hidden
Reclusive below an endless sea of regret engulfing the path to forgiveness
They swell like flesh that’s been kissed by the blazes of hell
Rising above the intoxicating waves of silk and misery
To gaze upon the sun until it rests

Her head of protruding thoughts ignites while she rests
Inundated in everlasting sorrow
The variables given only result in misery
It’s soul once residing within is now hidden
Lost forever it dredges forgiveness
Such tragedies must only exist in hell

It’s destiny slips through it’s weak hands reminding it, this is hell
Reminding it to cherish each passing moment it has left with her, envisaging forgiveness
Letting all be know and nothing hidden
In hopes for redemption and a life free of sorrow
Yet alone her broken body rests
Reflecting its misery

The black of night is its cloak of misery
And her misery and brokenness is it’s Hell
Her song harmonizes to its sorrow
Putting their calamity to rest
Revealing sprouts of change which lay beneath the ash hidden
Waiting for a new tomorrows light and the rains of forgiveness

Time heals all things so in time comes forgivenesses
It tells itself so it can rest
Perhaps times cold slumber will extinguish it’s hell
Perhaps it will sit and wait still in misery
Remembering the circumstance which brought about such sorrow
Letting it be shown and not hidden

It prays her love is not lost, only hidden
Prays for growth and happiness exchanging misery
It prays so that it can rest
Her smile and warm embrace prove the existence of forgiveness
Or is this still hell
Is this inevitable sorrow

Forever in sorrow the light is hidden
This dark hell torments it’s heart with misery
Forgiveness illuminates it’s consciousness putting its demons to rest

Gorgeous yet grotesque
way to be oblivious
can you please see us
as more than just meat

and try to meet my inner mess
one woman show, so it goes
expose the jester I kept
sheltered outta fear

they never let her feel accepted
been betrayed about a milli
but still somehow didn't seem to get it
it starts to set in something they said
super prevalent it convinced me

that we are hollow we are empty
always getting arrested by envy
guess you just jealous,
of my comedic intellect,
accidental elegance,
remind me to invest in it

Let me nest in positive intent
& sent messages.. Please,
SHUT UP AND JUST LISTEN
It it the distance dimensions
I might be privy to?
Futile the difference.. between acceptable
and dare not ******* mention

Better get it how you live, For Real fix it
Forget to exist
Cuz I sense you inching toward
a world of archetypes, white lies, and dead wishes
while alone your beautiful
I vow to never fluff you up
because my love your finished

Fully flawed
favorite flavor
**** the flock
I love your layers

gorgeous yet grotesque
forever interestin'
always messy
couldn't accept a dimension
in which we haven't met


see i will bleed for you and **** all these sheep for you
these weak dudes, they can keep it up then ******* get bruised
and although I'm a loser, Its no lie. They can't even see you
and you deserve the moon

your void is loyal
I like the noises that it makes
and I think it harmonizes with mine
better than okay our combined magic made
Never felt plastic even for a second
better reset your clock cause if your not

thankful all them stomach flutters
will become hate
from butterflies to quick little make shift shivs
stay gold, for you are gorgeous
they will gorge on each every blemish
displayed on your skin

don't be afraid to live
because your insides are
just as grotesque as mine
theres something about
that squishy equipment
and how
soft and sacred
maybe it's
slightly contaminated
like satin in a coffin

I can feel myself becoming more and more
  Withdrawn.

Slowly drawing away like a picture
  Faded in the sunlight from endless
Summers on a warm dashboard.

Smoky breezes pass and swirl around
  Radio airwaves like a ballet.

Gently, it plays.

Like my voice.

But sound just gets eaten by
  The east wind and carried
Downward into the mundane.

There is an impulsive dissonance..

No one recognizes who I am anymore
  [Except for an equally lonely barista].

Perhaps her and I are the only pair
  Who hear the dissonance ringing?

Perhaps we can lighten one another's burden,
  But we're much too reticent for conversation.

Breathing harmonizes with the whispers
  Of air passing through the trees,
Still my voice is lost somewhere in
  The hot atmosphere,
Whipping around like an only child's
  Lost birthday balloon in the bright sky.

The balloon gives up and pops under pressure.
  No one hears its melancholic resonance
Through the crashing airwaves
   But see its shriveled carcass falling
Into some suburban lawn.

The distance grows like sunflowers,
  Germinated by the buzzing few
Who enter and exit my life as
  Quickly as they possibly can.

I watch as people attempt their facile exit
  As if speeding through a traffic light.
"Eventually they will crash", I tell myself.
  But they articulate too well with one another.

Heat radiates and swells within my chest.

Lines blur together.
  Forgotten images become the
Cloudy shapes of a projective
  Test for the heartsick.

A wearied aperture opens and closes
  Trying to capture a glimmer of an
Accidental memory,
  But the heaviness of summer light
Exerts a certain gravity upon me;
  Ultraviolet-B lethargy.

Everything has faded.
  Even the black smudge,
The careless finger who eclipsed
  The camera eye,
Is faded to a hazy grey .

With time the heat swallows the photograph
  And leaves behind an empty canvas
As I become withdrawn and absolute.


Now, there is no substantial evidence to prove
  My existence...

Except for a blank polaroid waiting to be recycled
  Into another portrait of someone less forlorn [extinct] than me.

How often
when the jingle of thoughts
here cross the great divide
that is of you and me
Little spaces
incomplete turns
that both rebel and yet
When the song is right
harmonizes so well
That we forget the differences.

Many the dreams that rattle
within our battle
of being
that we cannot negotiate a path
that runs finely
Timely
to the set patterns that are our lives.

But I remember
Know well
the inside out of you
The little glimpses that once were
are yet
and swerve to the marvel
of each image you portray
Somewhere despite the vast
boundaries
that ride along side our dreams
I still know my sister.

Alisdaire O'Caoimph

She sings from her wrist
And watches in marvel as the lyrics flow from her
Pulsing to her own personal beat
And with each opening, she harmonizes
Creating a chorus of voices
To drown out the ones in her head

It’s beautiful, artistic, natural
It’s filled with emotion that she bottles
And she lets it bubble forth
In red notes on soft, fleshy paper
Her thoughts finally able to find a release
Through something sharp and physical

Because her own voice is broken
Hidden, under a mountain of lies
And drowned under a sea of promises long forgotten
Devoured by a nightmare of regrets
And threatened by mistrust
She sew her mouth shut

And she covers her hands over her ears,
Stubbornly, as I try my hardest
To let my own melody slip in
Intermingle, and rearrange
to something softer, calmer
to sooth those painful voices screaming from her skin

I try to sing louder, she has to hear
It has to reach her, it must
Through late nights and dawnless mornings
Through adrenaline filled marathons home
And patient rantings to burst through the stitches
I want to quell the tempest of her mind

But my voice is growing raspy
Each song burning my throat raw
To where I can only manage a whisper
And once again I can’t be heard
And her ensemble crescendos full force
A fortissimo against my pianissimo

And I can only beg for those hands
To become weary and slip from their vice grip,
From her determination to not listen
To hear my quiet humming, because that’s all I can do
And hope that happiness will take her by the hand
And have her dancing to my quiet tune.

Like the purest sand brushing the tips of my porcelain fingers.
White as snow,
Hot as hell.
I catch your scent in gusts of wind,
Cinnamon, like your skin.
The blue of your eyes lingers behind the clouds.
Whirling, twisting,
Lighter, darker.
You are everywhere.
The cream swirling in my coffee mug,
The whisper of the leaves as they escape the trees.
The click of keys and the punch of the spacebar
Tip, tap,
clack.
Though muddied in a puddle,
Your reflection still clearer than my own.
I search for you in seas of people
And forget to swim myself.
You suffocate me.
You resuscitate me.

Breathe you in.

Breathe you out.

Your voice,
It’s the melody that harmonizes perfectly with mine.
Your touch, the very thought of it-
It kills me.
Rips me.
Destroys me.
Come back.
Be who you used to be,
Love me.
Use me.
Rebuild me.

swirling through the crisp December air
snowflakes glisten in the light
streaming from windows that showcase trees
adorned will sparkling ornaments
and shimmering stars.
twinkling in the distance
from the peaceful, stoic cathedral
are the bells that sit high in the steeple.
i discern the haunting, glorious tune of
o holy night.
a song that is captivating and overwhelming
with its understated power
hidden in an almost melancholy key
that leaves me frozen in awe,
though i've heard this song before.
i startle as a child and her father stride
swiftly by me on the icy sidewalk.
she slips, but he gracefully scoops her up
and places her gently on his strong shoulders.
her contagious giggles blend with
his easy laugh - a sound as stunning
as the exhilarating chorus of the bells
this laughter now harmonizes with.
i'm lost in the melody of happiness
until the two disappear into the warmth of their home
and i'm again alone on the street.
memories brim and sparkle in my eyes,
simultaneously flooding my cheeks and my mind
and for a fleeting moment, i sense him.
his strong hand is in my small one,
squeezing, so i'm aware of his loving presence.
but a cold gust of harsh winter sweeps in
and he is gone and it is only me.
my mittens wipe away the memories
as i dazedly continue on my way
to my house
breathless from the emotion of yet another
blessed Christmas season
filled with the tragic beauty
of days spent rifling through distant,
yet starkly distinct memories
of the loving embrace of my guardian angel.

Wasted away

You lie to your place

You hurt the pathetic and polish your name

Your insides ache, while you baptises the sin

You ponder extinction as you pollute the path

Sky sets and you’re wasting away
The music harmonizes your unknown place

Blasts through your ears crushing the thunderess waves
Killing your eyes and feeding your thoughts
It stopped,

I have nothing else to say


Today was the day I wasted away.

majestic sounds that fill the ear
luminously engraved as
the bass harmonizes with
melodies in my mind
as the piano croons a humble tune
coating the whispers in my ear
as the drums build up to perfect synchronization
wishing I could hold it so near
the heart of the synths enrapture me
catching me in the web of love
crocheted in a melodic fantasy
I close my eyes
as I enjoy the ride
letting the strings subside
I fantasize in this melodic bliss
who knew heaven could feel like this?
as I walk along the tones of bridges
building up to a world unknown
it is the sweetest thing I’ve ever known
like the tenderness of honeydew
the rhythms of love speak to you
so sweet yet so tempting
the trumpets tower over me
leaving me selfless
giving myself endlessly

now is the time
when ....it all winds.....
down....
            the lights are ......
dimmed.......
    and the world....
                          settles
the world settles.....
        .....and the breathing
of the room becomes
                         ...regulated
syncopated.......... smooth...
.........broken..only by...
the whimpers of.....
medicated ....sleep sodden pain.......
...as you shift ..... as they shift....
...  the broken...bruised ..and..
battered anatomy... on slabs
of latex ...concreted.... beds..
but.... even that.... has become
a ...descant.... that..
                harmonizes.....
with the..... murmuring lyric gossip...
... of the nurses station...
.... and the brass buzzers .
...seeking....seeking...
..........relief........
answered.....­ by squeaky.....sqeeeeky
... shod percussionary..... nurses
giving ....aid....care....pills
               i lie on.... the razors... edge...
...of pain..... ....in the half light
concentrating.... on this...
assonic symphony  ....willing for it ..
......to lull me.... into a... fitfull... sleep..
but .....   . tonight it seems the ....throbbing ...robbing...
roaring.....pain  ................
....in my damaged limb...
........... and ....torn ...........flesh
...............is playing.. playing
.. a counterpoint ..to sleep...
............... havoc........
........is this night's song.....
           .......for me....
at least ...until...
the meds.... sing .......
.in my veins....and then....
.... all is........ a lullaby.....lulla .....bbye