Where do I begin?

Should it be at the height of fog hours,
doping up infallible images of affection,
among sifting smugness,
end over end in my sun-stroke mind?

Should it be it all tore down from closed doors,
every imperfection, every cyst, reworked by
some sort of Mortician,
consumed by grandeur for his practice?

Or should it be at the exact
moment
that all was realized– astuteness to
how fragile every meter of my unused offal really is?

Second to sick second, and day to well day,
all woven itself into a tapestry thats harder and harder to recall

Sew the squares, and caress the texture with tips of printless fingers
Each inch calls– no, howls –out into the basin where I sit

Howls of pain
                                 howls of stone
howls of criticism
                               howls of analysis
ripping through the brail that's sung to the bone

Tell to beg, where do I begin?

I don my pale green hoodie,
blending into the seafoam crowd
Unsmiling eyes and unlaughing lips
united in a tightly held breath

Silent metal walls
curve over our pale heads
Cold, dull and smeared
with printless finger marks

White floors and white faces
waver under the ripples
of quiet breath
Tension strangling whatever
might have been left over

you rubbed the
grey worry stones
over and over,
that were found in the Chest,

                                        treasured or pandora's box, what else was inside?

patiently losing
kind parts
of your fingers,
massaging

                                     with printless tips, losing all identity, such sacrifice!

the still stones
hard with worry,
until the worry
fell away,
           landing and curling
           like shavings a
            Carpenter's work
           would leave  behind,

and the stones
began to look
like red and
soften up some

you took it in stride, no pride or boasting, no scolding no holding it over my head,

                                                          ­                    
you never faltered,
you went and
stood silently,
watching me
tire each day
from my new
and advent-
urous ways,

behind me to
remind me
there was safe-
ty in your arms,

                                                          ­                        tall tales told of night time fictional conquests, lies about lying with strangers!

the pink flesh
you wore, never
turned green
knowing we would
find each
other
every
night

                                              
till dawn
              and morning
                                   light glinted
                                                       of your hair,
                                                                ­           your smile,
adding colour to the design?

I'll make peace with my heart
Someday I'll get over the hurt
I'll see to my scars and every bruise
beautiful stars in the sky will be my muse
someday I'll pick myself up & stop talking
that day it will be about walking
for I'll be moving on past the shades of regret
past the bitterness of being dabbed an ingrate
someday I'll cross this River without fear
use her waters to wash away every tear
leave  this place printless like I was never here
I'll forget this past for it holds nothing dear
I'll collect all the scattered shards
and leave like the gorgeous journey birds
only there's no chance I'll ever lay foot here again
for this place has but caused me so much pain
I hate to go but I have to leave and to believe
for how long must one soul shatter and one heart grieve?

I have a fever dream

Blank skin
Blank skin, only a single layer thin
damply wrinkles and pocked puckers ;
I’m a delicate blister waterbed mattress
No rest when I set my head

The pain is a receiver in this dream

I feel I’ve a full body wound
The surface skim is a single reading of pain
Any contact pulls the pain to that site
A sudden breeze alone
would do the trick

The dream expresses vulnerability

One nick
One puncture on the opaque membrane
And my innards would flood out
I slip perilously on the tile floor
My printless feet wipe from under me and /

Woken up
burning fever
but go back to sleep
In urgency I must..

Form porousness
Found layers
Cultivate hairs
Bead natural oils
Reclaim my fingerprints
And get a grip
All this before I fully awake
I don’t want to suffer this state in the real world

I feel empty today
Watching the snow
I feel as blank as the flakes,
With nothing left to sing
I have nothing left to give
So take what you will
I think I must leave
I stare at the stars on the ground
And the ones up in the sky
My feet will not move
Fixed like lights in the heaven
From where I am,
In this tree
I see the snow blanket
Cold and ironic
Like blank canvas,
Covered in lies
When I see printless snow
I cannot but help to think of children
With their perfect little ands and angelic smiles
With their strange desire to tear up the smoothe snow
I toss the thought aside
These are not thoughts for a being of my stature
For now I shall let Father Winter hold me in his icy embrace