stars and stardust fall to freedom
from the press corpse,
from the incessant demand of chemical crises.
crowds ache for love or a substitute
and false amore is what they have.
love is folie a deux-
[the shared madness of two.]
attachment is an affliction,
infatuation is disease leaping from remission,
with deadly symptoms.
red roses lead to black coffin doors,
roses dropped on floors
from vases shattered,
and life is the water spilling from the stems.

golden hair won't keep me docile-
blue eyes and a smile
are weapons of mass destruction-
cities sunk and flags risen
from the depths of inhumanity.
it's all for you, Helen, and humankind will never
perceive its aftereffects,
its hangover headache
sprawled over the world on a bad day.
little city partylights and shiny beer bottles
broken upon the concrete
covering the grass.
reflections of insanity upon the glass.

devilish, the temptress,
the succubus, a mistress
sent by Him, to spin doubt into
the spiderwebbed life of family trees
split in two by axes, divorces
to fifty percent, no-
no wedding band-aid will stop this flood.
abandonment.
neglect gets to a child's head-
can't help but wonder if
they were the cause of this.
little anchors,
keeping the heart in one place-
an anchored rubber band that demoness
stretched and snapped.
the relapse gave her whiplash, and
the stepdad whipped the boy's back, and
the boy grew up and
found a girl to take his pain to.
she gave him five stunted children,
with eyes hollow and glazed,
a mechanical response to a command.

lack of emotion only seems cruel
to those on the other side.
lack of flourish means nothing
to those who grew up to grey skies.

chains and handcuffs keep stardust grounded,
remains from a nebula which
birthed a black hole.
straight razors and pinky nails
teach fledglings to reach for the sky
and never fall back down.
glass ceilings never seemed so
breakable- tiptoe upsidedown
and reach the other side
before you fall back down to the real world.

angels have no eyes.
angels have no souls.
angels judge and leave the helpless for below.
cliffsides crumble and clouds dissipate,
and the devil lends a hand-
he is helping sinners make it up to him.
in his face sit eyes gleaming brightly;
there are teeth grinning, off-white-
he is human, though sadistic
and he understands your plight.
the devil is forgiving,
and you understand nothing, because you
are nothing.
you are nothing.

stars and stardust fall to freedom, and the devil takes in all.

a halo of expanding hopes, dreams, and life

a crimson teardrop, tribute to the fallen one's strife

encircles the head of an angel without wings

a splash of color to these dark streets it brings



porcelain skin, cold as the night's bitter kiss

spiderwebbed with cracks, seeping cool mist

this angel was once a most beautiful thing

bright cut emerald eyes, hair black like raven's wing



the angel in past had lived, loved, and laughed

how tragic this scene, that it could not last

for the angel dreamed flying, to touch the moon

but these dreams awoke jealousy, plotting, and doom



you see, in the city where this angel did live
i
t was mechanical, heartless, and did not forgive

run by the hateful human machine who could not fly

confined to the earth in a rage it would cry



"who is this angel to be different from us?!"

hate did consume it like mechanical rust

it sought a way to grind her into the gears of the machine

"since she is not like us, we'll **** her will to dream"



with that they commenced to wicked dark things

captured the angel and cut off her wings

broken and torn, they left the angel to the dust

content to proclaim "she is now just like us"



but the angel could never assume human form

unable to fly, she could not weather this storm

the moon in the night sky, silver and fair

taunted her mind, dreams turned to nightmare



confined to the ground, humanity rotted her mind

great beauty now gone, with decay left behind

lost to the madness, driven to the edge

the angel, a mere shadow, stepped to the ledge



porcelain skin, cold as the night's bitter kiss

spiderwebbed with cracks, seeping cool mist

the angel looked to the moon, once loved, in the sky

stepped forth, and though wingless, for a moment could fly



for though the hateful human machine

had taken her will to live, love, and dream

it could never break her call to be free

the angel found an escape from this cruel place to be

a halo of expanding hopes, dreams, and life

a crimson teardrop, tribute to the fallen one's strife

encircles the head of an angel without wings

a splash of color to these dark streets it brings



porcelain skin, cold as the night's bitter kiss

spiderwebbed with cracks, seeping cool mist

this angel was once a most beautiful thing

bright cut emerald eyes, hair black like raven's wing



the angel in past had lived, loved, and laughed

how tragic this scene, that it could not last

for the angel dreamed flying, to touch the moon

but these dreams awoke jealousy, plotting, and doom



you see, in the city where this angel did live
i
t was mechanical, heartless, and did not forgive

run by the hateful human machine who could not fly

confined to the earth in a rage it would cry



"who is this angel to be different from us?!"

hate did consume it like mechanical rust

it sought a way to grind her into the gears of the machine

"since she is not like us, we'll **** her will to dream"



with that they commenced to wicked dark things

captured the angel and cut off her wings

broken and torn, they left the angel to the dust

content to proclaim "she is now just like us"



but the angel could never assume human form

unable to fly, she could not weather this storm

the moon in the night sky, silver and fair

taunted her mind, dreams turned to nightmare



confined to the ground, humanity rotted her mind

great beauty now gone, with decay left behind

lost to the madness, driven to the edge

the angel, a mere shadow, stepped to the ledge



porcelain skin, cold as the night's bitter kiss

spiderwebbed with cracks, seeping cool mist

the angel looked to the moon, once loved, in the sky

stepped forth, and though wingless, for a moment could fly



for though the hateful human machine

had taken her will to live, love, and dream

it could never break her call to be free

the angel found an escape from this cruel place to be

i used to get this feeling
that the world was really great
i remember playing hopscotch in
the driveway with the
sun shining
like the most
beautiful
thing
a beacon of
light
from god himself
i remember dancing
in the backyard with
the sprinkler on
water
flying
skirt
jumping
neighbors
smiling
i was
happy
i used to climb that one
tree at the
park
i called it
mine
one day they chopped off the branch i
always
sat on
not mine
i wanted to be a
dancer
ballerina
enchantress
mom said
no
not
good enough
not enough
money
do something
practical
i just wanted to create
magic
and touch the
stars
that was when
the sky got
blacker
and
the world got
bleaker
then i looked
at other girls
long
legs
thin
arms
soft
hair
pretty
face
me.
thicklegsfatarmstangedhairuglyface
better
o­ff
dead.
pale skin spiderwebbed
with red
red words
red lines
pink scars
dead eyes
all of a sudden the
world
wasn’t that great
then came
the pills
the
tears
the bed
dead

i have an ongoing
love affair
with words
that roll around your
mouth

luscious, langourous
lilliputitian letters

sensual syllables
slick- sliding off
the tongue

ecstatic explosions,
erupting, erogenously
exciting, eager exclaimations,
of enraptured exualtations

organic, original orientations
of teeth and tongue
producing oodles,
of apogeic anomolies

my affair
accomplishes much
for little

it is you see
just a not so secret love
of letter, line, jot and tittle.

a casting eye upon a word
and i am set rushing
down a path
reserved for those
with terms, descriptive,
and names.
that in themselves,
decry
wordlove.

lexicographers and bibliophiles
phoneologists, linguists, polygots,
jonguluers, wordsmiths scribes
poets.

all possess this
heartstringed
tangled knot,
spiderwebbed
feeling,
for words.
which, we then,
endevour to spin,
into inkstained beauty,
to ensare
ourselves ...and others.

Broken bells that chime like thunder
Sing to invisible birds
Like magical trees of lullaby
Under your magenta skies

Can hopeful cries undo a dreamer's heart?
While tangerine clouds kiss
My candy dreams go by
So laugh with me over dilapidated angels

With spiderwebbed notes of belligerence
Can't you see them love?
While my ecstatic tears yell to the heavens

My candy dreams, so sweet
Are they mine?
I fear I am nought.....

it's almost like when Vincent van Gogh ate yellow paint because he believed it would make him happy
i want to engulf your passionate fury and turn it into something we can both share
trying to spin the wheels on your spiderwebbed heart and watch the cogs rotate around a new start
swallow your inhibitions whole like a hunter and his prey
stare into the hearth behind your eyes and wait until my desire reaches the logs resting in your chest, igniting them with a flame so rich you lose all consciousness
wake up and find your hands searching for mine

I got a tingling sensation in the soles of my shoes
it has spiderwebbed up through my toes.
Flowing right through the depression and news
it's taken control of my nose.
A feeling so sweet and euphoric almost
but I cannot accept it's control,
so I fight it, I'll fight it until it lets go,
lets me back to my feeling of droll.
It feels so great, but I won't let it win
cause I know that I'm better than that
this feeling of "happy" will not win me over
I'll stop it before it's too far.
So I turn on the TV, flip back to the news
settle in to watch stories of ****** and ****
I let it wash over and then go right through
till my soul will submit and sedate.
Then that feeling called "happy" will go, pass me by
It will fly with the birds to the south
I'll enjoy corporate life so cold, cut, and clear
let society take both my ear and my mouth.
But that happiness still in the sky to the south
looks out for new people to hold
it seeks out simplicity, individual thought
and someone to let it take hold.

Someone not caught in material things
someone to let it take hold.

Someone who loves to keep those little joys
someone to let it take hold.

Why is everything disintegrating beneath our feet?
This paradise we built up in our minds
stands like a destitute skyline of skyscrapers
and all of the windows are cracked.
No more perfect reflections in unmarred glass
enter in my reflections,
and they're replaced
with spiderwebbed shards that entangle me.
Trapped.

We wanted this metal and rock declaration of our stability.
The infrastructure was mapped out in advance,
and its precision is admired even now,
with all the disappointment and shame.
This monument to us
Mocks me by not being completely torn down
And I see no poetry in its ragged existence,
but the stark reality of failure.
I cannot picture our wondrous city
without the smog
and it's a fog,
and a burden on my mind now.
Straight as city streets
my thoughts follow each other
but I can only seem to find the alleys and slums.
It was going to be so beautiful!
You and I upon the tallest rooftop
of a utopian place greater than ourselves
and yet our plaything,
crying out with the joy of being.

But the tallest building has crumbled,
and concrete proven a fickle friend.
Walls designed for beauty
turned out cold and inhospitable,
and the best of our plans never reached fruition.
Perhaps we should have built an orchard instead.

If I die tonight, make up something creative.
She was a girl who never let her fears get the best of her.
She was a girl who took chances, who took action, who kissed me on the lips until I forgot that lips are even a thing.
She was a girl who shined so brightly that everyone around her couldn’t look.
They didn’t look.

She died saving the planet.
She died in a freak accident during a circus performance.
She died because that little piece of her was the small crack that spiderwebbed
Until it all overflowed and not even the foundations exist in its wake.

She was a girl who conquered suns.
A girl who captured my heart.
A girl who sang like a violin and plucked strings like wildflowers.
She was a girl who chased the moon and the setting sun and let the stars bathe her in their finite glow.

If I die tonight, make it memorable.
Think of something creative;
But please don’t tell them the truth.

It is amazing
How real reality feels
Until something shatters it

I was looking through the stained glass window
When I bumped it with my hand
Fractures spiderwebbed across its surface
Yet I continued to gaze into the great beyond
I’d seal the cracks another day

It is amazing how real reality feels
Until something shatters it

I leaned up against the stained glass window
I hoped it would support my weight
It did, but the splinters grew
Yet I continued to lean inches from the great beyond
I’d fix the what was broken another day

It is amazing how real reality feels until
Something shatters it

I gazed out, far past the stained glass window
I was yearning for the great beyond
But then a glimmer caught my eye
The window
It was so intricate, so colorful, so close

I reached out to touch it

It is amazing how real reality feels until something
Shatters it

I reached out to touch the stained glass window
And the lacework I’d get around to fixing someday
Grew into fractures, valleys, impasses
Snaking across the face of the great beyond

I finally touched the stained glass window

It shattered.

And the great beyond was no longer so bright as I had hoped.

pity me!
i want attention and pain
i go sideways instead of longways
i divulge my deepest secrets to the sketchiest of strangers
i leave myself vulnerable to every anonymous name on a screen
i spill my desperation out in the form of hastily written poems
i pretend that everything is alright from behind a spiderwebbed cracked mask, my mock imitation of pain easily visible
i wear long sleeved sweaters in the summer, but leave the sleeves rolled up
i make self-deprecating jokes at regular intervals
i force anxiety into my throat when around crowds, pretending to be nervous and jittery
i listen to slam poetry and absorb what it feels like to be actually depressed, how it feels to be actually anxious
i take their words and i bring it to my therapist and i spit them back out
i am a compulsive liar and will say whatever it takes to keep my lies running smoothly
i become an actor to fake my illness
i am a plastic model of a mental hospital's legitimate patient
i am a textbook case of what a depressed person should look like
i pretend to be sick so the white padded walls will become my only friends
i pretend to be sick so my mother will finally pay attention to me
i pretend to be sick so i will have a reason to stop existing
i pretend to be sick but i've lied so much i can't tell if i'm faking it anymore

i saw a man
who held a garden
in his hand

i watched his
skin break open
like a plot of land

fractured root
sprouting into stem
a bead of blood &
the blossom began

tiny tomato
then two
spiderwebbed
in twine
a pepper grew

the sun shone
(too) brightly
that summer

a culling

razor wire
across the
dermal plane

“bring out
your dead”
she said
her cart
overflowing

i saw him look
back one last
time with
tired eyes

he witnessed a

poison apple
devoured
seeds and all
a new harvest
and a curtain call

as he was wheeled
away he thought
“i once held a
garden in my palm”

&
when the soil
encased him
he recalled
a living room fire
echoes
of a warm
song

The years have done little to change your features.
A spattering more lines around your hazel eyes, deftly covered.
Those eyes won’t even look at me now.
Locked to the flashing digital board as flights roll in.
You clutch the plastic handle to your pink duffel bag,
Your pale lips a grim line, your hazel eyes spiderwebbed
with bloodshot veins, surrounded by exhausted bags.
We haven’t spoken for minutes, watching the hordes of people
As they board, embark, fly away into the morning sun, hopefully to return.
It lay unspoken between us, writhing and twisting in the space.
Crawling between our hands, prying our fingers away from each other.
Black and cruel, ticking forward methodically.
How badly we both need you to stay here with me,
But dreams called you away to the Redwood coast.
The woman’s voice calls over the speakers.
Your plane has arrived. Others pause to hear, and continue walking.
I feel my stomach freeze, plummet, and watch a sob you try to hide.
We turn, smile, hug, kiss, numb. You fix your raven’s nest of a hair style.
A half ponytail, leaving most of your locks away from the hold.
It falls across your face as you pick up your duffel bag.
I watch every step of your walk,
And you never once turn around to face me.
But my gaze doesn’t leave you
Until you merge with the crowd and disappear.

The spiderwebbed shadows reach
Out like friendly hands
From the feet of trees known only to me
On both this way and in this moment
They grasp at feet belonging to us
And thoughts owned more by me

Yup

It's a terrible thing,
I know a beautiful young woman who harms herself with a razor.
Butter and toast.
It's a terrible thing.
We kiss a lot as she bleeds.
And yes, oh yes,
It's a terrible thing.
Blood flows down her breast onto the soft curves of her ivory torso
To mix with my sweat and raw kisses.
It's a terrible thing.
The white marble goddess arches towards my mouth
Stone wheels sharpen the blade.
Her lips - red stains.
It's a terrible thing.
Blood in spiderwebbed rivulets fall.
She burns a smile like talons into my skull.
I'm bought and sold in the house of a tortured Venus.
Alley of torment and ecstasy.
Dracula licks her jewel box glitter and drinks her till whiskey blind.
A ******* mad hatter.
It's a terrible thing.
Please stop, I say heavy with longing.
Which drives her on as one wound begets another.
In this laboratory of sanguine obsession.
My voice - musical bones like xylophone tones.
And oh My God.
This filler that cleaves to emptiness.
This finger of the void - black angels.
Her grin upon me like the Ta in ******.
A merchant of desire whom I love darkly.
This ponderous monk black night of red children falling from mother.
To be savored.
I dive into her red.
My mouth wild cherries and rushing fire.
I am dragon's teeth and tongue lapping.
All cleavers and kisses.
She smiles spreading in a bed of red gauze.
We are good people.
And oh yes, my sweet.
It's a terrible thing.

The people around you
Are failing you
And I feel like I'm failing too
Your mind was cut deeply
Just as your heart was
And instead of being stitched
Mended and medicated
The wounds were left
To scar and widen

Flashbacks haunt you
With no reprieve
The memories keep you awake
Keep you hostage
And your heart
Can only seem
To further break
So you take
Whatever vice you can
To make the pain
Pause and wait

Every time you chase
Your momentary escape
It will get shorter
Your cure
Will become
Your poison
The crutch you have
Is faulty and made of sand
It is time instead
To reach out
To something solid
To take a hand

When I saw your eyes
In the photos I was sent
They were empty
They were hopeless
Maybe it was the alcohol
Maybe it was pain killers
But they were not hiding
The torment

They say eyes
Are a window
To our souls
And in your eyes I can tell
Your soul is fractured
Like a glass
That has spiderwebbed
The more you chip at it
The closer you get
To shattering what remains

I suppose no one has told you
You are allowed to be happy

It is time to forgive
Yourself, the incident, the memories
Forgiving isn't forgetting
You are allowed forgiveness
It is time to stop forbidding yourself
From moving on
From getting help
It is time to stop

You are too young to be chasing halos