In haste,
I took the first woman like a whiskey shot--
every ounce of her scarred my throat
kept me silent, kept me staggering under the weight.
When the bottom shelf love went beyond full bloom,
I vomited her up, leaving me with a headache.

In good conscious,
I took the second woman like an aspirin pill--
every milligram of her alleviated the pain
kept me similar to content, kept me tame.
When the effects wore off and I pined for another drink,
I put her in the cabinet, leaving me rambling nomadic.

In guilt,
I turned myself into the third woman like a penitent criminal--
every liter of her blood solidified
kept me wrapped behind her bars, kept me seeking her good graces.
When the prison sentence drew to a close,
I left her behind, walking with an unwashable history.

The fourth found me frightening,
the fifth just ignored,
the sixth designated me the "other man",
and the elusive seventh only said, "You could do better."

In my mind,
the pills, prisons, and liquor melded --
the days cut short,
the nights grew long,
but I could do better
I could do better
I could do better.

I sold the pills, I poured the whiskey down the sink,
I left prison to the prisoners,
and in the mirror I became a religious practitioner.

To the Church of Better I subscribed.
Sober, lone, and free my cry.
To the darkness I whispered:
I am the resurrection,
I cannot be killed,
I am the resurrection,
the Buddha,
the Jesus,
the Krishna,
the Allah.
I am the resurrection,
born again and again and again.

The rain is falling glass
Shattering from the angels' eyes
They hit the ground in shards they splash
And if you look close enough you'll find a reflection of lies

The unwashable wounds of problems past
Awaken the demons that gush your logic out of mind
Half-remembering telling yourself that last time was the last
But everyone dances with the devil when they've been left behind

Something sharp, subtle pain, screams at the edge of the glass shards
And the angels cry their silent pleas that your deafened ears refuse to hear
A blinding reflection of white light (maybe white lies) stun your mind's composure guards
While the devil comes out to play in the glass rain, turning spatters into basalt ashes of burnt-out fears.

I've got these ink stained hands

untouchable, unwashable

even by the sands of time

ink stained by my words

Words I say, Words I write, Words I hold

words written on the page

concealed within my heart

The words I still hold

ink rubbed off from my

hands,my heart, my soul



Seen by many, Understood by none

fallen on the deaf , the blind, the dumb

fallen on the ground, slipping through the streets

in between the cracks

left to walk back and forth

left inside its crying cradle

Yearning to be with more



    Words that I hold

no matter how heavy ,

no matter how long

I'm Atlas,holding on as long

as I can-

Until I let go-

and I watch them spill out from my hands

to those loose leaf pages

margins too small

filled with words with the beating sweat of my palms

Sweat smeared pages so sweet

It's a living, breathing, part of me

So Spoiled

Sitting there so comfortably

disreagrading the silly lines that try to keep them neat



No more lines left on the leaf

no more words spilling out from me

left in this body

Sealed and Shut



I can't do it

I give up



-CQR

Did you touch the memory of the country show,
showing  gratitude
for that faintly blowing wind that forgave
all those unwashable  sins
of omission.
After  all it was Janus and the aftermath,
that keep you on your toes
and something more will unravel
by the days end.

i want to ***** out everything held inside of me,
yank the remnant gunpowder from my throat
and load a pistol to destroy the ghosts that crawl forth
from the cramped black holes of my memory.
The sound of your name makes my vision turn crimson
and my feet cling to the ceiling.
What you did
is too much
for me to carry,
haunting me in ways i do not understand
morphing me into creatures i cannot bury.

i never even notice you've seeped into something,
until its too late.
i surface gasping in the middle of a fit of confusion
to realize that your grubby, sticky hands
are tainting
my every movement
waking
and
sleeping,
dancing
my legs on puppet strings.
Iron-locked hinges control my hips opening,
closing,
opening,
rusted and stuck in a position i refused,
a place i did not agree to be folded into.
Weighted down by the heaviness of you
your mass
your gravity
bulldozing me into glass shards, and blindly
mixing my fragments
with
mud
and dust
and
ashen debris.

A resin of my innards is caked dry
under your ragged fingernails.
They snag at the holes in my tights
and i feel the unwashable stickiness of me
skid
against my skin.
The room is pitch black
but i can see splotched neon demons
lurking in the corner behind my back.
And the gurgling of the television
is harmonizing with my rasping,
and my tired anger,
in a key i can't decipher,
although it sounds minor.
What an ominous overtone, dangling
over our dizzy heads.
Stop trying to scare me,
soften me into your arms.

I am the monster in this room, remember?!?!
There is almost too much guilt
in my sandy mouth
to make room for another insistent plea.
Stop.
STOP.
I
am
not
joking.
I
am
not
a
joke.
I
am
not­
a
target.
Or something
to crush
and ****
up your nose.

i'm much too grotesque for any of that.
I'm the monster here, remember?

Oh god! you never get worn out
The moments of the days and nights.
When i think anything excessively personal;
Exclusively romantic; all i see is you!
When i make my further move on my life;
You get in like an unwashable memory.
Sometimes it's just glimpse of expectation!
The day you stopped talking was the day i started trusting.
I was unwilling, aggressive , little flirty:
you perked into my little heart
Poached out the future memories with your face.
Your ugly little face, still it's the one i found attractive;
You impeccable, imbecile , ignorant ugly liar;
For what you missed was out in words in air.
Once from your mouth, now in my hands;
How did you manage to poach into my future photos?
You ***** liar; Daydreams are all about you!
Better daydreams than expectation in reality;
For there is a reason they are called daydreams.

I really hate that everyone looks like pieces of you.  
Skinny hands, ***** fingernails, thinning hair and yellow skin.
Stomach acid bubbles up and the bitter taste of your lying words surfaces on my tongue.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand tall when the stench of your black stain, lingers, unwashable, even when I bleach myself to death to rid myself of your impurities, you goblin.
You have given me no satisfaction, let me live loosely,
I would crawl a mile to you, knees bleeding, pleading you to release me,
Remove the destructive fear of looking any man in the eye anymore.
You don't exist but in a stale memory of a time I wanted to go back to someday.

But not today.