silver is the colour of a knife
tucked into an ancient tunic
before being curled
into the chest of a dictator;

silver is the colour of thirty round pieces
placed in the palm of a disciple
who presses his lips
against a warm cheek;

silver is the colour of a pistol
shaking in the hand of a vice-president
with the smoke twisting around itself
before history catches up;

silver is gold's shadow,
the patron hue of those
born in the dust
of greatness.

stones and laces fly as your soles hit the gravel
on that thick sunday morning
the mist heavy around us
your blouse slowly untucking itself
as you disappear over the crisp hill
you tell me not to follow you
the bitter bite of frost pinches at my hands
hanging heavily by my sides
hot savage breaths ballooning in the cold air
i hear your father's deafening roar
(or perhaps i imagine it)
and it is then that i finally i start to tremble
in all the glory
of the emerging sun.

never trust a poet's words
they sound sweet at first
but you'll notice the emotion in their words
it all sounds too...
fake
"i love you like the sea loves the shore"
becomes too scripted
you hear the small tinge of love actually left in their voice
hoping
hoping it could mean something
but it doesn't
it never does
it's just the way they say it
one day, after they have left
you will find their poems, and they will be the exact words that they had said to you
once long ago

I can't rhyme a poem,
But I'll say your name.
Don't know when you got in the doldrums,
But I'll keep you safe.

Can't tell if you still know me
Tell me what to do
Please act like you like me
Can I ever forget you

You told me not to stay
but I never could
You told me not to leave
And I always should  

I told you what you wanted to hear
But you never truly listened
I told you that I'd always be here
And your cruelty just sickened

nicotine
or ****
or both
in my dad's bathroom.
on his second wife, thousandth girlfriend and fourth kid.

four kids
all with different moms
makes for an interesting bunch
if you have the patience for them.

although

i would not call
two holes in our apartment wall
and sore knuckles
patience.
but
to each
their own
i guess.

it must've taken some patience
to drive to vegas
marry a girl
you'd known for 4 months.
attachment issues?
on a seven year old me?
hahahahahahahahaha

stepmom #2? #8?
faces blend together
names turn into
michelledominiquetatijillzhaoaletia

on your good days
of type one diabetic balance
and anarchy signs in the kitchen
i love you

but on your bad days
i love you to death