Monday, May 27, 2002

take a chance

immortalizing your words
is a dicey proposition...

half the world hates them.

the rest of the world misquotes them.


inescapable fear, growing.
all you can do is cry,
hope someone knows your tears.
hiding, silently recording the
self-inflicted pain - rushing water,
running blood.
everyone is so afraid of this story -
they see nothing but the scars, nothing
but the angry red gashes,
noncommittal nods.
gasps and displeasure.
but if i don't speak
when i'm well-bladed,
i seem almost

Sunday, May 19, 2002

today is lost, clouded

like many days
a clouded slate of polished rocks
a stupor induced by mania
lay for hours and stared at the ceiling
wishing it was you
and could you come back and hold me into myself
and breathe dear.
and now that i've outed myself,
put the defining limit upon my feelings,
composed the ultimate hypocrisy inches from your face
you still have no idea
and i'm still making love to razor blades
and mating the pages, stuck and rusted.

Wednesday, May 15, 2002

instead of crying

you weep,
and blood trails down your arm.

Monday, May 6, 2002


slicing fingers
stained and torn,
sharpened upon my bitter skin.
...and you have no idea.
i keep my pain well,
biting off my cries carefully
with every intention of stifling inside
the hurt the blade played
no part in.
it's always the wrong anguish
they respond to,
but how do you tell someone that?