Sunday, February 16, 2003


about a house, around a mile
away, with a comfortable bed,
(butmostimportantly) you
sleeping, blissfully ignoring
the rest of the world.
skipping today, coming
to see you but i knew
i'd get caught so
on a wall
glowing red death
ticking away the hours in
whole day has been one
giant trip
the entire school's on drugs
and i'm caught in the middle
Pink Floyd
what a mindfuck in these grey cinder block walls
the carpet filthy, ancient
depressing settings
to create something
in five minutes.
voices laughing in the background,
yet no one speaks.

Thursday, February 13, 2003


your face stares
out of the 4X6 page
speaking foreign languages,
your face
is a riddle.
a year
after the moment, i can see
what you were feeling,
that exact moment you faced
an empty camera lens
my face, eager with anticipation
of capturing the photograph
of a lifetime.
you knew our future,
you turned
never bothering to hide
the pain you felt.
you knew it was inevitable.

Tuesday, February 11, 2003

that morning

and i am simply a fool
to be here; i'll regret morning
when it comes. but your fingertips
trail shapes in the darkness
pierced only by candles
and i feel your touch on my skin.

and yes; my skin
has missed you, i have missed you. i was a fool
to stay away so long. the candles
burn tiny flames into the morning
trying to stave away the darkness
but in the meantime - your fingertips

as the song sings, "your fingertips,
- anyone will do..." but not for my skin -
i need you - your face in the darkness
smiling, and my own smile in return; i'm not a fool
to be here after all, and the morning
is a brighter aspect lit by the flames of candles.

the candles
drip wax onto your fingertips
as you pinch the flames in the morning
leaving charcoal on your skin
but you don't mind; you're a fool
still smiling at the thought of the darkness.

i lay entangled in you. the darkness
encroached, and the candles
didn't help at all. "was i a fool
to think at all?" your fingertips
traced the beat of the song into my skin
and i hated to leave in the morning.

and this morning
is not a welcome change from the darkness
we so enjoyed, your skin
and mine together under the light of candles
as you trailed words with your fingertips
and the song is wrong, i'm not a fool

not in the morning, with the candles
mere nubs; the darkness and your beautiful fingertips
caressing my skin; oh no, i am no fool.

Thursday, February 6, 2003


she still loved him
waking up in the night
to ache for his touch
and he was long gone
but she refuses to live with regret, vaguely
hoping to one day never need the tears
she says she will be happy
for the time she received,
but she cries at night,
soaking her pillow in bitter salt.
she pores over his pictures,
trying to interpret
the look in his eyes,
in her own.
was i happy, did he
know that one day,
i would leave?
she wonders,
tracing the line
of his jaw
was it meant to end this way,
was the entire thing
simply a mistake?

Monday, February 3, 2003

we have changed so much

how bitter it is
to watch our smiling faces
three years ago,
caught on tape
with our hope
etched into the negatives