don't bother

i need stitches.
some things (never) change.

the reasons i couldn't leave you, at the time

kept waiting by the small and silly things -
the way her hair falls
from behind her ears, no
matter how firmly placed -
the way she breathes when she sleeps
curled into my neck
while the world outside
waits for me, i stay here
captivated by her movements
the small rustlings
of the covers as she moves
and yes, i have made a study
of this,
i have noticed
each thing
the motions even she
does not know intimately.

like (almost) a prayer

your voice like a hand over the phone line
to caress my cheek (like an unseen breeze)
love you, love you [not] - oh,
like it's ever a conscious decision - like
i could ever pin you down, and classify
this feeling (pit of stomach, a flutter) feeling
like time stands still - like love and hate -
the same intensity of emotion, simply
different ends of the spectrum.
like time stands still like stuck in mud
whenever our lips touch
whenever we mouth away our sorrows
and our yearnings.
let's say it's love - well
maybe but it's
hard to tell
when your hands touch mine, and
i turn away
(wanting oh so badly, but too afraid to try)
but i'm here, hold me -
make me believe.

i see through you

you can tell everything by the
clothing one wears
by the manner in which one
presents his case, his self,
the abrupt manner of his chopped syllables

public speaking

it's not a subject i tread lightly upon
the repercussions are still raised and indented
on my arm, however slight or harmless (looking)
but who am i to insist you not
broach these topics of conversation?
they broach themselves, insistent and loud
they want to be heard, yes
and sometimes i am helpless
to stop the tears, or streams of words

how to die (when already dead)

take a razorblade
attempt to carve your life story
into your arms
drink too much, and smoke
like a chimney

let your body think
you've given up on narcissism,
then
lash back out
and fail to breathe

turn colors
make the audience
gasp in alarm
wash, rinse repeat - (through the months)
make a habit of sleeping

in the street, praying for trucks



p.s.
this is modeled after a poem by Eibhlin Nic Eochaidh, called "How to kill a living thing"

you'll dance until your feet bleed

does this deep-seated need
become a dream, or simply fiction
alongside life? a truth
somewhat possible, yet
ever out of reach?
her small rustlings in the dark -
dreamlike yet perfectly played
the movements precise,
like choreography
the steps you learn by heart
in a stifling dance studio,
tracing shapes after the lights are out.

what we call "love"

if i believe your words - and i try -
what then? do i hold your body
closely, do i hear you whisper
and plead

so you tell me why you're crying
and you tell me why i slept
on the floor, before you dragged me
to bed, yes.

make your excuses
and when the abstracts begin to fit
i'll pretend to see the rest of the picture.

endings, beginnings, and obsessions

it's eventuality
we all have our vices,
the grips of passion
around our throats
it never ends

so let control go
give in to temporary oblivion
drug your way through
lose yourself in sex
alter your mind
if this world is mad, why
then i should be mad, also
to join it.

bent paperclips holding you together

the music is going
so you dance your part
you make your wishes
and if you get the steps right,
if the flowers are laid in your arms just so
then you'll be the ballerina
you always wanted to be
then you'll feel the part
of the graceful creatures
you always strove towards,
but always seemed to fall
somewhat short of.

merryfuckingholiday

small children run by, screaming
while mothers reclaim wasted balls
of wrapping paper, take back the
raped ribbons and bows
search for batteries, doubleA
toys and small trinkets lie
forgotten, and this is
supposed to be spiritual - everybody
let's pray to the god of vapid waste
and worship to the tune of rudolph.

anthologies of nothing

imagine the creamy pages
filled with type, my
words bleak against the
blank canvas. we peer
over his shoulder, fingering
the pages - they're a
van gogh smile, an ironic note
with a witty title
and a fucking brilliant ending -
yes, my words held bleakly
up to the light,
rejected punctually.

uninvited, again

a cup of tea
cold, grey skies
the wind speaks
through the trees as i
sit here, feet drawn up
in the familiar positions
left foot numb under
right leg, knees
close to my chest
(an oft - repeated tale
of mourning)
well

outside brings
darkening skies
i leave my hollow,
with wind - reddened cheeks.

history

let me tell you about this girl
i once, she once...
we sneaked out at odd hours
playing rapunzel with
towers, mirrors, and facades.
let me spin tales of our escapes
from families that
never gave a shit
we'll talk over the rain
and the angsty music on the stereo
about how life could be,
if only we could get it together,
hang on long enough to survive.
watch us scream,
look at the patterns.
fake sleep at one,
leave at two,
try to survive
until five finds us
sneaking back in.

darkhaired man

sometimes i can feel it,
over the phone
when you think your face
can't give you away
but you don't fool me,
i hear your smiling over the line
one step closer to a touch
of hand on my back,
a one-armed hug
caress of your hand on my face
i can hear you turn away
and when you speak,
you're smiling.

then i don't want your heaven

you tell me
you tell me about your hells,
and your demons
you tell me that blood
can save my soul - well
if that's true, i must be
saved a thousand times over
i've bled all over my pages
every single time i could -
i've bled to erase everything.
is my soul clean yet?

kiss Mirror day

i've written her countless letters,
balled into scrap paper
by my useless hands.
i have picked up the phone
a hundred times,
only to press the receiver down,
phone call
unstarted.
i burn to hear your voice.

your odes

i miss your curves, your curls
the small hand entwined in mine
like worship, like prayer
your hesitant fumbling
the quickened heartbeat
(your lips on mine,
scared, insistent,
but trembling)
you aren't just background.

rain on me

her words transport me to a time
when the bane of my existence
lay in a solitary stretch of road
my speedometer spelling illegal numbers
tears on my face
rain on the road
as i wrapped tightly
in my jacket and smiled

stupid girl

i love you
i do not say it enough;
i turn my head when you
mouth the words against my cheek.
close my eyes, i
cannot hold my heart in its place.
i hope you can read my mind;
its reasons, hows and whys.