make ends meet

we live our lives waiting to die
        they say
i'm living my life,
 waiting for you
                          (is that a kind of death, too?)

but isn't it morbid,
   to start with the end?

but what are you and me
  but a collection of loose moments
and words
    and touches

      and accidents? (i didn't mean to love you
                               you don't mean to let me.)

should i talk instead about how you
feel like
             sunlight
taste like
                the rain
                on my skin? does that make it easier for you?

(we have enough endings by now
                 to start something new.)

hooded

sunburnt scarlet skies
fleeing as fierce
emerals emerge
heralding the hues
of sapphire to sink in.

sienna eyes drinking in,
flooding with cut glass,
cool hard translucence
against leather against skin.

earthy work boots planted
firmly on inky stretch of metal,
headlight eyes flickering shut
reprieve from the thousand star
glare.

kiss-starved lips pucker up
to wrap around the bottle neck,
expectant gushing, bland, bitter
beer,
intoxicated.

tipped back, black waterfall,
curls tumble over,
pale column as an altar offering,
breaths leaving like smog,
like prayers form a cynic.

lacquered nails
tap out the low, lusty
lumbering drumbeats,
light movement on
the sleek, slick
'67 chevy impala.

harp song
carries the melody away
drumbeats
out of
place.

sunburnt sienna eyes
flicker shut
as red recedes
golden pendulum swinging
dragging a curtain of almost cobalt
more like peacocks
fanning out
yellow blurs like stars
tormenting.

snow angels

i'm drawin' little snow angels
on your frosty windows

you've got the A/C on high
and the radio's nothing but static

each raindrop thuds against my fingers
and my pulse, in venn

your misty exhalation brushes across my bare legs
little ghost kisses as you switch the dial from FM to off

i burrow into my cocoon of cotton and candy and cutting words
and flowers and elegance and dior flood the air

your lips, as red as my eyes, press thin to stop a litany of my name,
and a little golden shackle, glares at me.

Spring is ending

. f r a g i l e .
i am her and she is
[ me ]


and soon my existence
will wilt
like summer flowers.

note: sort of mini collaboration with thedreamer

leave me

take me away from empathy,
it's just a|pathy.

reflect. then deflect

i've got shards of glass and silver where my soul should be,
and whenever someone smiles, it's not really me they see.

you shield your smiles behind closed lips and closed eyes,

eyes are the windows to the soul

and your smiles are light



and i curl in to hide this emptiness.

glass cuts,

and it cuts deep.

mannequin

when i think back to my childhood,
there is a doll.
                      no wait, that's not right;
                      i was more a mimicry of humanity
                      than something so easily different

so, daddy carved me arms and legs and
a mind of diamonds and rosewood and
sugar, and big glassy doe eyes complete
with a set of curled eyelashes as i wrapped
men around my fingers like a chinese finger
trap or a set of rings, three sizes too small,
                      but he was never really happy with me,
                      not really because there was always something too plastic
                                                                                                glassy
                                                                                                transparent about me,

this isn't a case of the bitch biting the hand of its owner,
not when the maker calls his child a whore
but you made me, goddamnit

and these are the words i will never be able to tell you,
because my mouth has been sewn shut by my web of lies;

-

i'm an unfinished work of art,

but i'm still art, right?

-

block

i let you fill up the silences, whispered words and stuttered sighs,

until there's this e n d l e s s rushing in my ears,

so that maybe, i won't feel so alone,

so that maybe, my screams won't sound so

c h i l l i n g.

and i let you fill up the s.p.a.c.e.s between my words, each i and t

dotted and crossed with your eyes and smile in mind,

so that other memories don't se e  p where,

where i should've apostrophied your name,

to show you're mine.

and i let you fill up the sp.a.c.es. inside my soul, because i 

never knew emptiness could be so heavy and liquid

and viscous and it's better to have you there than that

d-r--o---w----ning me in endless misery. but there's these things lying

[                   in wait between my thoughts and memories and they're                  ]

murky and malicious and malevolent and they look

and awful lot like

em|me. 

but sometimes, there's nothing left to fill, because everything,

everything is you and it scares me because there's nothing

but you where something used to be. and it scares me because

then, then i have to talk about myself instead, a broken sob and

endless crying and i have to write about myself instead, in brackets

as an afterthought or even a post-script (p.s.don'tlookoverme) and i

have to face the fact that i'm so broken i don't think even my

mother loves me.

it's not healthy, being broken

there are some days where i'm sh a tt e r ed, completely wrecked,
but more often than not, i'm just                          t                                 e
                                       e
                                                                a                                                                   t
                                                                                     d
     c
                                                      s                                                                  
                                                                                                                        r

and it seems like i've been waiting ohso long for someone, anyonepleasepleasepleasehearmeseemeloveme
to [pickup] the pi e ce s
because god knows
i can't do it myself, anymore.

shall i compare thee to a summer's night?

(for the earthgoddess. i love you and keep strong.)

this is easy, you think, and purse your lips.
pillows are deppilf to the cool side as you press your feverish skin,
and you're sure you can't sleep tonight.

it doesn't take much to forget, you reckon, as red strands caress your cheek.
push them away and huff some more, soles (souls) of your feet pad-padding against linoleum ground,
his voice and hands follow achingly in your steps, thick molasses stretching out along your shadows.

you still kind of love him, you admit, and drink freezing, condensing water,
it's not that which drips steadily onto the table in front of you and each droplet shows you a thousand moons;
the stars are dead, long before you see them.

dear dryad daughter, time's a-tickin'

(for thedreamer)

-tick
        there's a grandfather clock adorned in twisting oak,
        and it looms above you, ancient, mad and menacing,
                                                                                       -tock,
tick-
        the pendulum's burnished edge reflects his g-g-green
        eyes and it swings serenely from one side to the o-
        ther like conversation and banter 'tween you should,
                                                                                      -tock,
tick-
        there's clear glass covering the gold as hands worry
        away across a glinting face and you've always been
        a tad transparent to those who know how to look,
                                                                                      -tock,
tick-
        marble floors just create a thousand overlapping
        shadows, parts of his personality you never ever
        wanted to see; he walks away, the best things end.
                                                                                      -tock,
tick-
        there's a grandfather clock adorned in twisting oak,
        and it looms above you, taking up it's old bad-paid
        job; it looms above you and shields you from the
        world.
                                                                                      -tock.

"i think we need to get that clock fixed."
"no, leave it. it's always been like that."

walk away

(for thedreamer, pour ma belle)

you watch his back,
  not because you're protective,
but because he's walking away,

his shirt is perfectly ironed -- by his mother, no doubt --
  and its a blankblankblank white,
and a cynical part of you remarks that it looks kind of like these walls that i'm trapped in,

you can still see his hair,
  feel it, even; his face once hovering inches above yours,
and your hands used to card through, smoothly; you've always had the best pokerface

there's an iloveyou somewhere in there
  but you think it's diminishing unlike the space he makes between you two, footsteps echoing like drums;
if he's not around, who can hear you fall?

oh, these worthless words

i sing for you,
for you,
and you're always asleep.

i speak for you,
for you,
and you never hear me.

i look for you,
for you,
and you're never here.

i love only you,
only you,
and you'll never even


fucking know.

breaking point

you're the sun,

warm and comfortable on my back,

burnt, black skin peels away in face of your radiance.

you heal as you tear to shreds,

e v e r y piece of me,

i'm being stretched beyond my limits,

don't ever please 

stop.

( i don't need you & please don't leave me

there's more to my life than you & you're everything

your happiness is mine & why do you love her and not me? )

ghost of you

i.
                                      my sleep is haunted by a burning baritone,
                                      e c h o e s in my mind's ear like seraphim song.


                                      i dream of a city of glass lit up by white fires.
                                      i dream of ivory dresses and a topaz necklace.
                                      i dream of words entwined like an ivy crown.
                                      and i  l i e
                                                    ...because i dream of only  y o u.

ii.
                                      my days are shadowed, hallowed,
                                      feet trailing on pallid grounds,
                                      lit up by moonlight,
                                      long gone,
                                      and detour signs,
                                      lead me home.

iii.

                                      i am empty;
                                      all my words
                                      are ghost-written
                                      in lemon juice.





                                      waiting endlessly to wake from a sleep,
                                      my world is without a sun.

steady drips

like that elusive dream,

slipping out between my fingers,

dripping through the gaps,

of my prayer-cupped hands

i can't remember your face,

anymore.

iris

green eyes,

like apples,

sweet

no, you say

green eyes,

like ivy,

poison

sorry, you say

green eyes,

like glass,

broken

viper

eyes, eyes, yellow eyes.
stop staring at me;
you lookin' for a fight?

teeth, teeth, long sharp teeth.
stop baring them at me.
can't you smile for once?

your words are like poison,
except there's no antidote,
not against you, anacondad
not against your special brand of poison,
the kind that burns and burns
like acrid acid in my blood;
hate.

but you know what?
i'll survive and i'll live and breathe and be
just fine without you.
what doesn't kill me, only makes me superfuckinghuman.

so come at me, viper.
i can do this.

["But no man can tame the tongue. It is a restless evil, full of deadly poison."]

James 3:8

growing up and moving on

your poison seeps through each cell of my skin and mutates me into a ball of suspicions and fear and jealousy. each of your words play over and over in my mind and all i can think is why am i not good enough for anyone ever. i'm so tired of keeping everyone else's pain and misery in mind. i'm so tired of looking after you and watching your back only to have myself stomped to vicious pieces just because you felt like it. i'm tired of being shattered by people that i actually care about. i have a heart too. i get hurt too. i cry too.

grow up and take responsibility for your actions; it's not like i haven't told you what the fuck the problem is.

and that's when it hits me.

i am good enough; i've always been good enough. it's you who's lacking, it's you that's the problem.

if you want to leave, just fucking leave already.

(stop putting on fake tears and smiles and love yous.

you're tainting the word love, and making me taint it too 

[love you, love you, fuck you, fuck you.]

and that's not fair to everyone else i really, really love.)

i won't stop you.

and i won't cry for you.

ever

ever

again.

[the circle is finally broken.]

crumbling sandcastles

old man, old man,

you used to live in a castle, all turrets and towers,

embedded with gems of red and green and blue,

embroidered with gold;

it was fool's gold and

rome wasn't built on rage or jealousy,

and you're a fool to forget.

princesses and princes and a mistress,

kept your castle safe with you as the king,

kept you safe from the crocodile smiles in the moat below,

but not the crocodile tears, when they show

and you lost it all to the queen,

-- i could’ve never been your princess and you were

never my king.

old man, poor man,

i am your daughter not a princess

not just another rhinestone

to decorate&adorn your

crumbling sandcastle

with anymore,

dad.