She was hisHope can be dragged through memoriesand ice skate blades; it can begracelessly covered with clothesthat mismatch the seasons, butit butterflies inside her chest with a simplebrush of chastened skin.
Forced ResponsibilityShoulders collide as wewalk a line that stretchesbeyond frost and delicateglass expectations;the discontented hum of the massesexacerbates headaches causedby the ever-rising tide ofa standard of living.Is it really too much to considerthat the things that are spinning outyour patience on a broken spoolare the very same things thatsave rubber and spokes from disaster,and your heart from rupturingunder the pressure of forced responsibility?
DefeatStars splinter the sky,glowing against cloudswith obstinate brilliance -I flame out beneaththe deflated sun.
I'm not much of a poet.I'm not much of a poet when I talk abouthow the sun rises and sets andsends tendrils of fire across the sky, orhow flower petals lift their faces toward morningwith a beauty uncapturable, unfolding eager petalsinto the waiting feet of frost-laden bees, oreven how your smile curves so carefullyacross the distance between us that it reminds mehow unfair it is to hate you for things you cannot change -I'm not much of a poet. I will never find the wordsto properly describe the feelings you bubble withinmy blood vessels, the taste of your devotion as itsweetens my tongue, the smell of your disgraceas it sours my thoughts of you.
RemorseI am riding high ona cloud of angel's dust,cajoling almost-forgottenregrets and half-heartedpromises from beneathstubborn finger joints;the light of dawn singesmy shattered wing bones.
LongingI unfurl behindcareful eardrums,hearing your comatose heartbeatslow my own.We are brokenby decisions and movement.We are bleeding outfrom between the slotsof my ribs, and youare sobbing pulsebeatsthrough sleeping veins.Will we crumble? Will wedisintegrate into fantasiesand childhood daisy chains?I am longing for the daysof holding hands againstthe concrete, making basement angelsout of glowing lights andpool cue fingers, wastingcountless sunsets getting tangledin numbers and arms and rehearsalsand legs.I am longing for the daysof leaping because we can,and never looking back.My nerves are clinging to yourson top of tired skin. You areslipping from their grasp,but at least I canalways find youby the sounds of your dreamsdripping through the weeds.
Daybreaksunlight punctures,splits open the sky in akaleidoscope of burnt twilight
Consequences Be DamnedSheglows witha secretknowledge; and theelectricity whispers through dancingirises; I am reminded of thedevastatingpower ofrecklesshope.
shamelessyou twist the words alreadyhanging in the airto fit an agenda that youhave just learned the frequency of -i fall subject to a revengethat i did not bait; you havepasted his face to mine, and ithelps you feel justified in waste
How To Disappear ConvincinglyHow To Disappear Convincingly 12/4/13I am no longer supposed to be here.I finally learned to completely disappear.I am mirrors and smoke,a very subtle hoax.A shadow you thought was there,but when you looked wasn't anywhere.A deceptive feeling that makes you thin.The sharpest point of a minuscule pin.I am a translucent bubblethat envelops your thinking.I am nothing but troubleas your hope is sinking.I have learned to makemy skin turn to vapor.I am flat and thinlike white smooth paper.I'm a transparent sheet.The sharp edge of a razor.A blazing fire's heat.The electric shock of a Taser.I am all the things that you forget.I'm an imprint in the soft sand.I'm the invisible fuel stream of a jet.I'm the deafening sounds of an air band.I'm a wisp of cloud that's barely there.A vacant house - an empty chair.I'm a wind blown plastic bag.See-through cellophane.I am online lag.A shallow pain.A dull ache.A bruised brain.A dried up lake.A soft rain.I am an ap
breathe that soul straight down my throatyou are my full-lipped museand half-lidded sirenhumming a broken chorusof serendipitybreathing to a metronomesighing in crescendoan evangelizer of acousticsthe ministry of instrumentalsI've been baptizedin your anarchist hymnsyou've made me a believerof vinyl and a religion without god
AsphodelA beckoning:watercolour sky shrinking,too late, teeth fall; pearlsfrom a broken string.Blink and the moon ignites—but the sheets are stillenvelope-stiff.
1,001 NightsIn a land ofdreams and dust:the curve ofa half-hazed sun,devoured.
i don't need to sell my soul laughing against frost, kissing stylish arsonists + I still love every sky escaping from your lips
Regarding ProtocolThissunriseis not whatI imagined--the breathless tide of a love I can't keep.
Be gentle, love.Be gentle,please.Some daysmy body is too heavyto inhabit,hollowed out andfilled back upwith empty;empty sadness,empty anger,empty fear.Be gentle, love.Be gentle andlet me lay here,still and silent,until my emptinessempties out.
shooting starThe space betweeneach star is a tragedywaiting to happen --and you fallfrom the skyall too easily.
forest firesmy signature scrawled across allof your sentences like a stain of apologies:i'm sorry for anchoring you to my hiplike a one-sided promise, like a flood of insincerity.i'm sorry for collecting you like a well of wishes,for whispering you into every crack in these walls.i do not have the depth to tether our limbswith the tautness of our smiles, but i willbalance you on the edges of my knees untilyou slip away.i have been kneeling with my arms outstretchedwaiting,but the divinity of your touchnever graced my expectant stance.our bones built forest fires together,but it was always my tears putting them out.
ps: i love youautumn is near and youare falling, fallen you are blowing away from me like dusti have shaken myselfout of your barbed wire gripand oh,i am cut to piecesmemories sing like sirensas you pour from my pores,and i will not cry,i will not let you change mei'm ripping you from my skinlike hot wax and plastersand you do not even hurtnot anymore
AnaphoraI am from unanswered letters and retro postcards tucked into a hollow book. I am from clacking copy machines beaming white light and stagnant, chalky air. I am from soundproof recording rooms. I am from oven-baked toast dusted with cinnamon; from bergamot and earl grey; from German chocolate that I never eat. I am from dead leaves on campus walks and words of encouragement given on the corner of “you deserve it” and “I’m proud of you.” I am from stained dry-erase boards. I am from mountains of colors and valleys of fog. I am from strands of unworn necklaces and earrings I’m allergic to and rings too small for my fingers. I am from blue ink splotches on essays. I am from unstable brick pathways; broken elevators; distant parking lots; clouded windows. I am from frantic typing and nearly-missed deadlines.
The Way I See ItBeyond the train window,Vague impressions of buildingsFly past,But they might as well beMountains in Colorado.I can see Christmas lightsBest when they're tangled;They're like fireflies,GlitteringIn all their splendor.A silhouetteIs all I need to knowAbout a person;I see no blemishes.I've always wonderedWhy height, weight,Skin color,Or disfigurementEver mattered to anyone.We arePerfectIn our imperfections.You see,You may see the forestFor the trees,But I see itInches at a time,And though I sometimesMourn my loss of sight,I find the world isWondrousThe way I see it.
life, waiting. i.behind this wall of skin-ghosts five-thousand years ofdusty existence. a reflection of our stone-souled selves. ii. a conch shell is squeezedbetween frost-bitten hands.waiting for a call.in this sea-thirsty land, welisten. iii.laughter rings out from the silence.broken brochs and stickytape.
Drink the Moondrink the moon,star-studded children.her essence blessesthose that burn the brightest, work the hardest, and love the deepest.
didn't want to see.nostalgia greets my thoughtsand introduces himself. don't lie to me, i say. that's not how things used to be. it cannot possibly be me.sunshine is standard in the photographs I see. and my smile. i didn't recognise myself.the pathetic fallacy is almost enchanting.now i know that i'm not happy in my own skin.other than that, i don't know how else to begin.
NightfallAnd the sun cracklesthe horizon into dustwhile the moon glidesslyly forward totaste the faded daylight.