"There's nothing to be done."
"She's going to die."
"Would you like to say goodbye?"
PrisonerWe were teenagers the first time your skilled lips met mine.
You were winter’s cold and dusted with new-fallen snow.
The shadows that lay beneath your haunted eyes
Matched the bruises tattooed upon your ivory skin.
We were far from alone when our calloused hands met on accident.
He stepped out of the shadows and threw you to the frozen ground.
No noise escaped your gritted, cracked teeth as he beat you. Yet no
Amount of courage could hide the fear bleeding from your almond eyes.
We were barely adults the first time I met the softness of your skin.
Life radiated from your emerald eyes as your battered
Body and blood-crusted mouth moved
Against me in ways my body could not translate.
We were in the cemetery when we finally met without fear.
He was stone cold, buried six feet under a headstone. You
Were well dressed and newly wealthy. We both were newly
Divorced. Finally free from bruises, you proposed upon his grave.
PeaceOh my oldest of friends, I feel scared. Nothing is silent on this winter’s night.
Not the monsters screaming in my mind. Not the shutters slamming against the house.
Not the winds howling through this drafty attic bedroom. Not even Momma and Daddy.
No, not even them. They’re louder than ever tonight, old friend.
When they fight like this my mind’s monsters grow louder and harder to ignore.
They howl and snarl and spit lies and deceits. They say that Momma hates me.
They say that Daddy doesn’t love me. They say that, if he did, he wouldn’t let her hit me.
They are lying to me, right, old friend? Please say the monsters are lying.
Oh my dearest of friends, I cannot sleep. Will your lullaby arms sing me a song?
To me, your embrace is comfort embodied. Your voice is like a gentle breeze.
You bring me such peace, dear. Peace: it is something this place so rarely allows.
I am seldom safe and sound here in this hostile house, where Momma reigns with abuse.
Lost PermanenceAnother now rests on your side of my bed,
But some nights I still toss and turn for your arms,
Even though my side of your bed grew cold long ago.
NightmareYou and your spider-limbs are clockwork predictable.
Every night, upon the hour of my sleeping, your
Rubber soles step from Morpheus’s chariot
Into the once-serene sanctuary of my mind.
Your lanky limbs upcycle into my sleep cycle then,
As your ebony fog creeps into the land of my mind,
Darkness settles. Darkness always settles with the coming
Of you, no matter how white-hot your skin is. For the rest
Of the night all I can see is your humanoid arachnid
Form stalking the outer edges of my dreamscapes.
Every dream drives images of you deeper and deeper
Into the soil of my subconscious, freezing it to permafrost.
All revitalization has been sucked out of REM. It has been
Replaced with a cool poison that drives me to insomnia.
Some weeks I wish I could live eternal without sleep.
Some days I truly believe I’ll never need sleep again.
Those times reveal the darker side of this twisted hunt.
These days your faceless face haunts me even in
My waking hours. Your gangly midnight sh
CompanionMy life with you is a series of days and nights
Spent on an infinite highway, traveling without a destination.
We pass sheets and bodies melded and molded
Into figure eight, jug handle infinities.
Yet we continue on our journey,
Fingers intertwined and resting on the clutch
Of our broken-down, rusted-out, manual, imported car.
The interstate rolls on and on and on and on
And some days my heart feels like a blown-out
Tire. Other days I feel like a blown out tire crushed
Beneath the heel of an 18-wheeler pulling 90
Sans regard for anyone’s safety, not even the driver’s.
Travel-weary and bone-tired, there are days when I want to slam
The car door in your face and hitchhike my way back home.
Then I remember how far I have traveled.
How far we have traveled. Together.
How desperately I do not want to go back
There, back to that place from whence we came.
I remember how I have come to enjoy watching the lines
Of your face change with the terrain, tempo, mood, speed,
Of our travel
LifetimesI saw you first on the bank of the Thames, and instantaneously fell in love for eternity. You were picking flowers for your father's grave. He had died three months earlier in the dead of winter. You were married then to a boar of a man, and there were bruises on your arms from when he grabbed you and didn't let go. You and I had a tumultuous affair in the bushes and brush all along our little bend of the Thames. It lasted until autumn came, and you could no longer sneak away under the guise of picking flowers for your father. I was a wanderer then, and you assured me that I would find another. I assured you I would not. I was right.
I saw you again on the bank of the Volga. I was fishing in the shallows, ankle deep in frigid water. You were on the deck of a ship sailing past. Ours eyes met and held until you were out of sight for the rest of that lifetime.
You appeared to me next in the form of my best friend's arranged bride on the bank of the Ganges. Neither of us
ColdThe sun is rising and you're staring out of your bedroom window at the horizon. He's still asleep in bed, cupping the void where you're supposed to be. The blankets are twisted around his legs, his torso, his arms, creating a great maze of fabric. The sheets are pulled up here and there, revealing a restless night, a restless sleeper.
The morning beams are hitting your pale face in hues of orange and yellow and you're staring at the cars passing beneath you. The rush hour traffic is just beginning, heralding Monday and the start of another paycheck cycle. He should be getting up soon, beating the cry of his alarm, just like he always does. He'll forget to turn it off, as always, and it'll begin to ring while he's singing old ragtime tunes in the shower. Only you won't be there to turn it off for him. He won't have you to kiss goodbye after he's donned his suit. You are not in the bedroom you two once shared. You are in a hotel room, and there is another man in this bed, one who also cl
planesWe are parallel planes in the sky, flying toward the night. Intersection means certain death, but we'll meet again upon landing at dusk.
GoneMom's gone. I'm coming to get you.
The words bounce around my empty skull for a moment, refusing to sink in. Gone? How can she be gone? I just saw her this morning. She made me coffee. Kissed my cheek. Waved goodbye as I hopped into the car. She can't be gone.
I slump helplessly against the tiled wall of the bathroom, and slide to the floor, not caring what exotic diseases may lie in the grout. On instinct, I pull up a blank message, and text the only person I can.
Within minutes the door swings open, and the pulse of the party breathes life into the vacuum of the bathroom. It's Kara. She's covered in glitter and body paint, wearing nothing but a neon bra and a white mini skirt. She raises an eyebrow at my dazed expression. She's clearly not happy that I pulled her away from the party.
"What happened to you?"
I pull up my brother's text, and hand her my Blackberry. She sighs at the message. Kara's never been one for emotion.
"Didn't they say she had a few more months?"
I nod. N
Bullied On Our Friendly Website DA
There was once a two authors on a website that wanted to let their opinion out.
But a famous author set to put them out.
She took the flame of these little author’s hearts making them burn from blue to red.
And here’s what she said,
“Your little fire shall be extinguished because I want you to get the Fuck Out!”
The tiny authors wept and cried.
Wondering was it because they picked a side.
Maybe if they had gone with the flow of everyone else
they wouldn't have suffered being a different self?
The small male author thought it was too much to handle and left.
But the dainty female author stayed behind. However
The light within her grew dimmer and dimmer.
And its glow became barely a shimmer.
Her originality became to be like everything else she owned: plastic.
She wasn't real anymore; just another author following the trends.
All hope was lost.
No one to come save her.
Sadness reigned within her,
making her shallow and pale as Frost.
Suckerpunch SweetheartRed lipstick war paint
I am a soldier in my own war;
A force split in two sides.
I am a force of nature
Bring about my own rapture
And I’ll bring you to your knees.
Little girl lost.
Cut off my hair
Cut into my skin
Pretty princess girl
Let me in
Let me in.
Sugar in my veins
And poison in my heart;
I can turn blood
Into a work of art.
I won’t go there again
Won’t do it
A sea of hands
In my head.
A universe inside.
Just what's inside.
Can You Hold on One More Day?I read a poem about a boy.
Who had lost all of his pride and joy.
He wore his heart on his sleeves.
Which were stained red,
From all of the blood that he bled.
The boy died...
By the blade of a knife.
That he ran up and down his wrists.
And I couldn't help but cry.
That poem was fake.
There wasn't such a boy.
It wasn't a true story.
But... Then I began to realize.
That just because it wasn't that specific boy.
There are others just like him.
Begging for death.
Slitting their wrists,
And hoping to die.
Because so many times,
And so many times,
But nothing gets better!
I just wanted to say,
I've been that boy.
At some point.
I felt that way.
And I just wanted to say,
I am so sorry.
I know it hurts but hang on another day.
Please, stay with me dear.
Don't join that boy,
No, not tonight.
Stay with me,
Eternity Comes Only Once
...In a dream of eternal youth
with beautiful eyes and unspoken truths,
dancing on a thin thread drawn by Selena
in a blue night when all four winds talking about peace;
...In that unique poem when love
shines more than the Sun God on your ring finger,
weaving lasting hopes on a delicate cobweb
in a white day of the beginning of all beginnings;
...In a cold afternoon of December
with memories which surrounds the Arctic Circle,
melting everlasting snows that floods the time,
paradoxically, leaving behind them the fire which burns your heart;
....In the black hole of a single moment,
with pain, with answers, with courage, maybe with joy, or Not,
Waltz with the time between seconds,
Eternity comes only once...
V o i c e s
These whispers in my head,
trying to push me to the end.
All I want is to go home,
but then I remember,
I've always been alone.
i cradle my hope
with both hands,
as if holding it close
will give it the warmth
to stay alive.
when you come near
it flares and rustles,
begging to take flight;
yet i am both caress
we have confused our signals,
mixed our drinks and
closure looms ominous
but i would rather forget
than be caught in this
luminous void of
i am weak
you are blind,
perhaps we could be
if only we spoke.
you have unknowingly
in helical fundamentals
about my identity,
shaped me in
the embers of
i wish i knew
when to release
this frail hope.
we're both drunk
and you're shaking,
caught in a moment
neither here nor now.
bring you back to
the present, and i linger
but you are eager to eclipse
so you run.
i'm too afraid to ask,
but at least the question's
we're both cowards.
bound in retrospectpart i.
about wreckage and dreaming,
about nights wept weary,
and how city limits
compress to claim you
when you run.
away early mo(u)rning
and choosing dark over light;
how eventually i stopped
wishing upon stars
what’s the point.
there is no true way
for someone this self-conscious
to let loose streams of
but i'm trying.
you are an immersion
racing down my spine,
along vertebrae as if
they belong to you
but they shouldn’t,
you are long-limbed eyelashes,
a study in faux-reluctance.
you are a cage
i never could penetrate
although you never had much trouble
ignoring my reluctance;
penetration became a game
i never won.
this was never a love story,
but add enough adjective
and i guess it can be
whatever you want it to be.
warped to your ideal,
turn me to my better angle
and hide the flaws;
hide the fa
Demons Can Feel TooI'll admit that I'm a demon.
I'm cold and cruel,
Hateful and quick to anger.
I prefer darkness over light.
But demons can have feelings too.
I can be hurt, offended.
I can be sympathetic.
I can care for other people
And I can love.
I may be a cruel being.
Excessively so at times.
But that doesn't make me heartless.
Though I may seem so,
I do have a heart.
And I do use it.
Just not often.
Because the problem with having a heart
Is it can be broken.
And I don't want a broken heart.
I think maybe that's why demons seem so cruel and hateful.
They're just afraid of getting hurt.