AloftNine o'clock and we're spinning circlesin the parking lot at two miles per hour;rolling down windows in negative degrees.My cheeks are frozen rosesburning in the cold and I thawevery moment thatvelvet voice drips from the radio.Bones dance beneath my pilled skinand our fingers are feeling bluethrough the sunroof. Is it any differentfrom sitting still? That night I saw starsand imagined paintings behind my eyelidswhen I blinked, and it felt like centuries passedbefore my eyelashes pulled apart..When I'm with you I forget at what pointmy feet hit the pavement and our laughterbecame ceaseless. You are my magic thingin the middle of the night. I'm sitting next to youand suddenly songs become endless,your stories become vast oceans and I'm in over my headwhile I do that thing with my teeth.I'm fluttering around behind the curtain,and you come to keep me company,to calm my restless storms.You make me feel ridiculous and faintbut as beautiful as lightwhile you are a
My SunDainty and timid hands writhe;an extension of the boxy shouldersthat think they belong somewherenearer to my ears.Pink velvet pillows tremblemiles below the void glass orbslooking out the windows for thesun at night.Desperately, desperately.I make a calender before I realizethe radiator next to me.He is heat, and blush, and joymade of many lights; I wonderhow my vision became so clouded.The sun holds my hand,and speaks to me sternly. Hisrays burn holes in my eyes.He exudes his charm andwonders to me.I sleep with the sun at night.
The Bird CageI never had a bird cage in my living room. And I could never fathom the harm in a cherub of a creature inside the tangible model of a lie. The things we don't see at nine years old when all we want is a few sweet songs and light catching feathers in the corner against my mother's choice of blue-grey drapes. Something to call my own, or just to make my brothers mad; it didn't matter. When no was no, even after thirteen and a half minutes of crocodile tears, I don't remember ever thinking of it again.I blinked carelessly as years passed by. Tragically blinded by my own fiction; life became less and less of wide eyed innocence and evermore tip-toeing around the addiction to the bittersweet taste of teenage freedoms. I hardly even noticed as my fears turned to solid bars and my thoughts piled up like the harmonious notes of a hummingbird indoors; acoustics bouncing off the walls tirelessly. And it was tragic the way things fell together and fell apart and I pretended that I was protecting
CandlelightCandles make halos,but sitting in it doesn't make mean angel. It's the big pilleddown comforter that acts as my wings.I surround myself in a cozy fortressleaning against boxes decorated with dustand labeled with holidays.My tiny candlelight makes my cheeks gloweven when they're not warm and setsa wildfire in my eyes even thoughthey're blue as ice.It's all just bright enough to illuminatemy fears and thenI don't have tofeel wretched for such a long time.I create my illusion,of being wrapped in love and warmthwhere there is only thirty two degreesand dark nights without any stars. And I sitin hopes I will forget my sorrows and theshutters will close to cover thebroken glass windows,the wool will cover my eyes.The paper thin skin will sufficefor my lack of sheep andmy eyelashes will embraceand I will immersemyself in twelve hour slumberwhether I dream of tragediesor you. It makes no difference.
FragilityI never know where to begin.I just want to open up my ribslike a cherry wood cabinet.That maybe you'dfind something worthwhile inside.All beyond the mess of thoughts;I could immerse you in my feelings.They're not all fantastical butsome of them make sense.Good sense.I couldn't tell you why, I simplydon't know myself. I've just achedso desperatelyto be able to explain..There were October days thatmade me feel so small.There was one where we were drivingalong and alongand all the crimson and caramelthat surrounded us looked soangry at me. And I've never been scaredof a god damn treebut their beautiful colors wereceaseless and enraged.I did not like them that whole day.I almost wanted never to like them again.My forehead wrinkled with worry -I swear Ithought they would burn me to the ground.This feeling caught up with me,a recent November afternoon.While the leaves were just starting to lookbewitching again, the waters I wasabout to cross were, to s
It's Not RainingTap dancing rain on open windows.and the wind chimes of my eldest neighborall tuck me in up to my earsand kiss me gentlymaking me heavy like lavender would.If it had only stayed more than those seconds.I like it much better than thetrain that comes at midnightand again three minutes pastto make a lot of noise.It's not raining and my light is on again,contradicting the sun.I feel like a puddlebut I can't sleepwith all the splashing.
Day One12:31The water is all moving in the same direction.To the left.I like the left side of the boardwalk.Sideways, not longways.The sand's not moving. But I am.Wait,my life is like a spinning platform,the one you stand onwhile you're trying to get into your log flume boat.12:33That doesn't make sense.12:37There's a peninsula(small one)of charcoal rocks.I want to be standing on the very edge of them.I would be powerfuland then jump in for a swim.12:39There's nothing more mystical than laughing.Everyone has such a nice laugh.1:14I see a middle aged couple nearby.I want to be them one day.Maybe not.The woman keeps putting her hands in the water.It is fall.I hope he loves her.1:28They're gone.2:00The water is green.There are two birds by the water now.They remind me of the couple.2:05Everything's grey..except the sand.2:13You know how the world is onsuch an angle when you lean your headto the side?Likecraning your neck..I wish I was falling when I di
Desire and Fear: Of Making SenseI never meant to torture you; I am so sorry that I lost my way. You insist that I ever had a way but I can't remember that being true. My mapis soaked through and my ink roads look more like smudged makeup and tear stained skin. I have no path mapped out.I thought I did but everything is the same color out here and my compass only points to me. I wish I could just hop a train, any one, and find myselfalong the way. The conductor would help me off the old charming locomotive and I would be a new person.Whoever that was who caught the train at the last second now has white gloved hands and knows where to take her yellow cab.I'm sorry for whenever I stopped making sense. I guess I have misled you.But if any lie, it is white with a halo. Perhaps I made you believe I was sure ofmyself. I'm sorry if you hate this love spell, I too wish that you had seen how very sad I was from the beginning. Maybe you could help me though,it would seem that I've misplaced my rhymeand my reason. I for
StruckRemember three days ago whenat two am(feels like five minutes\minutes minutesRemember one second we werejustplaying this stupid game andI feel knots in my shoulders and youraise your voice i had that ugly smirkremember you shoved mehow could i forget? i slaminto the wall you broke the fucking cagethe gates were open, my demons I lost myself so completelyI started swinging and Iscreamed at the top of mylungsI wanted to hurt you so fucking badAnd the panic in your eyes was beautifulyou did not know whatto do with yourself except youopened your arms and trapped me with"baby" in that voice; you held me downuntil adrenaline drowned in the soundof your heart pounding and tryingto bring me backi just cried because i hadnot felt so sorryin a long long timecalm