Misc. Words

Haven't posted in a while, so, here's everything since around the beginning of March...



[untitled i]
Out of bright ideas,
a vaccuum,
imploding
one disaster at a time.

Hard and harsh decisions,
tumultuous,
bubbling and boiling over
like an unwatched pot.

Sidewalks,
too cold
for waiting or sleeping,
skies too gray for hope,

so many palms
open, outstretched,
demanding,
and I have nothing left to give.

Misfortune magnet,
and for all of my love,
I remain
empty-handed,

and sticks and stones
break fewer bones than words
without truth or meaning--
the lies suck the light from the air,

and there's not enough sugar
to sweeten this cup,
but still I convulsively swallow,
and still I can't seem to stop breathing.
4.21

[untitled ii]
Tell me it's just a bad dream,
make me believe in salvation;
remind me that heaven's for sinners
who crawled on hands and knees--
that's all there is to forgiveness:
bathe in the blood,
and holiness touches your soul.

So give me a knife, and I'll baptize
the world in a river of red,
I'll offer my body as bread,
and all the vultures can eat their hearts out.
Yes, feed on this flesh, sink your teeth
into milky white thighs,
and show me what Jesus felt like.
4.22

[r]eject
Perfectly undone,
clutching the picture with the broken glass
that shattered when we fell;

slipping into
the ocean's undertow,
crushed and consumed by
the building pressures of the constant
ebb and flow
of holes,
created by a lack of you;

but I don't want your sorry's,
and I don't need your touch,
and I don't need your lips
to resuscitate me,
breathe me back to life;

no, I don't want your worries,
and I don't need your love;
all you ever do
is drag me down,
you won't drag me down with you.

If you crash and burn
without me there to
catch you when you fall,
well, that's your fault
for counting on me to be your machine--
because this is version 2.0.

I don't need your sorrow,
and I don't need your hand,
and I don't want your sleepy voice
to lull me back to sleep;
I can dream just fine alone.
4.22

Spring [loaded]
Sad eyed bunny killer:

drink the nectar,
gulp it down with pills
that stabilize,
yet still distract you.

Strange youthful gaze
in melted chocolate hue--

captivate me, stimulate
this stagnant pool of thoughts,

link fingers and
stroll with me down
concrete softened by a honey glow;

remind me how to dance.

Show me something new and
far away--unused;
the journey's half the fun...

the other half's your smile.
4.12


Shell
It all burned down,
flaunting flames in the face
of waves that gently lapped, not raced,
to touch us,
too late to salve or save,
good only for washing away
the ashes.
Staring into the faded inferno,
clutching at the remains,
there is no bitterness, only marvel
at destruction's beauty.
4.9

Fix[er-upper]
It doesn't excite me
when you invite me
to do all the touching and loving;
I said it isn't all about me,
but sometimes it should be,
and your apathetic approach hurts
more than I'll ever let on.
But bring it on,
I'll take the pain with the rest of you.
I do my best to make you grin,
and I love the smell of your skin,
the tiny goosebumps that cover it
when I lightly brush my fingertips
against your sides and your hips,
and how you smile when you call me lame.
But it stings,
to know you really think I'm silly
and weak.
You really believe that,
when I've spent so much time
smoothing out the rough edges
so that nothing would cut you to the bone
when you rub against me.
I made a mistake, when I cried
in bed beside you,
and told you not to tell me you love me
unless you mean it.
I almost think the lie would be better
than the bald faced truth that freezes
everything between us.
I clung to the smiles and memories of muttered profanities
for as long as I could,
but I don't know if they're enough anymore--
except that I'm certain
that it's all I'm going to get.
The only thing holding me back
from cutting my losses and running
is the knowledge
that you won't even miss me,
and I'm too self-centered to leave
until you need me.
4.9

Puppy Love
soft,
gentle persuasion,
coax,
infinite patience;

speak:
tone most important;
words:
inflection is all;

soothe,
gestures recurrent,
earn
trust, love, and respect
3.12

Hold Tightly (to Hope)
A song tattooed on a
heart, a melody
that flows in bold font and
sharp angles,
curves diving under
soft fabric,
softer skin,
and what lies beneath?
Below the outer covering of
denim-hidden silk,
behind the veil of
criss-cross testaments to pain:
a fragile tune
that resonates
emotion,
a frantic belief
that somewhere,
there is more
than suffering.
3.12

For Nothing
I have nothing to offer up
but myself
and it seems
I am no worthy sacrifice;
the gods demand
virginal blood,
and mine simply won't do.
Never mind that it's there,
regardless,
spilled out on those
cold stone stairs to heaven,
accepted or no--
and it's all going to waste,
a pointless offering.
No sins are absolved,
no pain assuaged;
it's just one more dark stain,
one of countless testaments
to cruelty and
human worthlessness.
3.11