Worn

Venomous words leak
Overflowing a numbed conscience.
Flower petals fall
Leaving only camouflaged thorns.

She sit and stirs,
A thick mud of tears.
She awakens
As the smoke billows
Out of his vacant mouth.
Stains on her apron.

His calloused fingertips
Leave behind larger scars
In need of more than
A stitch or kiss.

Those calloused fingertips
Push button squares
Through threaded gaps
Over the heart
That pounds through
A Pill-covered green vest
In a civil masquerade.

High society dons
Fake smiles in darkened alley ways.
The pain could fill buckets
In nails and shrapnel;
All waiting for a fuze.


As the evening's ballroom dancer,
She puts on her gowns and coverup.

For Rachael

Risen out

of most frigid hell

stand I,

tattered naked

black

in the eyes,

absent of much soul

in them.

Death white

and

claw toothed

I killed my way

free

of the falling green

acidic storm.

Exhausted,

crushed empty

as I forced

open

a wall of fearful distortion,

my body

melting, now

through any

sense

of logical light,

burning dark

tepid breath,

I -

I am through.

numb

in presence of proof

that a beating heart

was just a fairy tale

to me,

smiling little girl,

hoping, stupid thing.

at least there is magic

in a mundane end.

Written on a Tissue

I hope your throat is
Dry
From Pills
You had to swallow,
Words you never spoke.
I hope your eyes
Burn
In distant memories
Cut into your cranium.
I hope your neck
Breaks
From all the weight
A pendulum on a chain.
I fell on
Broken ankles;
Shattered dreams,
Broken by
Words.
Pity releases,
Pain resides.

Flicker

Fireflies on silk,
Smoke-filled memories from
Decades before you
Took innocence's
Quivering hands,
Creating pathways
Of flickering light.

Dot your I's and cross your fingers

A Pendulum
Dangles
From hopeless rope.
Knots form in
Twisted Fingers,
Laced
With vindictive intentions.
I fell
To my knees
Choking on your daydreams.
My swollen ankles and
Your clammy-fisted hands.
I hope to forget.

Black Hole

Lost in thought
I drift with a
Red Balloon
Through the clouds
Of your conscience.

Passing memories
On my journey,
I water the forest
With fresh tears.
Remarking how beautiful
Trees
Look when they
Regrow.

You used to tell me
I’d become nothing.
That I won’t do it,
I can’t imagine it;
That the world is
Too cruel for
Uninspired ventures.

You shoot me.
Bust my bubble.
I fall into the
Weak hands of
A distressed Earth.

She catches my heart
As it falls from
Sleeves
Breaking as it drops.

No one saw me fall.

As it should be.

I’d spend
A lifetime
Lost so deep in
Thought
That the whole world could
Search
For centuries
And never find my tracks.

Sucked into
A self-created
Blackhole.
I cannot measure up
Or down.

Is it too deep to escape?
There must not be sunshine
In my cavern of flesh and bone.

and What of Destiny?

What if

I come back -

what if I circle the world,

and find your door again

to see it empty?

What if our destiny

is to watch from opposite ends,

the flooding, burning canyon

of more miles

than I care to name,

reaching

through the air,

shouting over the

roar of a world

whose people demand you

and whose frozen borders

drag me by the feet?

are we

worth resisting

the momentum

of the turning earth?

will you even want to try

, or are faded photographs

folded into pockets

the best we can do?

don't answer, yet.

don't answer at all.