how i have abandoned thee?
Up last night at a quarter past three,
it could have been an enduring opportunity
to rekindle the flame of wordily text that connects our souls the best.
my absence is long past over due
i think it’s time i make my return to you.
it’s interesting to see that nothings changed with out me.
there’s still the lonely hearts, lovers, haters, souls, and soulless,
typing and writing, and feeling and thinking.
it’s time i come home to you.
fell off
Push her down to her knees
Just to pick her up and dust her off again.
Ledges coated in smoldering grime on which to sit and watch the sunrise
are not nearly high enough.
Cities, smog and smut,
push her down again as if pain was a slut.
The crumbling sidewalks, glass and trash
laden dirt filling crevasses of fallen knees
is the cum ejaculated from the sea of fleas.
Mindless repetition, corruption and greed,
takes the pussy bait, Jon after Jon, waiting to oscillate.
Seed spewing hard-ons birthing hate,
choking on a deep-throat that won’t wait.
From the too low ledge, sit and watch the sunrise,
hear glory dying as she louder cries.
Light another cigarette, as you push her to her knees
Bridges are burning, sending smoke signals to the sky
let her pick herself up, dirty broken slut, give her another try.
There’s always been miles between us. Aside from the maybe 4 times our paths actually crossed in the 8 years or so since I’ve made your acquaintance.
I’ve watched you travel the world, live in that city I always wanted the visit and still haven’t had the chance. We kept in touch regularly for a long time, at least the first couple of years.
My life seemed the revolving door of negative change and though we already had miles between us, these changes created even more.
I’m not sure if those photographs of your deep dark eyes were telling me lies, but you always had this aura of being absolutely perfect, the man of my dreams. I think I told you this once, and you laughed at me. It’s true though, those eyes in combination with the intellect and words you speak with, hold such a power that keep me swooning and I’m sure hundreds of girls across the miles and oceans feel the same way.
I’ll never understand why then you keep yourself so untouchable. So perfect and unreachable. Those smoldering eyes will continue to burn and I’ll stay here and continue to yearn.
Time flies and one day someone will claim you as their own, or rather you’ll claim her. You’re a chooser, not a chosen. Well wishes shall be sent, and I’ll forever cherish and wonder on why our paths crossed and what it meant.
I liked tracing the patterns across your chest. My fingers making paths of invisible drawling, telling stories of a bodily design, not visible but you and i could feel what they played out. Staring in your eyes I keep tracing, but through your eyes I know what you’re all about. I see right through you, the blue hues don’t hind the pain and emptiness your soul holds inside. Naked and still feeling the warmth from the satiated actions we just emerged from, I’m peeling back your layers, worming my way into your heavily draped walls.
I find it almost my mission to figure out the jigsaw puzzles, so complex, the pieces of a broken you. I know little of what happened and why she left, and I know it’s something I’ll never understand. I don’t ask you for details, I don’t press, just wait for when you’re ready and piece by piece I can see the picture forming.
And though I want to know every detail of what made you break, I don’t want to focus on that pain and ache. For I like the free feeling of which we give each other. Like lonely lovers, come together after years walking this earth, hitching rides, we fell together. It’s that feeling when you meet someone you feel you’ve know forever, an old friend, but we’re just meeting. Years and years to catch up on, we listen with complete understanding and no judgements, friends that understand.
Reality is constricting as ever, though. I think it’s something I for now except. This place I currently hold, naked by your side is not mine. I’ll get up and leave, and each day we carry on, separate and emotionally unconnected. Until we get together again, tip back drinks and talk forever in the night and our clothes get ripped off, there’s nothing more. I float on my daily habits and you do yours. For your walls aren’t tumbling anytime soon, and my responsibilities are heavy.
Like old friends, we’ll remain. I search out your pain and let you mend your broken heart, I hope to see a time when you learn to fly again. Birds will come chirping and I’ll still be here, but with you I won’t be able to fly.
in fury, it’s clearly up to you and i
scratches in batches, and yelling at the sky
tumbling, over and over
landing face down, thinking we could fly
no angels wings on our backs, no
devils picking up the slack
hands to hold, hair to pull
then push back
sticking cotton balls of theory in the crevasses where we lack
there was supposed to be a feeling
melted in black and shadows, turning corners
down on our backs, staring at the ceiling
in fury, it’s you and i
built to make the world cry
Why is it always you?
You, who crawls on bloodied elbows, digging up the pieces of lost causes. I have watched you down there, trying to understand why you let yourself become infected by the dirt that gets inside your blood stream. I wonder if anyone is there to put band-aids on your skinned…
it’s blatantly plain to see through what the blue eyes sing to me
glittering imagery of things impossible
woven in patterns sparkling in the light reflecting perfect hue of blue
blue eyes whispering sweet sweet nothings, so clear as glass
it’s impossible not to hold back the urge to reach out and smash this crystalline dream
blue eyes paint in vivid colors, telling stories imaginations create
but reality would gladly grasp around the throat and choke out every bit of it’s life
blue eyes quit your singing, blue eyes quit your lying, blue eyes quit your story tellin’
deeper, deeper fallin’.
I compose whole conversations in my head, perfect and exactly the way I want them to sound. I repeat them over and over, tweaking them here and there to make sure my point is being accentuated to the point that all emotions will topple over under the pressure of my woven words. I slaughter opposing opinions and build up perfect arguments, expression exacting rhetoric, and every word is dripping with the wet paint that represents the feeling I want that listener to feel as my words shoot through their tympanic membrane and into their brains. These conversations make perfect sense repeating in my head, like a record table with the needle tracing the grooves in which my words are held. If the needle jumps or the record is scratched that’s where I’m quick to make a change and the song flows on without interference. I’ve hashed out persuasive arguments on why I am the way I am, and how my father never noticed or approved. I’ve reiterated the million ways my mom wasn’t around and I ran hell bound into the ground, tearing her and everything else to pieces with my young, fervent ways. I’ve smashed my ex to pieces with lists and lists full of reasons why me leaving was for the best. I’ve battled myself, I’ve battled god, I’ve battled lovers and their useless habits of running scared once they see their walls are crashing. All in my head, but when I come face to face with my father, my mother, my ex, my self, god, and lover’s, all my uniquely prepared arguments and facts flee, my words shake, my knees quiver, and my mind appears blank. Like a chalk board each word I mastered to take down the opponent is erased. And as if someone bangs together two filthy chalk board erasers and the dusty particles of loose chalk float and scatter across the air, such are my words. Gone are my particulars, gone are my facts, gone are my beautifully composed conversations in my head and I’m left with nothing to show these people waiting. Waiting for me to say my part, though all I can offer up is tears. My conversations stay in my head, apart of me that no one will ever really see. I tell myself it’s a part of my mystery, my dark womanly mystique, as they view me as weak when I stutter and tears fall past my eyelids peak. This is me, bottled up fury and wisdom, represented in dripping mascara and a running nose.
sea of distance between what i see
waves carry softly the mission to shore
but out in the deep the waves they crash and leap
hard as ever
fighting and tearing against each other
fighting and beating each other to see which will win
to carry the mission to shore
when storms bring the fighting waves into calm beaches
the air it changes, birds retreat
the fighting is brought to forefront for all to see
endless crashing against the sands and rocks
loud and eerie like an unholy sound
no one wave comes rolling softly to fulfill its mission of
peace and tranquility
it’s all despair and unrest and this the sea at it’s best
