The scent of events.
This webpage is a display of my poetry/prose from the last few years. sign my newer guestbook!
[all words written by joyce nancy emeline]
last updated: August 12, 2005 at 12:50 AM with a lot of crap.
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_08/08/05_____________________
PROSE???
____________________________
After a four-day isolated hiatus, I emerge like a further-away version of myself; biting my lips and licking my stitches. A week ago I was asking for a break, for time to sleep without anyone shoving guilt under my sheets, but when I got this half-hearted permission to be not woken up, I felt myself sweating away with the uneasiness which always accompanies my wasted time. One-thirty p.m. I throw a strange body into a forgiving shower and try to breathe underwater. Scraping off every indication of my vacation into ennui, my brain wanders, and I take about twenty minutes to get my teeth brushed. With hope, I drag a black pencil around my eyes, like it matters, like I am ready to pretend to be a living thing and remember that I exist visually. The last painkiller wore out around three a.m. so I hold my jaw in my right hand attempting to gauge how much is too much to handle. I become a willing passenger. People outside the car look at me, staring through my cheek and I feel the gaps in my gums burn with the fuel of pupils. Leaving and coming, staying and going, all just variations of the same desire-filled feeling: to finally get somewhere; get something more abstract, maybe with a cheaper feel. My lips laugh a sound I vaguely recognize and consequently ache to hold a long, white, cylindrical column of sick social comfort. Dual breaths, no questions, the genuine look and feel; I watch it make up for the lack of me feeling anything like myself. Without this I am too exposed, just keep laughing, holding your face, relentless tongue, and spit everyone away. Solace found on a couch watching music like I wish it could be expelled from my throat, with something so seemingly insignificant yet most definitely constant. It’s a good thing, and I can’t worry about if and whom I am using right now. Later, finally free to escape into mediocre art, I exit amongst a feigned display. One last involuntary roll of my eyes; I half-sulk onto the porch to fervently search for the familiar taste of blood.
_07/28/05_____________________
rant
____________________________
the heat
it speaks
emanating up through my legs
and before
I can afford
to surprise you
or walk
on away
for the first time tonight
but you will expect it
and I am misread
it's
a terrible cut
that I wish I could bear
with a spare
paring knife
to the back of my hand
but I know
that I won't
when I go home
and close
I will
sink into bed
and think
about all of the
men I could be with
and women
who could want me
and I would
kiss them
cause I miss it
I miss just
kissing
and the heat
that emanates
through the heart
in your chest
and the middle
of your legs
and the nipples
on my breasts
but I jump back
and forth
between wanting
to fuck you
and wanting to
die when I see you
because pain
is my confidant
so you must be my
greatest friend
but what
can I do
if I'm
vomitting
blood at the
sight of you
bleeding to
life when I
finally get home
regretting the
cravings like
my body read my mind
and the guilt
filters through
and I'm
coughing up
smoke
and I'm
choking on
thoughts
that will
not become words
I can't figure out
why I'm sucking
on cigarettes
hard for dear life
like they're
giving me hope
they're just
hurting my throat
and fucking me over
it seems like
a trend
that's occuring
among friends
I have a lot of
unspoken plans
that I need to
write down
but I forget them
right now
and one of them
is to be
a more
well-liked person
and one of them
is to
cut myself
and I wonder why
I can't accomplish
anything
cause I am
taking a step back
for every step forward
but that is
just an estimate
maybe
I am excellent
and doing
quite wonderfully
or maybe
I am faking it
maybe
_07/25/05_____________________
a lot of pushing
____________________________
We are still bitter towards our ancestral nuisances:
the wisdom teeth we're pulling
and the frequent appendectomies.
I was always taught that
if things don't go to use they rot
and if you take an xray to a
crowded city street there will be
countless holes in civilian jaws
and countless abdominal voids.
So what am I worth to you?
Now I am a little more empty;
a little less dense.
I hate everything that weighs me down
and is not remotely fuctional.
The two-inch scar on my belly tells me
which pieces are frivolous.
My skin refuses to stop
growing over gashes.
I am in constant motion, forgetting what I lack.
Time tells us what to feel.
We are conscious of our days and ages.
Do you know that I despise you
if I cannot use you?
We are proud of ourselves:
sturdy and hard;
savagely taking knives to our skin
and removing the excess meat.
_07/20/05_____________________
number two
____________________________
I have these theories in my head
that you just keep solidifying
trying to deduce the space gained
from displacement of a possibility
cause I just refuse to be
number two
and I will disappear if you
think you can put me there
I just revolt at the
lock of your eyes
cause, trust me
I know what you're waiting for
_07/12/05_____________________
driving
____________________________
driving like blindness
unpredictable cities
cigarette holes are
burning me, saving me
A sense of welcome and I have not felt it
like this from you yet
hatred is breeding
for time lost and time
I am continuing to lose
at the fault of you or
maybe it's mine, I haven't
been able to tell, yet still
the blame holds location
at the sight of my loss of self
You are beautiful and in pain
in a way I can appreciate
since I am enough removed
Badly we have yearned
Ambivalently glad to cut those ties
I forgot the word
masochistic
less bloody, more dull
still you seem
my only ally
He knows and you know and I know
Hurt is sexy
And we're all digging for ice
_07/12/05_____________________
a flower
____________________________
laying there in black and white photography
but I could not muster the courage
dark dark and your face was warped
like a flower and you weren't yourself anymore
it is a battle that I lose every day
for an act that won't let itself feel right
your hands in my shirt and my eyes closed
and I feel your mouth and I freeze
_07/02/05_____________________
fire engine-red
____________________________
You are
consequent
I experience
your frozen
artwork
It is mostly
pure and slick
intensity
The decrepid
cemetary
scene unfolds
_07/02/05_____________________
He beats up a slab of wood
____________________________
You feel what I feel and I see it in your monster face and your tense tendon arms
Resent me for scenestealing obstinancy in terrible thickening strides of airways
It is cannibalism which fuels the delirious lustful way in which you grasp me
A faraway day l understand the ways in which you hate my mind-reading and sin
_06/30/05_____________________
the same
____________________________
You know what, yeah, now I'm older
and I've begun to appreciate you for
who you are compared to the bull
shit that everyone else feeds me and
I can see your imperfections with a
clearer head and I know what the word
fault means and what mine was as
opposed to yours of course and I'm
not sure why now that the years have
passed that I'm forgetting the hell I
have put myself through and thinking that
love can endure and love cannot leave and
love will be able to save me one of these days
cause it can't and you won't and I know it now,
now that I realize who the fuck you are
and what exactly that means in terms of
what works out and what just refuses to
but I wish I could get through to you to
ask you all these questions just so you could
verify what I have been thinking, but I can't
find you anywhere, mostly because you
won't allow yourself to be found and I've been
looking forever it seems for something like a
you to be on the same page as a me but
to no avail so I am lost somewhere between
the love of you and the sickness of the denial,
the betrayal, the words thrown horizontal which
slit me like knives to the throat, where my
heart could not beat could not breathe
where I just could not stomach waking up,
let alone eating with the reality of a new routine
and you, trying your hardest to fuck me over
while ringing the phone like a puppy, with "I'm sorry"
saying please stop cause this is just the way things go
justifying your mistakes like you didn't know that
all of it was just excuses to save yourself a blow
but now, hey, I'm stern but I'm
no longer stone and I let myself hurt
but I feel with my head and I
let my heart see you and
probe you a bit, just to figure
your methods, your insides, your drift
and I try not to let it get carried away
when my little girl feet lose their little girl shoes
and I'm searching for some man to slip them back on
and all I see's you and you're
on your knees, bowed to me
I can't seem to resist it, I miss it, I'm helpless
but when I get back to the bed where I think
I put pieces in their places and play over the day
and remember your face and know I have a knack for
romanticizing everything so I've got to step back from this
and I've got to watch out for this, stare myself down for this
tell myself things that I cannot deny:
that you are the very same theatrical boy
I could not ever seem to stay static in love with
and still the leeches you slap attach to me
with the same ease and readiness
so I tick with the times but I know where I am
finally understanding the nature of futility
seeing you as before as so nothing has changed
and look straight at us both, ultimately the same.
_06/23/05_____________________
when you strip off the layers
____________________________
and I feel inexplicably lost
my jaw is tight and hard
a ball stuck on my tongue
like a bear trap
my ears close and I have found
something. somewhere.
something that is not myself
but a
faint recollection of
what might have been a
feeling I once felt,
a place I once held in,
a hole I once had
burned in me,
a fear that numbed like ice.
and i am trying to explain
this simultaneous
heat in my chest
and
stop of my heart
but the
curve of my arms
around the
solid of my skull
can only close my ears
to let that
rushing sound back in.
I know exactly
what this means
although I have no method
by which to approach it
so my eyes
involuntarily close
and my throat swells shut
while my hands
wring my brain
to please stop.
please stop.
so I am
never in recovery
and I am
mold-covered and stagnant
in the pit of
rusty water that
collects up my ankles.
I feel like someone
lied or
forgot to tell me
how the clock moves
and now it's too late
and the cancer grows
faster than I can
expel it.
so I clamp down around
whatever I can
stand to let inside me
and the saliva rushes
through the openings
and the meals
decay within
and
for every
little thing
that I can suffocate
to close its mouth
my vision blurs
even more
and the path feels
even further.
_06/20/05_____________________
shoulderblades
____________________________
i am nothing, i am no one
do you love me
do you love me yet
i am nothing, i am no one
but i promise you
i will get stuck
in your head and
in your heart
but i'm too hard to
melt around them,
form a coating,
create a habitat
so i'm solid
like a weight
i am nothing, i am no one
and it is easy
not to notice me
because i'm boxed up
and i'm shut in
and i'm generally
silent
i am nothing, i am no one
and when i talk
it goes through walls
and through your ears
although you tell me
that you hear me
you are thinking
of your next line
or the next line
of defense
so you can throw it
in my face
cause where was i
when you were dying
where was i
when there were
chances
to be had
i am nothing, i am no one
do you see me
do you see me yet
i am so transient
that i can exist
over everything
in a way you
won't notice
but you'll feel it
like a scent
you cannot extract
from your head
i am nothing, i am no one
but i see your
every move
and you wish you
could get rid of me
but i'm sunk
into the furniture
_06/20/05_____________________
shoulderblades
____________________________
the beach blooms love
you are sprouting
little from the ground
sexy and bones like a
drug infestation
forthright and intrinsic
you never sit still
sharply acidic
overgrown and vines
choking the bystanders
lick with their tongues
watching
all and completely full of
your
wreckless
shoulderblades
playing me like
pulling petals
why I can't get past your
magnetic draw
clean and green
shoots from a bulb
like I'm
going for you
coming coming and
going for you
round is my orgasm
my head with your hands
clothed in leaves you rolled
in my sand
and your dirt
a travelling garden to unknown pink canyons
and forcefield slope mountains
to slide us back home
to reach the endpoint of this
seed-nestled occasion
personal hells
stuck in a rut
but tentpoles and
oilrigs
grab for our lives
it rains endless circles
but we always
get off
_06/08/05_____________________
a cause lost
____________________________
i name myself a martyr
for a cause that has become
lost in the woodwork
of tangled ropes and old relations
when everything i've tried
is like a sickening see-saw
and when i'm finally up weightless
up thrusts me down again
but who am i to say
what is trite and what is pointless
cause when you wash me like a table
i am curiously clean
tired is my death affair
which rocks me straight to sleep
and i think me empty in its absence
cause then there'd be no war to fight
but why the war and why the bloodshed
why the knife always against my neck
why the sting of everytime I realize
like I just love so much to forget
i am the shadow i can run to
in a sunlit spinning world
i am drawn in uncontrollably
by my sentiments of tragedy
_06/05/05_____________________
oceanic
____________________________
there is a girl
she throws her
hair back
over her shoulders
it circles
about her waist
she looks at you with
slow motion eyes
and slow
motion smile
with one
million insects
crawling inside her
she rolls
like a movie
the film cracking
around her
and she just
keeps on
walking and
turning and
slipping
she exists
in a day
when "I am in love
with you" feels like
the only thing she
can sing
but when she's
smack shut
against you she
laughs you plain off
like a sigh and she
always regrets herself
her nature is one of
separation between senses
and when
she is gorgeous
like a
scent you
recognize without doubt
you wish you
could swallow the beauty
and
spit out the poison
it is a
condemnation
a resurrection of
the signals of life
when she speaks
and you burn
with the fire
in flashes
there is a girl
she is a
slow motion siren
in the wake of your
oceanic eyes
which are fervently
wading away
but never
extinguishing her
_05/10/05_____________________
One Boy and Many Men
____________________________
Tiles are tombstones
in a granite world:
a one-roomed houseful
of steam or my glory.
A heart beating to the brim with
one boy and many men
most of whom share
networks of veins.
A machine made of fire sees straight through my clothes
as I walk down streets
or I sulk up stairs
viciously sporting these rustic tattoos:
lamentable letters and illusory lines;
once an attempt to clasp shut a future,
now an attempt to grasp something gone.
Men they all know
everything about me.
They've been seeing me plain
and simple for years.
Men they exist
like perfect square boxes,
stuck tight to a wall
where droplets condense.
My men and machines, well,
I know you are watching.
I am not
that hard to read.
Five steps shut tight,
the knob sticks, I yank it.
Staring for you
in my one-roomed house.
_05/08/05_____________________
a more detached style
____________________________
The flowers are growing in the backyard
and I am trying to write poetry in a more detached style
to make everything less about me
and more about the art. It is hard.
Hard because I've got too many feelings
as opposed to before when nothing was
really at the surface. Only on the inside.
I always had the inside but somehow
I've grown an outside and things attach to it.
Like you, you, and you,
and sometimes the rest of them;
sometimes pieces of things, obligations, uprootings.
Before I just had pieces of yous
I would fabricate into completion
but they never could hurt me. I was solid;
myself. Everything is so much taller now
though I feel much smaller. Myself again
but with a glaring flaw: growths and new extremities
attached and sticking out.
I'm sorry but I just don't have the ability
to be literary or legendary.
At the end of the day I'm writing for myself
even if I wish it was something else.
The heat increases between
the folds of my skin and the leaves in the dirt.
I lose the ability to sever
and the ability to leave myself alone.
_05/05/05_____________________
a street sign
____________________________
this has to be some twisted attempt
to live vicariously through you
or to see apathetically through you
(to get figuratively to you)
otherwise
I don't know who I am
from the motives I stress
or from the entire years of my life
I cannot recall
if my entire fabricated universe
is made of
concepts of psychology
does my existence have value
can it intrigue or
confuse you
no, I am feeling soggled, sautered
ultimately fondled, faulted
in a life where
a street sign serves as a definition
when my philosophy falls short
_04/28/05_____________________
I want to
____________________________
I want to kiss you very badly
and I swear that I am planning on it
but the pages where our ink is spilling
always seem
completely different
and different's even generous
cause it's more like they're
entirely divergent
and when I try to get to your's
I find a mess of
erasing chapters
I want to kiss you very badly
but every time I'm planning on it
scraps and shards get in between us
and pry me far away
do me a favor and say you believe me
when I say that I am trying
to permeate the rubber emotion
built so high around me
do me a favor and say you don't blame me
for all the times it's almost
or for the hate I throw in your face
when you say you start to hurt
it is a funny thing we have got going
sitting next to you watching
both of our messes of selves coexist
and knowing what you're thinking
doing the exact opposite of what you want
over and over like it's a game
seeing your insides
like you have laid them out in strands
(always building you up high
and then eating you away
when
I want to touch you very badly
and I'd promise you I would
but I know next time I see you
we will both be lacking nerve
I want to kiss you very badly
and I'd swear to you I'd do it
but I know next time you're near me
I will tear these strings to shreds)
_04/23/05_____________________
I noticed
____________________________
there is a brown table
with one hundred
thousand scratches
there is a lamp
with two pull-cords
to produce light
there is a way to look
down at the lighted wood
and see these swirls
there is a sense of betrayal
from such a table
which purposely hides its flaws
_04/21/05_____________________
the sidewalk
____________________________
the sidewalk is gray slick, a slide that rain is stomping onto
the sky is dark and I am talking to you more than usual
and I don't understand the way I make myself spin like this
falling in love with a movement and the next second I am
denying to myself that I ever wanted to know you better
but today I am looking at my reflection in the sidewalk
and I am seeing the version of your face I don't despise
and you are telling me your life to a rhythm that is tired
but I don't feel my throat closing, I laugh and I am grateful
_04/16/05_____________________
bleak
____________________________
i am bleak
like a pale child crumpling
under the weight of endless time
and filmstrips like slapsticks
trap me and fall quick
and i am always
defenseless
and bedsheets,
they sift
because
i am bleak
and my tears fall like turpentine
and i am
suddenly
revealed
in a pornographic string of scenes
where I am gasping to hide
behind sets
of myself
between cuts
of myself
beside catastrophic images of deaths of myself
while
i am bleak
and my clothes fold like a
known and knowing nose
that can sift all of me out
on a very clean table
and taste the vomit sting of me
in the back
of its throat
because it feels
just like soap
when it
takes your layers off
I am bleak
for the sting
when you wish
you could blink
but your eyelids are gone
and you can't find a sink
so you stretch
out your legs
and you try to ignore
the scratch of your eyes
when you look to the side
and you cover your head up
like everything's gone
because time is too cold
for two hours too long
I am bleak
and I exist
in a bed
like it is
my coffin
and I rupture
my eardrums
(numb as the credits roll)
_04/03/05_____________________
she
____________________________
she
is a tree
that wavers
with the wind
she
is like me
asking where
you have been
she
is the heat
when you're
parting your skin
she
is the blood
you are
drowning her in
she
is the word
you are
waiting to say
she
is holding
your arm
making you stay
she
is the weight
on your
balance today
she
is the pull
when you're
walking away
_04/01/05_____________________
the way
____________________________
the way i am consumed it is a masterpiece
the swelling throats of suns tend to agree
i am plummetting through ice-black skyscapes
i am coasting fondly underneath
the way i am existing it is through ambivalence
the concurrency of the way that i ache
i am living like a yeller atop a mountain
i am sinking mightily with the weight
_03/21/05_____________________
load up
____________________________
if you love me
read my poetry
before i kill myself
before i plug up this hole
if you love me
end this tactfully
before i come apart
before i digest my own heart
because i have no reservations
about bleeding all over your sheets
and i have nothing left to disregard
when i am a whore exposed like this
when i am a joke or a piece
of your cake that you vomit
when you miss the taste of me
when you want the scent of me
if i commit this murder
it will be a full six course meal
where corks are pulled
and photocopies are handed out
i would love if you could find the time
to be the golden guest of honor
you could read me to the crowd
carve me apart in quick bright strokes
and you would tell them
since you love me
you decided to read everything
because you're very concerned
and you don't like a mess
since you love me
you decided to pick up and go
because you haven't got thread
because my throat isn't wide
and at the conclusion of your speech
you will look off to the side
flashing your famous incisors
displaying your clean edges
when in your ears the blood is coming
and in your loins there is a hunger
so you make your bed in white
and you load up the camera
_03/20/05_____________________
To Poetry
____________________________
Poetry, I am a traitor!
I feel a favoritism towards
writing a song
over writing a poem.
Poems feel flat, fall short,
whisper about how no one reads them
or cares,
but songs are so sticky
they adhere to the skull wall
and you sing them on a loop all day.
Songs love you back
while poems lounge
like tokens of utter apathy.
So, Poetry, I am angry with you.
You are not filling me up whole
like songs do.
You are making me re-think
my literary self
to the point where
I am abandoning
entire genres of art
for a few brief minutes of
vocal-melodic soul release.
Is it my fault that every day
I am exploding to pieces
and the only way for me to weld them
is with songs?
Is it my fault that my words
are not nearly eloquent enough
to survive solely on a page?
Poetry, I miss you.
Don't you remember
when it was just you and me
bound together against that relentless wind
always threatening to knock us over?
But songs are overcoming me now
because they're always here
and refuse to be forgotten,
while you let yourself fade into piles and piles
of what feels like pointlessness.
Is it my fault, Poetry, that I'm
not trying very hard to get back to you
because songs feel more free,
like an open canvas without judgment
where I can say anything
in a musical context?
But, Poetry, don't doubt the love
that I am holding here for you.
It does not leave, it just isn't being proclaimed
from rooftops at the moment.
I'm not leaving you, I swear.
I'm just wandering around a bit.
So, Poetry, my first and most passionate escape,
the one and only ally who has
stuck with me for the longest,
the heaviest medium that has
blanketed me against insurmountable fear,
I hereby vow to return to you
and I hope you don't blame me too much.
_03/14/05_____________________
the result
____________________________
I place myself into dark traps to be trampled on,
mismeasuring my fuel and my will,
wrongfully weighing my strengths and my sins,
putting down on the table
to much to be picked back up.
I watch your moves like a huntress
mentally prepared for the snap,
but you wear my shield down thin
and I'm left armorless; naked with no fight.
I start with a punch
end with a foul taste of defeat,
all while there's no one grabbing for a shot
and there's no trophy to be won.
What measures the end of the end?
Is it the sickness crawling up my leg
or the point where all rebuttal stops:
where all comraderie is obsolete
as I find myself alone behind a wall?
The result is rather consistent,
you'd think I'd be keeping better track,
but my heart won't settle until it's emptied:
shrivelled and coughing itself up.
_03/06/05_____________________
just go
____________________________
just go
just go
just step out and down all your crumbling rock steps
out like water
out like a pitcher
pouring me out the door and off of the porch
just stop
just stop
just pick your things up and put them back on
and put your mask back on please
and just walk
just pick up your feet and your fire
just say it
just say it
just open up your head and let it out like a storm
lie straight down and let me know
start it up and finish it back like you want to
coz
there's a pain ruminating in my neck for you
there's a cough lingering in my throat for you
there's a drum beating in my ear for you
there's a relentless blitzkrieg of tears for you
there's a time but not a life
mathematically,
my hands feel detached from my body
and so does my head
feet can't feel the gelatinous ground they scrape into
mouth tastes blood like a gorgeous coiny copper
judging by the orbit of you around your multiple suns
my planet gauges her rotation and spin
my planet likes the ice growing on her leaves
and the spores evolving in her crevices
her caterpillar tongue licking your treetrunks up and down
red saliva drips molasses drops across the metallic sky
you are circling hard and sucking
stretched on a warm patch of grass
carnivorous with your teeth
scented like stone
you melt across my stomach and you stick to me
_03/02/05_____________________
evelyn
____________________________
am i this
force-feeding
powerless
martyr?
i hope to
the lord of
beauty
that i am more
than a shrug
of your shoulder
and a poke
in your
ribs.
i love
the rain
and the cleanse
that words
seamlessly provide
but
if the dirt
refuses
to be damp
i cannot
splash myself
onto it
or sink
into it
or really
get a hold there.
the purpose
of everything
has got to be
love
for undeniable
importance.
if you are
choking on
the muck
in your
mouth,
try to swallow
a little slower,
try to
taste
what you're
eating.
savor me,
maybe.
bite down, babe.
_02/20/05_____________________
20 or 1
____________________________
my eyes bleed the heart of climaxes
of songs with harmonies and
the parts where you want to
rip your limbs off and cry
the hardest you could ever believe
screams and water
you sink into a drowning garden
of growth on fast-forward
and all the leaves are purple
stars blink in
fences are erected
a safety net you tie yourself to
my love is the metal
entwined with the ropes
and the hedge mazes
you're dragging through like a bed
it feels like you're playing a movie
over and over because it won't turn off
swimming with me in dark dirt
plunging into an escape
worms crawl like cells over our faces
a sky sucks you back up
i'm building a pool of water eyes
underground alone
eating beetles like it will
help me remember anything
or turn me into you
_02/20/05_____________________
20 or 2 (myself)
____________________________
how many art forms can i adopt
in attempting to get back to thirteen years old
when i cried for the first time
and i cut myself for the first time
and i killed myself for the first time
instead of always trying to hide
from murderers in a vestibule
with two unlocked doors
like it would help me somehow
reinventing a self
watching something not much like progression
and wishing to get back
to darkness behind my eyelids
and bliss in bleeding legs
but now i've just been planning out
disgusting lies of suicides for five years
proving nothing about myself to myself
i've got a wired jaw smile
and it doesn't turn off
while i try not to ask
why this is what i want
a mirrored table a couch and a monster
or
a bed
or
a guilty orgasm
or
staring
because i don't cry that much
only when i can barely breathe
only sometimes when the blood comes too fast
only when i realize things like slaps in the face
only when i snap back to myself
_02/20/05_____________________
20 or 3
____________________________
stainless steel
my catacomb
brushing up on life
dragging a five line razor
through inner elbows
parallel
click my tongue
then smear me on the wall
blood clots make a happy face
a smile drips drips drips
head slams down hard on tile
i fracture lives with the impact
fingers sweat
nails slit my eyes open
stainless steel
my chopping block
loudest silence i've ever heard
builds up pressure
in my lungs
misplacing the box
that contains this
what eats me for breakfast
and dinner now
like a porcupine
stainless steel
my ears close
i will die in a bathroom
_02/14/05_____________________
slices
____________________________
You tippy-tipped fullwarm out of a lemon kitchen in socksock and holed shoes
to a barren blown sidewalk square and stood.
The wind, it did feel hateful to your lids and your lobes
like a constant disgust feigned by your lovers refused.
You, possessing your damp vacant stare, at the crevices pull with your glass pupils,
and manage to deter each ruddy duplication that smiles at you tamely.
You've no idea in your head, only your continual beat reminds you of her:
the skin stung with citrus spread over your steel-edged bedsheets
as you stomped down hard as you could without flinching.
Push you together your brown leather feet and you separate them;
watch the control you've acquired over two hundred mile-per-hour years.
You learn it. You can walk as you please, as light as you wish or as heavy.
You can walk as you please, as swift as you wish or as lengthy.
_02/03/05_____________________
the definition of a season featuring the smiths
____________________________
shoplifters of the world
i feel the leather under my fingers
headlights and street-heat
the fastest windows
always a hairstyle
speeding through cigarette stables
that joke isn't funny anymore
starts to rain
stinging snake-tongue speeches
see-through desperation
and love,
you are a keen thinker
i miss it when i think of it
_01/20/05_____________________
the figurative end
____________________________
with us kids the popularity contest is
who gets the top line on your suicide note
who gets the cold stare when you leave
rather than the inadvertant slap of your coat
as you swing your arms into the sleeves
we're trying to remember the year
when pain starting resonating from the inside instead
trying to recall the first day we ever sat
upright on our beds
faces to the wall and stared
trying to conjure up
the beginning of the figurative end of your childhood
the events you never can be sure actually took place
after unconsciously training yourself to forget them
the murders you still think
no one will let you broach the topics of
for us it's like air
we breathe it because it surrounds us
in every single place
and we mostly just close our eyes
as if when we open them
all of the parts of our souls that throb
will have been cut out
it's not like we haven't been trying to do it ourselves
but it just doesn't make us feel better
_01/18/05_____________________
M.R.
____________________________
Logically, I am able to tell myself about reality.
About what makes sense and what can actually take place.
I can understand which choices are correct and which circumstances could never exist;
which attempts of mine will be painfully futile.
But emotionally, well, my heart swells up and my eyes tear
when I think about possibilities. About people.
I am dumped into an ocean of ifs, all logic lost except for a little voice
yelling "wait! wait! wait!" from far away,
trying to pull me back in and fading more as time does its job and passes.
What is it about a fabricated life that makes me feel endlessly more beautiful?
Being the one and the only, why does it mean salvation?
I know why and I'll write books about it.
Why the sins you've committed in a coma come back to hurt when your nerves start to work.
Why you care multitudes more about anything when you leave it, or it leaves you.
Why reality will never be something subjective. (So get over it.)
I am the only one who can control how I feel
so why don't I just do it?
Why don't I find every single tiny shard of metal or glass lodged in my skin
and pluck it out dutifully, in stride?
Logically, it's easy. But logic also defines why it is so difficult to do.
Logic saves my life for every pinprick puncturing my soul.
But emotion,
emotion lets me live it.
For every hole made in me and all the consequent volumes of blood pouring onto the floor.
_01/09/05_____________________
when you call cathy
____________________________
we are sustained by the voice of the dead
still on your answering machine
and every time we call
we are listening to you live again
to me you are living breathing walking
you are more real than I am
and I never agreed on the topic of no parenthesis
how can lovers ever ever breathe the pungent air
without the molecules being swords to their nostrils
or brothers ever hold
the sound of you inside
how can your mother be at peace
living with your stories only
and how can I (me, little crying me) be content to remain
when I will, without question, forget your voice
_12/28/04_____________________
white and black
____________________________
in bathrooms
on walls
and i'm cutting off the blood supply to my lower left leg
and i'm staring out the window at some snowy shrapnel
left over on the side of a brick-brown house
i'm coexisting with gigantic dark wooden demons
and i'm trying my hardest not to be swallowed
or killed
breathing next to
white glass the kind that feels scratchy sits like dead bodies
in rest but cold as bloodless hell
it feels like a movie scene and the doorways contract
i honestly can't hear anything
the sky is dull like my organs
this room is barren because everyone is rotting inside soil
i'm cutting off my ears with a notion
that it will make me less afraid and warmer
and everything turns grayer
and everything bleeds blacker
and everything lovely will freeze
_12/20/04_____________________
my heart full of air
____________________________
there is always someone playing piano in that house
but it is not me
and when I decide it
I am a long hour taker
when I've got my mind set on
queen of the world
nothing can stop me
and my lovely-affected
brooding harrington loved the way his
mother talked about him
in the rain in the snow in the every which
way he could go he just
loved the air in the
scented city
he could never fly airplanes as well as he wished
swish swish coasting with eyes to the heavens
eyes bleeding from ducts
his soul always swelling overboard
i too have that emptyless containment
beware:the snap of a note and we kiss before
a wooden machine full of sky
_12/19/04_____________________
writing honest poetry
____________________________
i write you down for the solace i find in
creating a concrete reality of words.
because words are actual, they exist
and do not change once you carve them in;
though every month you read them
their meaning will undoubtably be new,
or skewed ruined or bluer,
emptier or fuller,
colder or becoming
"time-capsule" truer,
like i sprout and decay into new selves
with every instance that you review me.
i wasn't that a year ago but
you've stuck that meaning to me,
and therefore it is truth,
it is life and it is stone
however much of a lie it
would have always been before.
so i'm living in a box
where words of mine cohabitate
and define everything i feel
with what will eventually be lies,
but those lies are more true
than my present blurry self;
I cannot ever fathom
writing honest poetry.
_12/01/04_____________________
dissonance
____________________________
what reminds me of my father is the
twitch of an acoustic guitar string pulled upward
and released like a sudden stream of
discovered feeling. this, among other things,
leaks him out of sound, like when I'm professing myself
to a kitchen counter, he will without fail be
pinching wrong notes between endless thick fingers;
hours spent searching for any relief from
dissonance at all.
_11/21/04_____________________
three ways of stating the same thing
____________________________
coffee and clementines
burned throat
table adorned with frozen air and brief feelings
throat burned
coffee cup with blue flowers
orange peels on a frozen table
feelings fleeting
citrus juice leaking to napkins
mouth warmed by an inner stinging
_11/21/04_____________________
an extraordinary ability
____________________________
i feel this
crazy ballooning feeling in my stomach and
coming up my throat and out my lips
when i think that
i can be better than all of this
and i can defeat all of this
and i can be above all of this
and i can rise up and live
i can stand up and love you
_11/18/04_____________________
view from inside a prophetic mirror
____________________________
all of these messes i'm in
all of these messes
and i swim in them
because they swim in me
rolling inside sharp remarks
sinking in this bruising rock
as my shape is contorting
my smiles are warping
and my sentences are shorter
because lead feels too dull to scrape away at
sheets of my bleak void
so i'm going to trim everything closer
continuously eliminating the extraneous
until i bite off my fingers and
ingest wholly my lips
eyelids bloody with the edges cut
and a white scalp of variant topography
_11/16/04_____________________
habits of her patterns
____________________________
your noses look collapsable and weak
bloody, thinning, running
I wish you would stop breathing every breath in hard
I used to think you were so green and lovely but
your strength deteriorates with an addition to your blood
of a substance so far you aren't giving up on
or on fun, or on a drive
but your life is ruled by it, every hour I see you
wiping your hollow face red
and in the morning
car parked, hair falling about your face like rainwater
slouching into cushions and
holding your nose
I wish you could just salute suns
and not be broken down into the trends of dancetranceguitar tracks
and when you're moving on will you forget to think
like your life is ruled; like you have no say?
I want to paint your face with plaster
because you expose me to apparent heart loss
and you take away my ability to reason that you are pretending
I wish you would just be the same as the rest
go to sleep, digest your drinks, smoke your stuff, sit in cars
not mix into the patterns of rugs in my soulful eyesight
staring at ceilings
hurting in hard wood desks
inhaling, exhaling
(inhaling)
_10/09/04_____________________
on death
____________________________
bodies;
bodies: supple,
cyclic, circling.
as bodies we
readily expire,
holding onto
nothing firmly
pieces of our
selves grabbed
away by every
living moment
we easily break
down we sever
every tie
I wish we could
take our decaying
souls and trick them,
use them, be solid and
form our molds together
because in our
current situation,
this very second is
the absolute extent
of what we possess.
so can we please
live it somehow
can we please
sculpt the pieces
we've got left can
we please live it
_09/28/04_____________________
my name is home
____________________________
you validated my existence with a
four letter word
that made me feel like
comfort again
made me feel like I was
where I belonged, where I was born
and learned, apprenticed
to call me this I thought was the
ultimate compliment
the most honorable status to be
reached
it was then that I was tangible
it was then that I was worthwhile
it was then that I was queen
you fooled me into pretending that
I remembered a commendable
past, that I was the one place
I would always rather be than
anywhere else
but I forget that every issue I contain
stems from this place
every pain I've got stabbing
was birthed from that word
it feels like a good thing at
first glance, but it shifts with
thought, it warps with
actual examination
you've got to start there, yes,
you've got to, but you can
never end there, you cannot
leave and then think that
return is an improvement,
you cannot retreat into where you
once resided and act like you
only stepped outside
onto the porch to take a breath
I've got to tell you,
because "home" is not an actual location
we create it in our minds
to feel safer
to feel like there is something to
come back to
something from which to
jump off from
from where we can create ourselves
but it
doesn't exist
my name will always be "home"
but I will never be a place
to actually go to
only a roadside inn
to rest and feel the comfort
of certainty
but that certainty
is imaginary
and that comfort
it is fleeting
and when you come
to visit
I will not be home
"home" will be somewhere
in another dimension
waiting for you when you die
but I,
I am not home
I am just finished
I am just a work of prose
pored over but never completed
who likes to think she was
abandoned
but knows her ending
could have never been written
_09/26/04_____________________
down
____________________________
oh god how i can
live a life so far from
what is being lived
how i can
revel and remain
count and contract
recollecting every square inch
beating myself
dead to the bones
a constant layer of
dust settled on my eyeballs
reading and reading and reading and reading
wanting to bang my head
so abruptly against
my adjacent walls
to knock you
out of my ears
send you somewhere
beneath my bed
for a few lovely weeks
you live
you live
you live in my head
more than anywhere else
you dream at the breast by her
while i
am not worth
writing
down
_09/13/04_____________________
this noise
____________________________
i've been living here
albeit barely
with you on my back
here
taking all of your time getting your things together
taking your time getting out the door and
on your way
i've been rapidly erasing my identity
and replacing it with a
sickly victim's
someone who is trapped in a rut
cannot get their toes unstuck from the mud
long enough to run
i've been trying to separate the
sense of self from the sense of belonging,
a feeling anything other than
warm and easy, instead
belonging like a magnet like a
wasping maggot
trying to teach myself how to
be myself
how to
see myself in a light other than a
dim, pale yellow
other than a
wan trail of brooding, blossoming excretion
rained from salty liquid
out of my lampshades
i've been lying here on this
bed of nails and
ripped fabric
strategically placing my
limbs over blood stains
thinking about remembering the reason
for everything i've done
all the persons i've tried so hard to create
all of your pain i saw
fit to cause and lather myself with
thinking i've got to get out of here
this hell-bound home as
the pieces of my gun add up day to day
until the last when a whole resounds through my home
on a broad, pinched afternoon
i'll say you've
really got to hear this
noise
_09/07/04_____________________
untitled
____________________________
a tall man stands over me
I tap my foot on the edge of my stool
unconscious nervous habit
a pink woman clad in seafoam green
eyes me curiously
like I'm doing something wrong
he taps the sill and gives me a
quick look in the eyes, then he is gone
this is the start of a mon-day
a mon-day that feels like the first
day of my life
beginnings of weeks are mandatory
but they become obsolete
I am required to start them
but not to feel anything during
their starts or finishes
sometimes a few unbridled spurts
of thought come barging through
but for the most part I live on an
empty white canvas
not serene
just unoccupied, cold, dreadful
it doesn't taste like a sickness
more like a house
with no heat
and no people
and no rugs
endless numbers pass me by
blue, orange, gray, white
on wheels
on feet
give me a little nod or
a deep hard stare
and tear it away quick and sharp
my eyes left bleeding
insulted, having misunderstood
not even ever really obtaining
a concept of meaning from it
then I feel like I've lost something
I can't rationalize that if I didn't
have it before and do not have it
now it is not a loss, it is a return
nothing wrong with that
except the smallest hint
that you may have
missed out on something or
cancelled out your potential for
something you haven't known before
maybe it's just difficult to learn
how to live your life like it was
even when you only leave for a
minute, or a second, or an hour
(or a few years)
when you least expect it
they move you down
they take what they've given
and you've no choice but to accept
any fight you put up will be
a fight within yourself
you have no say
there is no compromise
so these are things that happen on
my mon-days
days when I'm waiting for the
following days
days when I'm living in tomorrow
instead of today
days when I know I've got
something missing but I don't
see it anywhere, I've been looking
and looking, but even its
physical appearance eludes me
completely transient, ephemeral,
fading, leaving me more and
more as time goes on
giving me nothing but a queer
fleeting notion that there is
meaning somewhere, there's
got to be meaning somewhere
I look at the sun and the sky
and I know they're not empty
I know that there's something
I know that I've defeated
the task of figuring out
whether or not everything is
only surface and hollow when
you knock on it
things are hollow
but not all things
now the question is
which ones are full enough
to give me some of their substance and
to feed my hunger for
everything?
_08/22/04_____________________
seymour and raining
____________________________
there are dreams fears worries brimming at the edges of my mouths preparing to spill over pour down the sides of my faces a premonition for what is sure to come an implosion of ideas so scattered and full they could not be released any other way I feel so completely stuffed with liquid life everything seems like it comes in quantities too large to fit inside me everything comes too abundantly to be dissected or comprehended instead I sit here like a ticking slab of danger waiting for the burst or perhaps the collapse I cannot move each breath releases the secrets piled up so high in my lungs things want to be set out they want to be picked apart and pieced accurately together I want to fix things but I just feel too full
_08/15/04_____________________
an admirable lack
____________________________
have i done this to you
i've got drops of water on my earlobes and the
graying sky seems to be sinking towards me
blaming me for how you are; what you've become
i haven't got much of anything but to a child on the outside
nothing disguises itself as an admirable lack
have i stolen what you could have been or done
you opened yourself up to the soul sucking but
i can't tell if i should blame you for being deceived
i must have been, myself
now only jaded and hanging barely on
_08/11/04_____________________
the saddest things are so simple that you simply do not notice
____________________________
one by one she picks them up
her hand grows empty
fingers touch
fingers touch
fingers touch
tips on lines and the warm
moist makes her feel
hollow concaving palms
wrists restricted in stern black
weavings each thread losing strength
undoing all of the recognitions they've gotten
for stagnantly breathing
and sitting
it seemed like forever they
eventually forgot what they were doing
where they belonged blinded
by every strip of
light ebbing through
cried so hard with every rip
it came to be that even
the smallest tugs could sever
them from each others
hold and
when their seperation
had become severe
indentations remained
from where they had
previously been woven together
_08/08/04_____________________
the cold
____________________________
the cold is old
it acts like it is who I am
but it is not
it is a faint reminder
fading out
but when it comes
it is overwhelming
its familiarity is heartbreaking
the hole it leaves in my stomach
an empty, empty cellar of need
a void that I sometimes forget
has never been
poured into
it's been explored, who I was
but no knowledge was ever
a confident truth
only meager bits of conjectures surfaced
the edges slightly peeling back
but the unknown stuck on too securely
I couldn't get under it
the cold is old
but I still feel it
in rooms that sometimes
warp into past havens
tricking me and laughing
at what I think are realizations
it's trying to make me
hold onto something
outdated
trying to make me identify with
anything
other than
my current self
_08/08/04_____________________
spillover
____________________________
a morning with the cold and my eyes staring up
at films of air and swallowing deeply
attempting to know
what I am
sitting in every single room of this house
waiting for a feeling to come
trying not to give into
the easy ways, the weak ways
so, so easy.
I touch my own skin
every inch
familiar yet belonging to something bigger than myself
I feel it floating away
I know it doesn't want to stay here
the water runs runs runs
wants me to breathe it in
hard and solid
wants me to make a decision
I am a hypochondriac
full of flavors
from the earth
full of soul that needs to be bled out
my hands need a muse or nails struck through
so, so easy. the weak ways, the easy ways
blue permeates my vision
right now
in here
naked
a morning with the cold and my eyes want to close
_08/08/04_____________________
a place somewhere beyond
____________________________
the sidewalk is a runway for me to disclose my aching heart
thumping thumping my head gets knocked in with every step
just barely missing the manholes open perfectly with access
to everything I've ever wanted to escape to
the sun burns down
my skin and its blotches tell me that I don't belong where the pain is so easily accessible
the sting lets me know that living is full of agony no matter where you walk unless you are
submerged in dust
plunging into pools of what will surround me completely
I wish that this was gelatin for more of a supportive hold
sinking to the bottom I'm watching things go by from
a place that is not life, a place somewhere beyond
_07/23/04_____________________
in thought
____________________________
she wakes up
with a lack of eyeliner
and a necklace of sorts
to pull herself together
she doesn't exist and live
so much as she just breathes
involuntarily
by the time half the day is past
she will be dragging her heavy head
everywhere she goes
out of the car
into the door
up through the stairs
into her room
where the bed seems taboo
unclean, uncertain
a sick swamp of memories and injuries
her warped body fixes into unnatural shapes
freezing for something
she gets lost in thought
_07/18/04_____________________
a possibility
____________________________
I feel like I've been
on the edge of this
realization for years
and years and god
if I could just get my
fingers around it
if I could just
get a hold onto
you if I could
just convince you to
tell me exactly
what you're
thinking if I
could just be able to
write down what I
actually feel
if I could just
fall to
sleep without
thinking of
every person I've
ever met
if I could just
breathe with-
out feeling pain
if I could just
love with-
out restraint
if I could just
be myself
without never
knowing which
self of mine that
means
maybe I could
know what's going
on maybe I
could feel a
little bit
better.
_07/18/04_____________________
hummingbird
____________________________
maybe I like wilco so much because I am assured by you of how great they are
maybe listening to "i am trying to break your heart" is devastating because of when I bought that album
maybe jeff tweedy is such a genius because his simple lyrics feel like monuments
somehow you have brainwashed me into thinking you are so silently brilliant
and just naturally able to create and invent and become things I could never
I'm still living inside a resentful world hating your normalcy hating your ability
to absently restrain me from detaching myself from you
I'm still mourning the idea that the last time I felt like yours and
the only time it felt right for you and I to be a we was
yankee hotel foxtrot
_07/13/04_____________________
someone with a name like that
____________________________
a constant static noise
like some radio always on
a low volume
I am listening for news on the status of my country
my body and its networks
and its sicknesses and pieces
every fingernail clipped tightly down
clamped strangling my movements
and the skin around my knuckles
won't stretch enough for me to feel
as though I am without restraint
wrists not thin enough
to dress up in perfecting cuffs
an image of myself as I stretch on my bed
my face is not that of a woman's
it is hard and incorrect in places
the skin on my extremities is plastic
but all I can do is rub it and rub it
all I want is a scab
I don't want indented fingers
that get caught in my hair
I want my head shaved
because I can't keep fixing things
I hate myself and the mess
that prevails each day
when I open my eyes I hate
my living space and the dirt
I hate my brain that
won't leave me alone
I hate you and
when I really think about the letters in your name
it's like I never even knew you
someone with a name like that I know I never knew
_06/25/04_____________________
untitled
____________________________
the medication you take is the thought that I wake that I feel like I fake in the life that I make in the house where I sleep in the clothes that I keep and the shoes in their dirt and the stretch of my shirt across my round stomach with its jutting out bones that now sit alone that now sit alone
I wanted to be this and now that I am this I want to be endless and always relentless to breathe for the energy and work for the life of me and keep up the movement and live before I lose this time to be mobile and right to be restless and hurt to be better and love what I am
there is a physical disapointment in glass objects but a curious sense that what I stare at is not me it is more of a costume like a holding area for my brain while its changes prove surprising and never the same and the hair that it grows shows no sign of stopping its trail of the pain it will soon have to endure there is no cure for vanity no fix for the drug of your own skin no new euphoria I can place myself in
_06/25/04_____________________
certification
____________________________
sentimental value is the worst of its kind
and I am out of line, I am out of line
out of touch
lacking too much
to gain back
forward motion seems cheap
evil days and nights grow like mold
my petri dish is overflowing
consequently
you've never actually met me before today
september is the strangest month
but warmth is the worst
it tricks you with comfort
then rips away all that you supposedly had
like medicines all too familiar
so present, so affecting
addition of great minds in an outlet of trust
chairs that squeak and certification
a box untouched and a very high cliff
but they all stood below it, looking upward,
out of danger
they were relieved and
they were water-logged
forget the feelings from the broken moments
forget the speeches from the beds and bathrooms
project an image of indifference for
assurance of a forty-five minute life
where you do not try to dig in and
you'd rather not risk the awkwardness of truth
it feels too raw and exposed to salt water
every reality is a needle jabbing at the
redness of your open wet wound
_06/25/04_____________________
?
____________________________
can you explain the thoughts in the rain like the blood rushing through your head when I speak. circles are drawn but I will not mourn what was never in existence except in my own unreality. can you breathe while you sit next to me while I'm touching your arm do you notice the burn when I move it away. do you wish for that hurt when you are alone do you hope for the pain I inflict because it is better than your own in your head. there it is boring and without the disgusting unreality of love and disapointment. let the world go when you see who I can become without all the extra and covers and resulting apprehension. you can be on fire for minutes and minutes so when will we do this. when will we do this?
_06/25/04_____________________
at the time
____________________________
it's funny because years of my life have been mapped out around you
and years of your pain have been absorbed into what has become the symbolism of my face
it's funny because I don't feel like any of my time spent with you was wasted
every moment seemed to slip out from under me before I could catch it and hold on
I find myself grabbing for a piece of anything that will convince me of who we were
and what we were, and why we were those
children
reaching out so hard for a solace,
screaming pleas in the faces of every soul that crossed our paths,
"wake up. feel. know this hurt."
finding comfort in the strange arms of another crooked one
drawn to idiosyncrasies
attaching readily to each other at the wrists
seemed to keep us from dying
it gave us tangible reasons to feel
instead of giving us more time to spend wondering about the hollowness of our hearts
it's funny because you've seen more of my nakedness than any other human
the exposure I have ripped open is enough for "you know me"
(on this planet where no one is ever enough for "you know me")
second hands tick like time bombs in a life where you feel like you are running out of all
that you have,
of breath, of energy, of anything that sustains life
I always counted the minutes remaining,
you sleeping with a strange expression
never wished on a faster life, or a faster clock, always only a faster car, a faster comfort,
something for my heels to dig into, a place to rest where time would slow
it's funny because every time you pop into my head I feel something I've never felt
an overwhelming sense of the correctness of paths chosen
a gratitude for months and months and for life
with someone I now know
understood slightly better than I had thought at the time
_06/10/04_____________________
took a trip
____________________________
took a trip to the shelves of pages with turned up corners
and dust so thick you feel it on your tongue
took a detour to stare at the contours of beautiful women
with tell-tale nipples and short groomed beards
found myself on the edge of a realization
but then lost it due to the overwhelming nature of a bookstore
_06/01/04_____________________
burn
____________________________
everything you always thought you would want
and then me
standing there aloof
eyes up
lips parted
conspicuous and guilty
touching you
like a burden
bruised eyes like a plea
save me because I can't save myself
and I would play in your blood if you'd let me and I would
sever the ties if you'd ask me
break all the tongues and the sinks and the lies
burn all that's done if you'd want me to
everything piercing like wires again
and then this
cracking patch of skin
dusty white
slit bleeding
continually itching
brushing you
like a needle
rough triangles like math
equating when all moisture will be used up
but I would break off my arm if you hated it and I would
abandon my parts if you'd change them
drown all the blood and the fears and the time
burn all that's done if you'd want me to
_06/01/04_____________________
bed
____________________________
Style changes at 10:34 pm on a Monday night in your bed alone with a pen a notebook and an alarm clock set for 6:32 the next morning. Life shifts and your personality is open-ended just like your writing: constantly unsure of itself but definitly present. You're always thinking of the people you know and sex but nothing really ever happens the way you plan or the way you want it to. You've always sort of got one foot out the door when it comes to your work and your brain and your relationships and your heart. Everything is always completed in a half-assed sort of way even if you've got the most intricate intentions for the right way you're going to do it this time. Everything always just somehow ends up falling short of your expectations, even your writing, even your self, even this, but you don't know how to change things. People call you classic but they really mean you're old and you're not relevant and I don't think about you very often anymore. But I used to. Yeah, you used to as well but after you spend time away from people things always have to change. Your sentences get shorter and your mood gets a bit less defined. You don't feel things like you used to but you're not sure if you feel them in a new way or if you just don't feel them at all.
_05/24/04_____________________
I am a thing
____________________________
I am a thing and I am not whole
but can an object lack completeness and still be a thing?
while imagining a thing I think of a body with all of its pieces
together and molded
as one entity
not containing interchangeable parts
or progressive qualities
just a
solid, stubborn thing.
a thing. an unwavering idea.
so am I not a thing?
am I this
reckless,
nonconforming, shapeless
anti-thing?
without purpose? without direction?
do I contain all sorts of strange yet identifiable traits
that add up to equal the sum of an unreality?
or does the fact that I breathe
because my parts are stuck together
and because my heart beats with the assistance of a network of veins, arteries, and capillaries
mean something?
does my lack of completion signify
a space for growth?
does a thing keep an empty space hidden away for progression?
I feel the ability for change
I am not whole and
I am a thing
_05/20/04_____________________
untitled
____________________________
still cannot fix
anything you've ever done
any words you've ever breathed
how can you be so
robotic
so masochistically inclined
semi-circled recliners
break our spectral views in half
never able to be wholly viewed
we are continually negated
nothing like the plan
straying so far from maps
unconsciously composed
seeping deeper through the pant legs of
reality
it's a joke, really
everything we stand for
it breaks up and it dissolves easier than anything
we hold onto things proclaiming justice and truth
but we abandon ourselves quickly
everyday I give up and everyday I grow new ambitions
I think the losses are adding up over the gains
I think the dull ache is learning to be a sharp hurt
but now it's smooth like magazine pages
I know what this is
I've felt this
I know it
I know it
_05/20/04_____________________
guns
____________________________
we plan our thoughts around each other as if they were audible
we are careful what to reveal
you've got your
black
and your
bike
and your hair and your glasses
I've got my
black
and my books
and my hair and my avoidance
I've got this insane dream that we'll
talk and both hear what's inside together
we will discuss their plans for us
and why the world is affected by us
and why it's okay for us to fuck
because of our
pa
ra
noia
impressions you leave on me last years
you stare at me and that stare leaves scars
I want you like I want understanding
I love you because I wish you would
everything shuts off and
we are left behind
we are the chosen ones
we carry guns
we know what is necessary and
our excess will be useful on the judgment day
the fish will rise from the sea
and we will swim in their places
you disowned me once
but I know you remember
black staring at black
the hair in front of my eyes
the insults I interjected
not at you
but I knew your eyes were there
so when you meet me one day
and we are finally alone
we can complete each other
and you will mold into me
to create a creature
heavier than all things
all-knowing and
without pain
_05/10/04_____________________
you should know.
____________________________
I love your hair.
Not the "I want to look at it forever and run my hands through it constantly" love.
No, that kind of love gets tired and disinterested.
That kind of love moves on and finds new objects of affection.
The "I don't think I could ever love anyone who didn't have your hair as much as I love you" love.
This love is different
This is the kind of love where you don't think of it much when it's not there
but when it is there
you remember it
and you look at it for a minute
and you forget it for a while but
then you see it again
And sometimes I miss you and sometimes I wish for things but I don't remember ever missing your hair.
It's like one of those things you don't even try to appreciate because you could never do justice to it in your mind.
But here I am
attempting on this page
to explain to you
what sort of love my love is.
And when the love runs out just enough
for there to be
at least
ten years or so between the times I see you,
will I remember this poem?
No. I won't care about your hair
because I will logically deduce the reasons
why things didn't work out
why your lack of a sex drive made me leave
why your lack of a muscle mass made me leave
But not why I will lie to myself
for years about the real reasons for things . . .
You will not remember
that I wrote this to you
or that I hated myself for speaking so plainly
but this is the sort of thing you just have to say.
You can't coat it over with allusions to famous poets
much more talented than I,
or similies
or by saying "you hair is an existential sort of thing":
things that would confuse readers
to make them think this is better than it is.
But this isn't supposed to be good.
This isn't supposed to have a deeper meaning.
I just thought you should know.
_05/02/04_____________________
ache
____________________________
when all you have never feels like enough
who do you hurt? yourself
or someone like you?
do you turn to
greater problems to hide
your own inside, create a
larger gap between yourself and reality,
bleed only for others
in an attempt to return
to normalcy or hypocrisy
or secrecy . . .
the holes you dig yourself: you put yourself inside.
no one is pushing you.
no one is pushing you.
you feel things because you
ultimately want to.
you could be done with this
by now, you could feel different
but you choose a life of pain,
you choose this.
(I'm winding threads around my
finger.
She is turned away.)
I WATCH AS YOU ACHE FOR EACH OTHER
a frustration
when you see
what you've felt,
but it's not you
who's feeling it.
you are alone.
in essence,
a waste of space
and energy,
a conflict driver,
a drama queen,
a piece of a self-
relying child.
can't you give up?
It's not that we
want to be with
each other. It's
that we can't be
without each other.
BULLSHIT
excuses
boring. indifferent.
not love. not love.
DEPENDENCY
a drug
unhealthy
convenient
fucked up
But I love you. But it
doesn't matter now.
_04/21/04_____________________
odd numbers
____________________________
I was dancing with him in a room full of plastic
coughing up regrets
choking on his words
he said that death was imminent
and I was less than meaningful
always less than conceived to be
never measuring up to all of the
liters of blood we've gathered
I saved them in containers
with labels and dates
like ticket stubs
never fully there but
you've got to acknowledge their pasts
round reminders of pointless acts
blue and indented, rough but easy
you count them up
oh, how amazing numbers can be
the reactions they can conjure
the holes they rip
you cry tears like I hold my breath
into uncaring pillows in hollow rooms
ignored
I was dancing with him in a room full of blurs
each of a face I had analyzed
laughing while I cringed
digging in like opportune incisors
he said that pain equals pain
when you and I both know it never ever does
he said that every day is old
recycled continually
but never uses the word boring
I know that when the end is the
beginning and the beginning is
the end
veins are severed along with ties and their threading
pain is a kinetic thing
but a potential waste of effort
old things always die
but never wholly
pieces of you will always linger
meaning will always leak unto this
even after we fall
_04/21/04_____________________
an array of loss
____________________________
hello, you, always coming up short
never entirely good enough
always only in some aspects
always possessing unignorable holes
constantly reaching much higher
than heights ever to be obtained
thinking of life as conquerable
dreaming of goals as attainable
places so far off
you've only caught glimpses
stayed for a while
but sucked yourself out
amidst some sort of
personal dilemma
malfunctioning synapses
an absence of yellow beads
everyone else had overabundances of
running for years
looking for a steady supply
over time--
never had
growing tired of the scramble for seeds
tired of the climb
never reaching anything
always staring at hands
not quite empty
but containing undesired options
_04/20/04_____________________
observations
____________________________
the empathetic apathy
the plastic
the breathing
it feels like a drunken weight
like a headache
sticking to me like ice on my lips
i'll swell to the breaking point
the understated disgust portrayed
feet by those who ride everything along
the fake sentences fed through our tubes
cause smiles and nods like numbness
could a truth be so far off
could what is right be shadowed so
darkly by everything you're not
could pain be supressed
when it comes in waves
and do they comprehend something
that never stops
the growth of things; the progression
do they see the supressed minds
bleeding for a chance at free oxygen
we only ask for small favors
you will never give us more
we oppose you because you oppose us
we feel things as they rise and fall
you make excuses
_04/11/04_____________________
a nest
____________________________
a song
that spoke
the words
that woke me:
the one thing I required to breathe
like a
true mammal
like a
real
animated thing:
a centipede or a
bird in a nest,
a child with wings;
that dead child sings
a one thing that
proves to be
sufficient,
the hands
bleed the
nerves shake
the brain shuts
off the throat
awakens
like some resilient being
waiting for years to
finally
exhale
_03/14/04_____________________
xo
____________________________
all of us kids collect elliott smith records while in conjunction wasting all of what we've ever held
suicide attempts at appreciation never obtaining a full understanding, only a constant bleeding river of egotistical insecurity resulting in an unexplainably vast amount of uncertainty:
not knowing who is who or what is what,
the difference between how things
seem and
how they are
_03/08/04_____________________
clink
____________________________
been shot in the head
an
anatomical monkey
cheap red
the way the world turns spins round
never saw it coming at me
never wanted that light to shine as bright as it
is
everyday it
comes
harderharder on my back
cant breathe it like i did
cant see it like i want
sentennial fortress
emptyness resonates a life of water
park it in the back with the
animals
by the bed
the dancing extraterrestrials
semi circle
cant you see it
coming down the wall
down your legs
spider daddy sickness center
reach for the gun and the
wire clippers
her arabic knife
her
semi automatic
_03/07/04_____________________
ode to the most tragic of all beauty
____________________________
this is devotion or a crisis or
what it looks like when holes don't spit you out
this is that barely-there subtle look of eyes that
stare you down into your darkest oblivion
that tempt you and encompass you for years
relentless
the corner of a wall that juts into a room
worn and rubbed thinner beside curling reminders of what is supposed to mean the most to you
her smile was real;
your reality dissipates into a continual string of hearts beating too slow or too fast
too cold or too far past
too similar to you yet so unbelieveably
irrelevant
my disbelief
I am this bleeding piggy fetus sticky and moist beside your
closet door
emminating frigidity
existing for the sole purpose of your larynx
this
evolution of things
so very full of everything we've had
we use all of it
we carry the weight thrown aside
passionately in love with language
idiolizing what we wish we could kill
feeling everything insert itself too deeply
death will never be an end to things
skies will never be wide enough to swallow us
your least favorite day of the week will never cease to
tear me apart completely
sentences will never mean so little
true brilliance will always feel burdened
this is an ode to the most tragic of all beauty
the meaning of life
the realization of how things belong
one day following another
breathing out and in without
this is not an ending
_02/22/04_____________________
dead hands
____________________________
dead hands make you linger along
the words the words they come like lightning
huge thrusting surges of feeling
going and going and swelling and bursting
burning and surging and going and breathing
oh oh and your skin like a road map of folds and
centaurs with hearts that beat like storms
staring at this empty woman
through a slab of stone where she resounds
constantly
vibrating inside of your days
when every morning you wake to meet her
and the curtains allow slight pieces of rememberance
sometimes the warm left those marks on your arms
and now that burn brings you back
the speeches of honesty the hunger the aching
the words the words they make you real
when all you can think to live for are her poems
the realization of meaning
the understanding of feeling
_02/21/04_____________________
in the pink
____________________________
have you ever been touched inappropriately have you ever been
misconstrued
I cannot be
vague
because everyone knows me
you know the next square of skin to be sliced
and you know the words that will make me want it the most
amidst all the ways you could possibly give up on me
I need a face to fuck
to love
for luck
to fake my way through days like this
and years like me
and months like you
how about that
and can't we just focus on art?
feelings are too raw to feel
like metal sanding down my teeth
these blades continually penetrating my spine
everyday I know it
if only for a second
I remember
the incomplete lines
the letter A
and the child awake
the breast alert
the stomach sick
a brush of hair
by a hand
roll onto a stomach
and become as numb as you can
has anyone met you yet,
mister genius?
mister inflammable?
a dark floor, no walls
a blaring television set
alone
you kept me scared
savior, abuser
faces appeared between pink curtains
I counted kisses
some were determined unworthy
everything was eventually rolled over
touched
covered
even
and a cross kept me afraid to breathe
my hands by my face
as the terror ate me away
every scenario imaginable
happened
I was there
I saw them
my heartbeat made a sore spot
stood by the doorway
between danger and danger
consumed
a shaking child screams for help through tears
you know the nights she's seen
and you know the faces in the pink
I have never met those people
or the ones that whisper
angry, surprised, or mocking
(the wind swims by)
there is nothing left of me
I have exposed all truths
I am naked to be discovered
you have yet to realize
my way of life
is this
constantly-coping sort of thing
where I barely hide anymore
and you make me bleed more than ever
my breasts get thicker and thinner
while a scale fluctuates between three pounds
all one hundred seventeen of them
want to let you know
that in knowing all of my
autobiographies
you know nothing
and you will never see what I see
you don't know this numb yet alert mind
you may affect me but I will never become you
the battle is hardly over
I will never let you penetrate as deep as you'd like
I will never see you in the pink
_02/02/04_____________________
for a time
____________________________
for a time
I did not think of [our] colorless walls,
of the appointments arranged which caused
my throat to swell
or the sleep I would push farther
to feel you through my ears
for a time
there were no good-nights
numbness came after pushing you out
for hours
and mornings awoke with puffy red eyes
a cavity had grown in a space
previously occupied;
often cold, but never vacant
I felt as though I had birthed this
ruddy mess of a child
and abused his small pieces
he says he's grown up stronger
but for a time
the pain was ever-present
now it feels like a burn that
won't heal
always sore but never piercing
we feel it as we breathe in hours
every touch rips it raw
for a time blood rose to the surface
but now we remain gray
words comfort but words lie
for a time I cared to reduce our walls
to break down what held you in
a shell of darkness for years
now you have travelled
your distance increased, decreased,
increased again
no longer at my toes
waiting for the signal
I knock at your door
though for a time you thought I had lost my way
I recieve gallons of throbbing organs
hurting, bleeding
I cannot carry them all in my arms
a few fall as I run
feet push the pavement
you do not gather those lost
and for a time we are missing something
_01/25/04_____________________
callouses
____________________________
sometimes she's just silent
the tension rises
your last words stick in your throat
imagine touching her open lips
fingers through her hair
she stares intently at a fixed point
examine her eyes
wonder what they could be
trying so hard to say
would she let you
slip her shirt off
over her head
watch her rib cage
with nipples raised
an empty belly
her skin like milk
soft and warm but
unclean.
calm
but screaming for your
caustic fingers
is it better to say the wrong things
or to hurt in silence
broken
everything for her is broken
she does not care for this
sexuality burns through her
but seldom is released
what would you give for this
a capella and alone
still yearning for a voice
all of these silent days
_01/--/04_____________________
untitled
_____________________________
my eyes unfocus and stare at nothing
maybe an impossible mirror
in an attempt to reflect my thoughts
back at me
to understand a little better
every event in my head is always marked
by such an unfocused fixation of eyes
a look to the side
a swollen stomach
empty soul
nothing seems to fill that space
but is it even still here
who am I
_01/--/04_____________________
the kitchen closet
_____________________________
this section of floor is coldest
edge of my left pant leg is wet
uneven
put your head to the floor and
close your eyes
listen to the shifting
pull yourself back into
a frozen knob
get back in for three minutes
run out or you'll want it back too badly
every person you know is lying to you
one of them doesn't know it
I feel like I'm stuck somewhere with her
both staring at you
but you can't fire the gun
you can't do it
the only thing I can do is align myself with her
feeling like I'm only breathing to please you
cut me out and fold my edges over a cardboard stand
you'll feel the same
as long as it says what I say, smells how I smell
me is expendable
why does one love another?
for completion?
and what about the brain
I thought I lost you but you're here
making sure I don't enjoy any of this
we've all got our own personal demons
they get in the way
_01/--/04_____________________
blue milk
_____________________________
blue milk
I missed you in those shaking nights
I felt the wounds
I felt the wet of blood
I kept the hair in my eyes and the focus off
too many fucking nights
and you haven't known this hurt
too many thoughts to dread
the guns I imagined, the bullets' insertions
_01/06/04_____________________
in
_____________________________
little alice
pudgy, lovely
such a crazy kitten
you laugh at me
your nose's tip pecks into my nightmares
you are smiling, crazy crying
awake and staring, hating, wanting
caring too much
I know your sort
the kind that like to shelve their souls away in books
and use abstract wording to trick their eyes
why can't I hate you
your innocence burns into my skin
and brands me with your marks
I slide across you like a boiling pot
empty
leaving me raw with every touch
making me think my sentences like you
you don't dig your pain as deep in as I do
you don't live your life alone,
or do you
maybe one day you won't hear me
drive away like you've never felt me
though you've loved what I love
and your tears are more present
but mine are thicker
and my hands never choked you
but I still feel yours
I'd like to see you, stroke you,
and dig my nails in
_01/01/04_____________________
swerve
_____________________________
you're hanging out in my blind spot
swerve, I will hit you
a ring that turns my finger green
a ring of grass that folds from rain
volumized whispers scream at me
and ask if I remember
"I don't want to think about it, rhapsody"
your skirt flew up from wind
we complemented you
I complained to save us
and you fucking loved it
beautiful anorexic
brilliant euphuist
my favorite little girl in a little white box
a ring of songs you sang for me
a ring that makes your ears insane
you recited me to raw listeners
eyes aware, brains asleep
sexual sentences
about men and ladies
and fucking
how much could I have deciphered
you worshipped every word
I even started caring
you've probably bled and thought of me
were you naked, were you cold
do you miss me
do you miss my poetry
_11/20/03_____________________
maryanne and the loss of a camera manual
_____________________________
cover your hand with your sweatshirt
and lean your head on it
close your eyes until you snap back
walk the steps, forever
this time, this time you will not be fake
this time you will stay alive
stability is safety
but you need something else
glass shatters and breaks your heart
there's a monster outside my window
it's a dinosaur
it doesn't exist
who can tell what does
Roseanne. I was sixteen years old there.
Long brown hair.
every time your eyes averted
I was there to meet your stare
stray hairs gather on everything
they will eventually choke you
you will die a thick death
smothered with death, death smothers
I know when you say things that way
you're trying to add effect
why have I gotten all of your mannerisms down
while you don't know me at all
separation makes it easier to ignore
the fact that you are still breathing
I scratch at the page
I scratch at my arms
why do I hate these words
not enough
or else I would not write them
how would you know math if you did
not speak in numbers, think in numbers
trace over every house address
on the bus ride to school
once I thought that one was the best number
because I had forgotten about four
are you crazy?
I bought you everything you've ever been
proud to have bought yourself
every single day is the same
every single day is the same
we need some death
or some
cancer or atleast some pnemonia
I want someone to ask me how my day is
and actually care about what I'm going to
respond with. I just don't think I've ever
cared enough myself but I've noticed how
much other people talk and how much I
really am speechless most of the time anyhow
scratch away at this page
how many lines can you write
before you die
or are killed
or both
or neither
the radio you used to have and sing to
every day on the porch in the summer
the knobs broke off so it went in the garbage
nobody ever missed it but I was sad when it went
you had another camera
you had the booklet for it
you always had a problem with the focusing
so I bought you another one
you forgot every day of our lives
I have also
just different days than you
maybe we lived two divergent lives
maybe we never really even met
I was just really tired those days
will any of this ever be worth anything
do you ever want more homework because
you like the way the pen feels on the paper?
No, not anymore. I'm cutting corners these
days. I'm getting lazy but still making good excuses.
what if I kiss him
and he bites instead
how uncomfortable, but
perhaps not . . .
what is your favorite wrong answer
what is your favorite grammar mistake
who are you on Thursdays when it's
raining and mildly windy.
who are you on dinosaur days.
_08/16/03_____________________
the scent of events
_____________________________
empty. everything I've ever wanted. you. hypocrisy. eternal sadness and emotional nobility. depression. ambivalence. beauty and sleep. rose petals and leaves falling: white figures descending onto a black landscape. horror and fear. the isolation of a brain. the intense grace of insanity. the heartbreak of a song ending. the tears shed over misunderstandings. the millions of unspoken words thought by every single human alive and dead. how hard you tried to be better. the scent of events. the way an image sticks in your head and pulls out a feeling. the artificial tears that fall from movie watching. the heartwrenching idea that all of this means NOTHING.
_08/16/03_____________________
a lingering dream
_____________________________
my thoughts come and go like a
fairweather tide,
a paranoid-skitzophrenic
I can't see past my eyelids
or my
elitist egotism
forget what I've said
your lips are so hollow
mine ache hard for some element of
surface satisfaction
[do you want me or
have you
wanted me in the past?]
I cannot count the murders committed
hidden under my bed in black plastic with holes
forgotten
the scent absorbed into the walls
unnoticed except by the occasional visitor
_08/13/03_____________________
inconsistancy
_____________________________
an invisible wall between us
stops conversation when it gets too thin
keeps us considerably seperated
and makes sure we remain completely
unsatisfied
I watch your jawline
I watch as you stare indifferently away
I watch you become vulnerable
and need me more
and use me up
I will always make sure to
hide
what I want
you waste my time
we are wasted together
_06/19/03_____________________
wounded
_____________________________
inches of hair and a thin stomach
my hand graces your skin
the hairs raise; alert and tickled warm
swolen eyes lined with black
empty and broken brown
tired and worn weary
a volumized breath
shuddering, you lean towards me
arms and arms and
air
and time is passing; pain builds higher
everything
is slowed
you are so unsure
i am so amazed
i'll run my lips over your scars
i will heal you the best that i can
_05/25/03_____________________
revert
_____________________________
antediluvian
unimportance
hypocrisy on the front line
empty soul and an empty cup
breathing rhythmically to her tv set
politics are empty
ambitions prove unworthy
she stares for hours
she is not watching
looking at her shoes
tied like a noose
fucked in the ass like adolescence
fucked up just like you and your
motives
an old woman collapses in death
no one blinks
empty like a needle
apathy is control
_04/10/03_____________________
wooden
_____________________________
i heard a doorbell that represented giving up
limp and a pencil
my agile wrist
i have you
to touch me
i have you
as stationary and solid as you seem
i do not meet
cautionary guidelines
confined in a drawer that sticks
a strong cedar smell
sucks me out
lost
somewhere in your memory
somewhere among harsh books
a window, a ladder
the new way is much easier
quick adaptations
(i did not even realize i was making them)
_11/17/02_____________________
undeniably naive
_____________________________
all that I live and die for
good books and you
listening while you orgasm
tears gathering in the corners of eyes
tracing the lines on a smooth back
measuring the wide expanse of what lies on top of me
two sets of feet in socks
a head sleeping in my lap
the distinct smell of resting between a neck and a shoulder
_10/03/02_____________________
untitled
_____________________________
splits down hairless bodies
permeate my thoughts
let me
stick me
inside of you
you seem so clean
and you
roll your eyes back
so now we've got the
idea, yeah, we've got it
and we've got the
mouthpiece
but we don't know how to speak yet.
it's too late now to learn
_09/01/02_____________________
normal
_____________________________
film, worn film.
an unorganized catastrophe of voices.
(bring me here and save me)
scattered threads and pieces
a smooth woman is worn to dust.
(look into my eyes, I'm not coming back)
Trying to force a queer message
but all I get is halves and hang-ups.
All I get is "I know"s and
sighs.
Throw out your "well, I"s
and swallow your ears for a
few.
I wish I had an understatement
I wish for a pill to make me
stop.
Don't you wish you had an axis?
I want to be sinless but
masturbation makes me feel
normal.
Floating mess lacks
purpose.
Meaning drools out of pores. Wastes me.
[Long drawn out hallelujahs
and dark candle vigils]
Wandering the brain for excuses.
It explains.
Five paragraph essay
breaks me.
Wonder: Anything to even say?
complex companions pain me but flat ones have been previously emptied
_08/08/02_____________________
Gia
_____________________________
Don't you just wish you had someone around to kiss your swolen lips?
Cause I do.
Like a bitch.
I am not the only
Angelina Jolie
with some mental health disorders.
Okay so I lock the door a few times,
circle 'round the kitchen like a dizzy pup,
and check for the mail
because routines are comforting
in theory.
So what?
I pray to some
repition God
and drag the eraser over the whole page
without missing a corner.
Without missing
a spot. I am so
bored.
Will I ever be able to enjoy anything without reminding the spinal column?
It seems easy on this
sexy-freakin' diary page
but not in this
Raynaud's afflicted
hand.
Fill in some blanks
and pretend to be something
mysterious.
It's better than tapping at a piano
and viewing me throb up the stairs.
_07/27/02_____________________
ill
_____________________________
I am cold and antiseptic like the smooth bathroom tiles in yr basement I am the passive caregiver to a muted and diseased generation who know what they are talking about but are too tired to move I am the female counterpart to your whiny insecurities I am. Not. Your whore. I have got no reasons to tell you not to stick your machines of useless information up through me and out of my other ends so I let you use me as your stimulus. You pass over the raised and weak parts of me in an attempt to make me know you are aware but in such a manner so as not to make me throw your intentions into a bowl of bloody afterbirth and watch you dissolve. I stroke your skin and your holes and indents as your push me away but utter that you want me closer. Tell me why I find comfort in being disturbing and vulgar to spread a foundation over my own stinging mortality show me why I do not have a gender in this volcano of sensual gases make me know why blood always drips in a downward direction eat my purposes and sift them through your casing. Why am I so untidy with words and why do you fumble over my awkward breasts why do I have so many naked bruises and why can't I kiss a girl like I kiss you? Do you have me figured out like you think you do and more importantly, am I that easy to be figured? Bedtime is an easy time but waking disturbs the comfort cycle beds are forgiving but oxygen is not. I am terminally ill.
_06/22/02_____________________
sand & comfort
_____________________________
seafoam quivering;
the ocean spits and
swallows you.
thick and whole.
susan reaches for my hand amongst
the scattered waves
and we drift along
with the tides.
salt stings our
open wounds
we are bleeding bodies
dotting this landscape
while stars emerge onto
the tangled midnight--
pushing and holding
us down
and floating us through
existence.
he motions through the
crashing, but only
we know how
warm
we are, cradled by
the arms of our
mother sea,
sticking us together,
merging our broken
pieces.
_03/18/02_____________________
jesus christ
____________________________
cheap
sex
love is sanity and I am
not.
there yet.
completions of lines in brains of
words of sayings in rhymes of
living a life of wicks and
winding.
choke slightly
on faint metal
wires, dead christian
musings, and sickle-
celled me.
mute man speaks in subtle
clicks, makes your head
contort;
I lick up your
secretions
and drain them
through the
fatal film.
_02/13/02_____________________
a swiftly tilting planet
____________________________
Involuntary heartbeats delay our deaths and still you are the one I have lived with all these days with your sly cap and numerous cartons of desolate habits sadly consisting of jerking ways and carcinogen frowns.
It is warm here in the lonely mix of things like socks in washing machines I'm getting tired of this cycle somewhere in your midst I feel left out in the solemn winter breezes with your lack of a dog and your pat on the self-righteous shoulder.
I should be one of those rare art forms without a bed to call its own without a true name to write an social security papers without a face to get postered into people's heads as that simplistic little piece of a gloom shattered window.
And you know I've never truly cared of the poorest ones of coffin-covered streets corners only of the scars down your left mindset sweeping away at your insides and the beige bra not yet having been cleaned by a mother who is not sure just why she places her bare feet on the bathroom floor while the shower runs for hours.
The veins are popping out quicker than they want to and long hair is something to be valued in these days of fluids without cylinders to suck through for your sisters only sister who thinks she can still act five and not get a firm slap on the neck each damned morning.
Holes in leafs of slices of these white canvases are becoming more important than ever seemed possible and I've been sitting here for seventeen hours staring at the undone tip of an overused pen.
_01/20/02_____________________
a meeting of casual acquaintances
____________________________
I'm mingled into wires
and that one
little gun
holding its breath.
beeps go off
somewhere below my head
to rationalize :
feeding time,
nap time,
and fishtank.
time.
and we've;
I've fisht with you before
I think. . . your
grandma brought
with ice cream, I remember the white deck
somewhat
but no fish
always only
crabs.
inside my eyes. sort
of.
live like
this
for how long +
god is such a trendy
sonofabitch
with his new
leather.
can't)
nail skin is
picking off.(
uptight
reiterations.
I've noticed. so
say it again and again
and;
hardcore is
peacefull and
I find comfort in
some sort of
choppy exterior
of drowsiness and
sedation.
"I'm good. you
?"
_12/29/01_____________________
louis
____________________________
you seem slightly stale,
as a withering cigarette
smokes
against your forefinger
slowly.
all I see is darkness and you --
staring me through the pupils
down like a bottomless
raging
storm.
hair is pulled back but still down and you slip it
inside your hands
and watch carefully
not to burn me
with the light of your marlboro stump.
my lips ache with want for your skin,
and you notice --
subtly changing the tone of your eyes
from a "yeah"
to a more sympathetic
"yeah, babe. . . I know."
kisses endured for moments and bodies touch. . .
the gap seems to be trying to fill itself:
a quiet attempt
at an impossible dream.
you taste so rainy
and gloom filled and
sad.
but you know how I am
so it's still okay.
you sit for intervals of hours
inside me
during a neverending
drag.
my eyelashes leak
with a yearning for sleep;
I slip away,
while you remain unmoved until morning.
_12/11/01_____________________
my life as a pseudo-everything
____________________________
you are so painfully expressive
and I need a fix in this we are so dead together
because I don't feel like it anymore
sleeping is boring
and sitting makes me tired
standing makes me feel like stabbing westward, a perfect circle, belle and sebastian. . .
these tunes we sing to
these melodies we sell our brains to
they rip us slowly into puzzles
and make us think we're more complex
?
there is no point to this
prick me endlessly
so I can get rid of these
numb
nerve endings
and I've written this a thousand times before
in showers
on keyboards
in that small gap of conscienceness between life and sleep
and you've heard me say this a thousand times before
because I'm old
and you know it
I'm sorry
_11/05/01_____________________
The Reincarnation of Jesus
____________________________
boy regurgitated his fish into a sea of sinkwater,
and he had too many thornbush-fed cuts,
he drove in back seats; he died a little on mon-days,
and the others he just didn't wake up.
_11/03/01_____________________
bran cereal
____________________________
And I eat bran cereal, not for the nutrition, but for the bland taste of it; I am bland, myself. And I don't know why seconds don't count much anymore, I used to feel like there was so much time left over, so much time to spare. Now it's all used up, I'm always late for the next hour to come. Pieces of people and places and events are coming through in dreams although I can't quite put any of them together. They are separated in my mind but somehow I feel like they must be connected. Car rides aren't as long as they were when I could actually fall asleep during them. My life is not one being lived by me anymore, I live in a world that I once lived in, when days were longer and I looked forward to TV shows and family dinners. Now some days when I wake up I reach for a plaid uniform skirt to button up the side and pull on navy socks and slip on low black shoes. Sometimes I even find myself searching for that skirt before I can realize that my mother's thrown it away, there's no need for days like those anymore. Life is different. We all are different. Pills help me be the person I could never be, but in between the sleepy days and calm mornings I wish I had that paranoia back. The paranoia is my youth; and I am no longer who I was. I wish I could be someone else: a comfortable girl who can eat lunch and run down driveways without pain. A child who can sleep under her father's arm, and never know the smell timid fear and tears.
_9/23/01______________________
acoustic
____________________________
i cannot hold you close enough for my comfort and your space
I want legs rubbing stomachs touching backs arched... deadened by the sound of a backfired cadillac strumming down the pavement in aching measures
he plays me like a six-string
with stability, pain, and precision
he touches me like his bothered skin
with cold spattered softness
in between these dimly lit marlboro dragged moments we are mixing: smoky, calm and sleepy, yet willing to speak in louder terms
we can be alive together in our coughed down drops of numb tongues
we can inhale ourselves into taps and strayed eyes we can die and be happier than all those dead petals we've pulled out of our own blossoming phonified personalities
my mother says you're too old for my mouth
and you are but you're also too young for my head so we're neatly folded into closets tucked back and short breaths
we coat ourselves with heavy airs
we salivate on bended straws
we dig our holes
we leave, we twitch
we're fine
_8/21/01______________________
You want a confession? Have it.
____________________________
and I just saw someone coming down the stairs
but there was not
someone
coming
going
it's late you know
it's early to some we're sort of in the middle here
I hear your video game bleeps
It's all
in your
head and
you know it
know it.
blunder blunder
beyond slippage
if
th
ef
ee
li
ng
mo
ve
sy
ou
try
and
re
ad
it
sl
ow
ly
so are you leaving or tying me
together
down
like metal ball chains
cropped and chopped and
pre
ss
ed
quiet like a SNAPing turtle SNAPs
it's quiet but not meant to be so you know that damn animal wants for its intentions to be heard at once or why else snap to get attention at those who only want it for themselves to begin end start with
this is
the
e
f
f
e
c
t
of a drunken day a sailing day
where i'd have been thought
pleasurable, favoritistic
my walls are swimmy swimmy waving back and down at me
and whats more you say you've got to get ready
don't you think i know my lies my lies they are my own lines
these lines I rip them every day in innumerable ways
this I can state and say
so plainly
so.
unapreciation makes the world go round
kick mine on it's side and spin it's axis towards
a lesbian beat poet who knows where it's at
she can pound on my world until the percussion
is just plain tired.
tired and wondering
what the hell you mean.
you want me say
you want me SAY?
on your knees boy
I ain't got time if I got anything it's not never ever this.
and you've got to
pain me
to explain me
youknowthatright and you've got to
seed me
weed me out
to describe quite
accurately just
how my cookie
crumbles and why
it does so
in every
which way
there is no container for which to contain myself into
there is no four letter word to desribe what I'm feeling
there is no printer capable of fathoming the idea
of printing out every quirk I've got in this head and postering
it up for N Y to the C to peer ME? too bad, lad, coulda
got you what you never had. I
think it's time to find a line of meridian between
open pupils
and shut down
eyes
_8/8/01______________________
the self-analytical queen
____________________________
and I feel strangely quixotic with these twitches
needs to see through walls
and check out what's hiding behind them
are breaking my head into dirt, containing
swirls and rushes of this and that
and voices: so descriptive that I can't sleep
people are milky and I am too blunt
I need a bed
buy me some medication and
I'll give you every bit of my sanity
because med's cover up the lack thereof
we can drift into a new world of anesthetics,
eat water and choke down pills,
be more silent when sitting down to bed,
and cover up our sadness with psychosis; cracking
I can't get a picture to fit in my frame
I thought I heard a dog barking
but it was just a scratch in the tape
I've got a bruise from my healer
"you know what this spot is, don't you"
I can't write a line without whining
I can't play a chord without slipping
I can't kill a sheep without flinching
and dad can't seem to understand
why I can't stand up without leaning on his wife
_7/25/01______________________
red high-heels
____________________________
how can we talk like we are sane
as dripping pain and droning rain
eat us like a midday luncheon
your choice you fuck her like a man
your drugs they heat you like a fan
I swear I've never been so real like you
her gorgeous breasts you want to taste
you stroke the life out of her waist
she can't give you what you think I can
your blood and sex does not supply
my talking walls do not reply
we can be the perfect pair of shoes
_7/15/01______________________
a love poem I
____________________________
eating, eating. . .
when am I eating?
you are DROWNED
idiocraticly permanent
definitely. . .
patient.
we stand so near!
but you are
away
don't give me EYES
you keep yourself just out of my reach
you give me a plethora of reasons
then break them
offensively. . .
we walk forth and back
rendering death and melons
we are staring cold separate,
I cry.
_7/15/01______________________
a love poem II
____________________________
he holds me from far up front,
makes me feel fine though cuts and scratches.
we are indefinitely definite
in ways that I idolize you epitimilly,
we are together yet strangely apart;
away, but I feel near to you.
I let everything pass me quickly by
like you
with my religion.
_7/3/01______________________
mocha fraps & leather straps
____________________________
you have a green shirt
that you wear sometimes on wednesdays
you eye me
merely
you stand like I sit
you play as I rip
my jeans
are fringed
cold comfortable
I feel temperate
between the doorway
your cotton is never warm
you sip to a rhythm
I sip to an undeniable routine
_6/17/01_____________________
steady motions
____________________________
You look better in midst's of twelve o'clocks;
moving with me back and forth in rooms spread equally apart,
in subtle knowledge that we will all soon forget
knowing each other on our sweeping nights like these.
You sample my sounds among the machines in your ears
and press me closer into your ever-beating chest;
whispering gently for me to hug you back in the same condescending motion.
Pain folds me into half as you become each thing you feel,
I realize the guilt of knowing I am to blame for your emotions.
Music becomes an object
only to be used and thrown away
once we only need
each other
to dance.
_6/12/01_____________________
Kevin in all of his sincerity
____________________________
bleach me out until I'm sick and limp
I want to let this lace fall clumsily around my weak arms
this deafening silence is no longer awkward
it only fills my ears with tired pain
I
am
the
epitome of deadness
you
are
too
proud to love me
while I stand here in this mess of people
loving you more than words can say
kill me slowly
kiss me as I wither
_6/11/01_____________________
mouths and eyelids
____________________________
unconsciously
we stare
into each other
without knowing
that our eyes are
locked together
I love you so
but you do not
love me back
and every night
I fall to sleep
while my brain
fades into scenes
of you replaying
inside of my head
I breathe you in
but do not swallow
so you will
linger
a little longer
_5/19/01_____________________
you're lacking in the together area
____________________________
I feel so damn poetic in this shirt
its whole collar massive mess makes me seem cleaner
these rolled jeans tight with their small elusive hips
make me feel strangely quiet through deafening screams
I'm dancing with my hands.
he slit you from your belly to your sternum
for your lack of sex
he pieced you apart in bags and cars
because your barbecue gravestone is tired
fifty one polo shirt avenue we drive by
staring into the backyard
staring into the dead bricks
knocked away to the side of the house
strewn over the grass
like excess
_5/13/01_____________________
and he called the darkness night
____________________________
every meat in this house is purple raw with living death while I
break
in
pieces
easily worn I ache so hard and wait
for someone else to finally ache the same
I enjoy these beginnings of hours which give me a second to feel that I have a few minutes to spare.
These days turn into years quicker than I can see; these people turn into phonified new versions of themselves while I stay the same through all this time.
C asual death is nicely spread across these virgin eyes.
A ll of my days are pseudo movies with blood-covered endings.
L ying mouths I preach "please don't despise me, idolize my words"
L atter moments I'll remember them when these clocks decide to break.
M any days I've rested.
E vening came and morning followed. This last day came and went.
_5/7/01______________________
nissan sentra
____________________________
I enjoy this frozen air as it pains deep inside my bones,
I like the rigid feelings of this cold night air.
My comfort is endless in heat-deprived cars
where I sit hugging my body as tired nerves endure the hurt.
I silently sing to the radio alone in this head
gradually fracturing my pieces on the long ride home.
_5/2/01______________________
words
____________________________
I can't breathe in this dirty air we need a release I need a break from awkward reality I think that we are too closely separated in this mix of things to be truly alone I make believe to be the saddest one you are the prettiest boy but I am not the best at faking sadness and I am happy in the times you are near happy in the times that you are not I like your voice on the phone we don't have to meet in order to be deep and mix together we can dump over our lavalamps and glow in the fakeness of their beauty in time we start to realize this strangeness among us in corners we speak darkly in dawn times we blister our eyes from the newly rising suns spiderwebs give us beds to sleep in separated heads cardboard is not the softest fabric I can wear your hair is just the right shade for my hands I'm caught in the middle of some invisible beings that are sticking to me steady fast without a grip of any motion no trouble I meant to cause it contrary to what I know I have no brain to tell you about things there is no break for this mind there is nothing for me to hold on to as this windy ocean wipes me completely away
_4/30/01_____________________
household observations
____________________________
our lamps are metal but they seem so much softer
coiled notebooks need more lines
plastic flowers give the illusion of a good scent
cold outlets are bored with lack of ions
each click makes my body raw
I feel like death and pepper
_4/21/01_____________________
can't you ___ me?
____________________________
Metal showers hot like ice,
piano proves my error twice.
I'm a bleeding girl more than you think,
I blame you for not noticing invisible things:
gorgeous my eyes are too dark for your likes
empty lenses show you're not the glasses type.
Awkward tears you make me taste
I cannot hug you back in length
Now I wait for church for eyes and thoughts;
but my God gives me no strength.
I need a fix.
I need a fix.
I need some drugs to intermix.
("I'm dead" I said within my head the bed is red I do not dread the way I spread
across the grayish spinning ceiling overhead)
_4/21/01_____________________
I p(a)ine for you
____________________________
maybe I should kill you
pull out my teeth and use
yours in place of my own
lick them, feel them over
and over with my tongue
you're in my mouth finally
I can taste you I am not
guilty of anything love
is no wrong against
you I hope you take it as
a complement it's good when
people want you inside of
them I think that
you'd be nicer in me than
far away and cold
without
_4/17/01_____________________
city corners
____________________________
I said to him you have beautiful eyes and he said you have beautiful nail polish and I silently laughed at my familiar stupidity while seeing that he could have thought of me only as high as my blue midnight tone.
I said wow we really have a lot in common and he said yeah we both like to hide our feelings while sitting out on city corners under gnat surrounded street lamps and I leaned against him as I swatted away a few flying creatures passing my face.
He stared at me and put his arms around my neck resting his arms on my shoulders and told me to close my eyes as he proceeded to put his lips against mine in a restful way letting them linger there without motion. I tried to kiss him but he moved his head to the side slightly when I did so and moved his hands down to my arms. Spring winds must have influenced his body he told me that the ring I was wearing was his and as I looked down at it he pulled it off of me and stood up I blinked surprised as his sudden need for his ring my ring surrounded my head he lightly tapped my leg with his foot and motioned above where I was sitting he walked away slowly I put my hair behind my ears holding back tears I looked above my head to see a street lamp surrounded by gnats I cried for days I killed a few weeks with thoughts I saw him again I never said anything
_4/--/01_____________________
palindrome is bleeding
____________________________
my baby's shelter walls
are decaying down through
today I took a shot
you said only liquor counted
I disagreed, I humbly sighed
we've always got our euthanasia
I can't breathe that lions oil
(I am backwards, hardly violated)
pisces with a green eye (deprived)
water says we all will once be alive
I am covered down, misconstrued, protracted
measured by my ability to swallow
this hypoallergenic oxygen
shoved at me
like seasons.
_4/--/01_____________________
say it ain't so
____________________________
the walls are white/ the walls are white
stuck up (hair) black. (black?) black! black...
four earrings. you wear them perfectly (perfectly so well).
new chairs? oh, I feel tall. inhalants? inhalers. (rapidly weezing)
watches cause apologies, brooklyn sister needs you...
[you're derogatory you're deragatory] "stop apologizing"
_3/31/01_____________________
in moments unplanned
____________________________
in moments unplanned
we have barely seen breath of
perfect timing; coincidentally
intertwined thoughts, empathetic signs
of growing fonder of each
others habits.
we grow numb to undertones of sleep in this
rainy darkness. days specked
across with tired movements easily
interpreted as lazy opinions: decreasing
at a steady rate.
uncomprimisably daring hair,
subtle caresses mix
in our warm surrounded
dream. air is comfortable;
we sink in.
_3/29/01_____________________
vegetables
____________________________
do you fall to bed with cumbersome memories
broken glass along your feet we stick it to the wall the wall
the wall is showing boredom as we start to speak
no sex until we are buried in we can see the moon in moments like this
such a waste of your time because seconds are suddenly needed
I speak without batteries you dance without a brain
I cut my legs up and down and bleed tug rip them out
I find you declining to laugh at me and suggestions
to climb into this tired world of sheets and sleep it off
_3/25/01_____________________
and she's almost crawling on her knees
____________________________
holding arms and backs and wrists colorless
we are without each other in time
we will see the point of thinking outloud in rhythmic breaths
"i'm almost drowning in her sea"
beauty we sit in corners warm but chills lie underneath
the rug in it's flat personality lifeless dull faces we know
it's love because you like my house better than your own
clocks don't mind the constant re-setting over and over
you fall over my words you break the sharpest pieces
we wonder if this is peaceful cause seconds go unnoticed
we are constantly humbled maybe we should be including more
embarrassment in our days but it's fine when we tear up each
other's eyes are showing signs of remorse for dawn
remembrance of yesterdays words worth writing down
we're like my cracked mirror on the bedroom wall
we never fix anything we're hanging here by a decaying string
_3/20/01_____________________
home
____________________________
this house
is my only beauty
though
it has proven to be
my shyest burden
I wish I had
a loving-robot daddy
to bring me home again
this house is my only beauty though it has proven to be my shyest burden I wish I had a loving-robot daddy to bring me home again again again (you don't) again again (you won't)
[please don't bruise me again]
_3/16/01_____________________
lemon-lime
____________________________
there was a less than modern-day girl
who adorned her room with simplistic opinions
and woke up at six to drink peppermint tea each morning of the year
she noticed how her kitchen often smelled of lemon-lime
and how her fingers never could create
the art she used to know
(therapeutically).
the buzz-zip-rush of the stone woven streets
never appealed to her purposely self-depriving mind,
and she found beauty at great heights --
in the sorrowful depths of human ugliness, so close to home.
she longed for lonely open spaces
to familiarize and associate herself with,
but she never wished for neon lights for which to lose consciousness;
she was never a sexdrugsrock&roll kind of girl.
In confident tongues she would explain to herself
that she would not be scared of leaving and dying and decaying herself right up
and she'd never be scared of living blandly like she'd always done so easily.
From these uninspiring two-sided conversations
she intelligently decided (without much debate),
that thoughts were not worth the effort
and all she needed was a vacant bench to sit on;
to watch the skyline as her feelings intersected
and her messy head could swallow itself up quite nicely.
_3/15/01_____________________
art
____________________________
change the words around
and you're SO DAMN BEAUTIFUL
keep me quiet, I'm sorry!
I always act too normal...
we need to be the ones to be
respected admired hated LOVED
show yourself to be clever and
after a few brief words you'll learn that
we love you so come and stay a while
oh yeah that's love, we know her well.
I've noticed styles improving
personalities changing
these nice girls becoming nicely depressed.
right on time, we're all complaining at six o' clock.
join us if you will or won't we REALLY don't care.
give us some ego, some "talent" some PAIN
we throw it around and watch as it's art.
_3/10/01_____________________
just my luck
____________________________
laugh for me
you can cry at me
you can live,
kill yourself
and die at me
the rhythm's in my head
the kingdom's in my hand
I love you, though,
you just don't understand
my poison's invisible
in your cup of folgers
(warm me up)
my body will be the hole
in this tightly woven air
this tissue's burning my skin
we like the reality
(just my luck)
we're normal when we have
these public love affairs
murder me in my favorite chair
the killer knows my scent is rare
my thoughts that I am glad to share
are too far-fetched for you to care
poems written on paper that is easily torn
tears shed on on dress-shirts that are easily worn
we mourn the death of those who are yet to be born
oblivious to new life already forlorn
_3/03/01_____________________
focus
____________________________
This birthday I made no wish at my flickering flames
Saturday night was sitting at my kitchen table
wondering why my head felt so much better
when my eyes were out of focus
I could keep them open for hours
staring at what only appeared to be nothing
I subconsciously hoped for love intertwined with arms
peace entangled into slow-dancing sleep
I wished on the ashes burned out on a paper plate
and I slept as an invisible martyr for pain
and I choked on tears that never came
and I died inside and never got out alive
and I will always
be poetic.
_3/02/01_____________________
aim
____________________________
you love your pet
that pesky chubacabra
always running in the attic
while mum sleeps down below
lovingly stroke it while scaring the children
with views on this damned world
it's nonchalant lifestyle
and our screwed up deviations
have these thoughts been in our family
have we had clever generations
of these mindless conversations
you like to start at dinnertime
get your gun
go kill the mayor
your map's planned out
of his new york city mansion
what are you planning to do sir?
where are you storing your weapon sir?
can I confess that I think just like you sir?
smoke as much of it up as you can
"oh no, I gotta change my shirt!"
build a facade for youself as a
sex-crazed druggie maniac
who lives in the back bedroom
with your BIKE and posters
of women you'd like to kill
undressing and dying there
it fascinates you how much
you can affect your father in one night
you can do the poetry thing
you can strum a few strings
christ wouldn't know you well
a past word sometimes stings
deadening words in the warm air
bloody fingertips are listening to me
listen to my CD's in your corner office
as you slice up your own body
I agree, you can't use it anymore
take out that little gun you've got
shoot your brother, his wife, your mother
leave me alive because there's a slight change
I'd empathise
and I do
and now
we can be friends.
_2/24/01_____________________
lukewarm
____________________________
I hate wet skin, yet a warm body delivers a love that many cannot.
Your transparent drops run down my back,
washing away old, dead feelings who've stuck to my skin.
Your clean lukewarm pieces travel past my breasts, accentuating the curves,
showing these accusing walls that I really do mean well.
You run over my lips as I kiss your bland-tasting existence;
into my mouth as I fall in love with feelings that
don't make me seem guilty when I'm not as pure as the average.
I love you even though you laugh at me because you're only a metal head on these tiles.
You honestly don't mind me or care anything of these thoughts.
I smile because I don't mind at all.
_2/23/01_____________________
fourteen years doesn't mean anything
____________________________
So often lately in public places I find myself wishing I could cover my head up with my shirt and be comfortable in the familiar scent; I never was one for crowds. My skin smells like sleeping (I'd like to do that easily in my own skin for one night) even though it doesn't smell like home like my bathroom reminds me of mutilation because of the strong scent of shower products that had not been used long ago as I laugh in my own pain again and again until I realize it's late and I should sleep and pretend I'll be better if I do so. I keep getting more and more confused every day thinking these things I've known for so long are leaving me and soon I won't know anything like I used to know everything. I wonder if I'll even ever want to hurt a little extra each day when autumn comes again. I'm trying to collect all of these hunger pains for my favorite habit and put them away until it's safer to show my mirrors these hardly parallel friends on my pale skin again. I'm actually hoping I last that long, I can withstand the urges to see these ublivious people cry for me, until I can gain sorrow again, even if it is fake and rehearsed. As much as I hope time slows down until I can get together, I wish it would go faster past the summer so I can be myself without hiding my feelings from this corrupt society that thinks they're fine and I'm not. When the time comes where my nose is stuffed to the point where I don't remember this familiar scent, my eyes swell to the point where these tears miss my face, my veins dry up and I can't even bleed for myself anymore, I'll use up every piece of paper I know of and share every feeling I have because soon after I'll be gone and will regret not letting you know what I thought everyone was saying to me in our silence.
_2/22/01_____________________
wednesday
____________________________
I smell like cigarettes and I wish I had a raincoat to wear right now
my mouth tastes like parliament's, I can't force myself to bleed
All my friends are turning purple except the 12th addition
everytime I smell my shower and it's pieces I'm reminded of this
waste of my time that, despite my speeches, isn't helping at all, it's no therapy
Maybe the boy across the street saw me with my open window
putting it out more than once just because I like to make sure of the ashes
I wish the wind would blow out instead of in and I didn't have to wash away the scent
My brain, my head, just feels like pain inside a bland personality
I smudge my makeup when I put it on because the shower washes it away
I want to look like sleep and overdoses and prostitution
and I really don't mind not having anyone around.
_2/19/01_____________________
ben
____________________________
Would you touch me after touching her?
Casual keys and well-kept song books
Don't even need the notes, only the sounds
Amaze me with your poetic grace
You play the piano with such clean hands.
_2/19/01_____________________
beautiful lies
____________________________
Pain
And your eyes
Mix so well
With my tears
Blurring the edges
And distorting my view
We need
A common ground
To rest apon
Can I rest my lips
Against your mouth
Cover up my head
And sleep inside
Pull your petals
From my flower
And watch me
As I try to
Identify
With you, and
Empathise
In your deeply-cut
Invisible wounds
_2/19/01_____________________
your saturday night
____________________________
As we drove that night you smelled of the beach.
Scents of sand, ocean salts, and seaweed
mixed with your hair as I leaned over to change the radio station.
With the windows down I could feel the wind, I could taste the air,
and it was cold, yet it was this that made you draw me closer to you.
With one hand on the wheel and the other on my shoulder
I felt I should say something but you looked at me as if to say, "it's fine,"
"don't speak and nothing will get awkward."
So I didn't and we drove and my hair was blowing all over the place,
you tucked it down under your arm and I should have felt scared;
you knew exactly what I wanted;
but I just felt better about you and me in that car together.
And even though we had no relationship, no words, no past
I felt better about you than I did with anyone else
even though I knew you didn't feel the same about me.
You had other friends and other girls and other plans
and I was just your Saturday night
but I didn't care at all and I don't think I ever will
because I've never loved anyone so much
in silence and the scent of the sea.
_2/12/01_____________________
pictures
____________________________
i'm getting careless with these metals
that have decided to let me bleed quicker than before
close your eyes and see what happens
oh no, where's the mop?
in conversation we go over the issue of pain
i'm numb to my habits now
and if i cry it's because i'm such a cliche, and nothing more
i've never cared that you were worse off
always just elevated my problems to the size of my lungs
hoping i'd stop breathing by accident
"oh my god, look what happened to my leg!"
oh my god, look what happened to mine
we're not having any trouble conforming into what we'd rather be
soon you'll be able to break us in half with a tap on the shoulder
soon i'll come to terms with my hollow head
soon we'll all be fake enough for pictures
_2/10/01_____________________
videocassettes
____________________________
you wonder if you ever did
give money to inevitable death
you'd be able to postpone it;
reduce the numbers; shock the masses?
so sad because we've lost cabinets of videocassettes
holding husk wise-cracks and dairy-produced laughs
that our minds would have independently chosen to lose otherwise.
wishing you were less appealing aloud always is a lie
though attention hardly equals happiness
depression, love, death, pain, and years should never gain my respect
honor the dead who never did anything great, just wanted to impress their girl
i can easily show you that fake feelings can never quite be detected by a room full of them.
so many people are their own worst
and so many people try too hard to be somebody else's.
_2/08/01_____________________
crooked frames
____________________________
metal cold
i wish i
had one
we're withering
dead flowers
killing time
i never wrote
murder
peace, pain
procrastination
and pieces of you
i don't want to pick up
in confessions
i am
let down
falling
it never ceases
to surprise me
when i never
stop
what's so bad
about
goddamn
you have to stop it joyce
so much
pressure
lie through
my teeth;
meaningless
(make believe) you care
show us
crooked new frames
the next day
i wanted to
show you
scare you
bleed onto you
but there's
too many
new distractions
to talk
anymore
_2/05/01_____________________
arms
____________________________
when you fall asleep next to me
don't be surprised to wake up to the sound of my skin ripping
i'll always carry my pain on my necklace
i bet they'd laugh if they even knew
it's funny because one of these days
i won't be around to see what tomorrow brings
stupidy drives me to ask questions like,
"excuse me, sir? i may not be around to see tomorrow, so could you do me a favor?"
"could you ask everyone i know what they think of me so i might have a reason to stay around?"
and every color looks red to me
i've developed a film over my eyes apon request
everything's so deep and thick
and i can't ignore these urges anymore
please take me home with you
hold me for a long long time
cradle my bleeding body and don't say a word
and i'll hope it's not asking to much
to let me die in your arms
_2/03/01_____________________
batteries
____________________________
I hate the silence between songs.
One second I'm porcelain, fading away in my skin
and the next, I'm back listening to your views on government
and the tick of our broken clocks showing the world our secret
that we were never really doing anything all this time.
And we'd rather pretend we needed each other than fix the clocks in the bathroom.
The moments I'm fading back scare me because the life, the motion,
of anything but my headphones might overtake my mind
and tell me to stop.
I won't forget to cry later.
I'll write it on my hand because sympathy is always a plus
if people are around to see.
Drifting and floating isn't all bad
but trying my drugs will only make you sicker.
You don't even need chemicals to go into your red-painted convulsions.
I'm envying you as my layers of skin feel as they're coming undone onto the floor.
It's okay, my music's still on, everyone will only see the dead girl on the couch
when this machine runs out of batteries.
And I'd buy the ones with extra life,
but we have a lot extra
from ignoring our clocks.
_2/02/01_____________________
drowning
____________________________
hold me in my consciousness,
be my fake retro obsession
grow your hair long and know my thoughts
and please me like no one else ever does
stay a while and watch me bite my nails
over you, i'm over you, i'm over being over you
wet lips and cold hands are all i need
it doesn't matter if the wind is biting
and you can bite my lips for me if you want
can i focus in on your imperfections
i'd prefer to eat away your perfect pieces
she'd never cry; she wasn't like that
you weren't her skin as you are mine
secretly want my envy for me
and try not to drown in my shallow requests
_1/31/01_____________________
boquet
____________________________
sway with me tonight so we can be timeless
i swear i wish I knew how to dance by myself
sweet dreams of singing me to sleep and black licorice
make me indivisible by four, as you multiply me by zero
invisible to your imperitive dominance
unharmed by unjustified thoughts of love
take me a polaroid; watch me tilt my head to the side
show me how you think i'd like to be perceived
make my body sick and YOU tell ME to live
spend your time and money and buy me a meaningless boquet
roses are red (sometimes)
violets are blue (only not)
sugar is sweet (and makes me sick)
and so
do you
_1/27/01_____________________
"more than one way to skin a cat"
____________________________
plastic bracelets hang awkwardly
my thinning arms breaking
back pain in my frozen body
and i'm weak from
lack of something
green picks
guitar licks
and i saw you avoiding my eyes
biting thickness
will never break it
take a breath and twist your neck
a-round
making fun of the freaks
never noticing
the irony
surprise me when
hypocritical words
mean less than
critical smiles
twitches eating away at my eyes
fingers straightening eyelashes
i'd never be able to
compose myself enough
smear the eyeliner
and wipe the red off
and cough
i always cough
14 years and i'm still
numb enough for you
4 kisses
or is it
sixteen
enough for the even numbers
times four in my arms
dad says
there's more than one way to skin a cat
and mom says
put it in a pot of boiling water. . . and?
i laugh hysterically
he bites his tongue
like always
and she's too skinny to hold
i might break
her bones
if you'd break mine
you'd know there wouldn't be
room for forgiveness
mom i'm sorry
i just can't eat soup anymore
my tired is happy
and sick is alright with me
_1/22/01_____________________
tim's bible in black
____________________________
life with background music
is the only life i want to live
i'd write a song for you
if i was inspired by something
like jesus christ in my bedroom
he said it was all yellow
what if i don't like yellow
and i'm not gothic because
my favorite color is more of a black
than blue or red or green or pink
crack my knuckles
in a dazed fashion
when you tell me it's not normal
to like black
and listen to this "music"
and write poetry she doesn't understand
and quote pseudo literature in conversation
and not eat because I fit better that way
I fit in better.
twirl my rings and dings
and eat my heart out
one little scar means
songs are worth singing in public
don't sit next to me
i don't know how to behave
until i've thought about it
i need to sleep with the guy
who gives out extra time for free
tell tim i'd like to have a few words
if he's not too busy staring at the wall
tell tim i'd like him to explain
why he sits so close to the front in church
tell tim i'd like him to show me his eyes
and recite me his rendition of the bible
_1/21/01_____________________
she said
____________________________
blood on a table
that no one will see
means nothing
and it means nothing to me
I kill myself
hours, days, tick by how fast?
work in the hands
of children who know better
do the pointless parts
of your new-found routine
and no one will see
why I will cry soon after
learning definitions
of metal and heat
and words like "fruitless"
that don't even fit
(into my day)
the effort of mandatory
shouldn't be
pushed apon
with so much pain
she said it didn't have to be
perfect
(does anyone know me
anymore?)
rip out the lines
and start it again
I didn't try
to make it this way
she won't know
these tears
anyway
blood down my arms
with no one to see
means
nothing
blood on a table
that everyone sees
means everything
and it means everything
to me
_1/12/01_____________________
quarter moon
____________________________
i find myself
eating away
at dead teeth
showing only
the agony
of my quarter moon
and sinking in
my shallow deep-end
while i try to ressurect
old, well-done tears
there's an assortment of colors
to choose from
but i never saw
a red one
maybe
they don't like
to blend in
maybe
they don't like
getting lost in my skin
i'm a well-oiled
machine
of self-pity
that i hope
to bestow
on you
if i lose
customers
i'll stop functioning
give me thirty-three and one third
of your day
(just for fun)
it astounds me that
it only
hurts when
my thumbs-up
is rubbing
my lower cheek
sharp is
all i need
from a boy
and safety pins
are my
new best friend
_1/11/01_____________________
lipgloss
____________________________
water makes me lose my composure
i always need to fix
my coateyeshairhandsskirt
with only the best intentions,
and the hope
that i had a reason to do so
in the first place
or in the second.
someone
will notice me
for once
does he know i attempt to
play guitar
make myself over... and over
sing along with the radio
stare for hours at what i cannot see
am myself... when he's not around..
bite the skin around my nails
because i don't like excess anything
i smooth my lip gloss
out with my pinkie finger
because i like to tell myself
someone will be caught staring at me
atleast once every time it rains.
_1/06/01_____________________
saturday
____________________________
you just bottle me up and throw me away...
leave quickly before you can watch me decay.
time would let me know you more
you were so much better before.
give me some time cuz it's only saturday
laugh when i cry as watch you walk away.
_12/30/00____________________
make me unnoticed
____________________________
walking...
as you pound on the street
with more force than i probably could.
then again, the street never did anything to me.
(the street forced you into the sewers.
you didn't want to go.)
and i love you for covering up my emotions.
my face is wet, but so is everything else,
i'm unnoticed.
(that's how i like it.)
i'm enjoying your company.
they're calling me in but i don't want to leave.
i'll cut myself up so i can fit through the holes,
and i'll sleep with you in the sewer.
just so i
can stay a while.
_12/20/00____________________
el
____________________________
el, you never made me bleed,
i couldn't see quite clear enough for the smell to
come. . . (never even tried to hide it)
pain in forms of silence
hurt in your way of twisting
the words .dnuora.
fish? i didn't know it swam.
stroking along the curves
innocently passing over
there.
she's coming, better stop,
it's right so don't worry.
she cannot see the location of (them)
help, i cried, every second, wished i could move,
just
STOP.
this kind of love is not love at all.
do you think me pretty while you tickle me sick?
knowing the answer=ask 2,000 times.
i always thought it funny
how i never cried.
_12/10/00____________________
quiet
____________________________
i'm leaving memories that my shoes were once there,
it is quiet like a dream.
i am not as surprised as i thought i would be
to notice i don't even care how cold my feet are.
i want to keep my thoughts small and calm
because i'm thinking the snow might be disrupted
by the slightest piece of anything.
the streetlights give a warmer feeling onto the white
as i walk out of my shadow, trying to breathe in the coldness
and throw away the air.
tonight this street will be hidden from hard eyes
but never will it trick me into thinking it is for the better.
the white tons, heavy with mood, will cover our toes up, cover over our heads.
it is so subtle, so quiet, like coffee.
how fatal is the snow that comes?
it will never fail to conveniently blanket over our eyes.
shh, keep still, but don't you know?
everything will die under the snow.
_12/7/00_____________________
baby
____________________________
the children will kill you with innocence
before you can question their whereabouts
sandcastles on the beach with blood-filled moats
"the water kept washing away" she said
(atleast this will leave a stain)
going over the empty promises in her mind
her fingers play in the thickness
(her nails are red and she didn't even paint them)
mommy wanted to know where she was getting the popsicles
baby laughed at mommy when she asked
wash everything away but it'll never dissapear completley
a memory is sometimes evil
don't think about what you've done
at church children think God is watching
baby mocks God in her nightmares; her daydreams
_12/8/00_____________________
when you leave
____________________________
your words will always knock me down,
i know you can't remember my name.
you can eat out my confidence,
i don't want to be sane.
i hate the people like you
who think they're so complex,
saying 'just because you're broke
doesn't mean you have to cheapen your sex.'
i don't want you to know how much you hurt me
so i'll shrug off all of the pain i recieve.
though everything about you kills me inside
i know that i'll always cry when you leave.
_11/--/00____________________
so totally overrated
____________________________
people will think i'm being insulting
when i tell them how cutting is so overrated.
the pretty little thing she is, following all the trends,
finds herself in a trend that's all new,
and decides maybe now, she can be deep too!
she'll start to write short poems right to the point,
of course she doesn't know how to write any other way.
she'll describe her new-wave pop/rock past time to her square paper
and hide them all between her mattress's next to the razorblades and the ace of spades...
soon she'll realize she's not quite happy
and she'll turn on nine inch nails so loud she can't tell that there are words mixed in with those guitar riffs,
and she'll start to shake, almost uncontrollably
as she grabs the blade quickly and silently.
there's a mess of blood on her hands now but she doesn't pay attention,
for this obsession has taken over her moral mind.
she goes in so deep she can't see where the blade went.
she questions everything she's ever done because surely someone will notice her
bleeding arm now that she cannot get the proof out of there quickly.
she struggles to find something longer to dig into her wrists with
maybe to grab the blades out of her arm and back under her mattress
but she find's nothing.
and her body pounds with the beats of the music.
her arms throb as puddles are forming.
she cries because no one was supposed to know about her new thing,
no one was supposed to know how easily influenced she was.
so she finds a pin on the bureau and pokes it in her arm as far as she can as she screams and pulls it out,
one quick motion, one quick pull.
she throws the tiny thing against the wall and she is surprised when it makes no sound because she has forgotten the music and forgotten how to listen to anything rational anymore
so she walks out of her room and to the top of the stairs
and lets herself go because she knows that she's taken herself quite too far this time.
_11/--/00____________________
words
____________________________
life is becoming one big annoyance
as i am becoming a well-developed cliche
try once more to explain yourself while no one's watching
give me a call when right and wrong means the same thing
knowing how it feels being a smudge in the background
sometimes i think i would have more friends if i didn't think so much
give me my chaos mixed with a glass of water and wine
how easy is it to be optimistic when your face isn't so dry
_11/24/00____________________
christmas
____________________________
i'm not happy about anything except christmas,
and complaining about how much money i spent,
when i secretley know in my head that i enjoy it,
i want someone to enjoy me like that.
_11/19/00____________________
anymore
____________________________
Don't breathe me in,
and I won't shut you out.
Time isn't on my side,
but could you bring me
to a place where time didn't exist?
There's always too much on my mind,
but could someone please explain to me
why everytime I look at the clock it's 10:39?
And your lazy look is getting old...
And that face you always wear
is becoming a classic reminder
of just exactley why I want to rage against the machine
that is you.
Like a rose, you won't notice the pain
until your nose is already developed into the petals
and your fingers are bleeding slowly... but precisly how they know how.
God said there should be light on earth
and I said, "Just leave me in the dark."
10 years i'll wait for someone to say
"You wanna get a cup of coffee?"
but by then i'll be too old to realize
the symbolism that I've associated with
a warm cup of coffee while snow would stay fresh under my boots.
And how long I've been wasting my life
burning out my eyes for no one.
I'll come to the final inevitable conclusion that
I don't even know what a perfect ending is anymore.
_11/12/00____________________
my boy
____________________________
he said, "i like when your hair is in your eyes"
"it makes you look mysterious"
and i brushed it away and put it behind my ears.
his face got straight and he said, "i like when you put on lipstick"
"your lips are so perfect"
and i took my sleeve and wiped off the red toned gloss on my lips.
his body got stiff and he said, "i like when you show me your eyes"
"they're the perfect shade of green"
and i looked at the floor.
he smiled and said, "i like the way you're difficult"
"your games make you sexy"
and i walked over and gave him a kiss on the lips and shed only one tear for my so very dense, foolish boy.
_11/09/00____________________
mock
____________________________
i shake in my thoughts
and i'll pray that when you come home
you'll be in a mood to share yourself with me
again when we can have a talk about
politics and our young puzzled minds
as the fire cracks
almost too loud
and drowns out your heartbeat
though i'm holding onto your chest
against me
and i don't feel that you need to have space
and you don't either
forever i'll be
a one hit wonder
in the scheme of things
on your landscape painting
you tried to desparetly to make
look like something monet would have done
when he was lonely
and his companions
were out of town
i'll sit across from you
holding my eyes straight
feeling my painful tired arms
smoothing my hair for the 100th time
because my ponytail
is never quite right
but who am i making it right for?
spending hours on end
making myself look
intricate
knowing yet
that i am anything but
but now we'll stand
awkward enough
our feelings may be interlocking
but even though it seems you're always mocking
my thoughts as my body seems to be rocking
back and forth in my nylon stockings
torn and stainded
like my opinions of you
_11/04/00____________________
everywhere
____________________________
i don't want to read anything
unless it's signed "i love you always and forever"
i wanna sit and breathe you in right now
right here is as good a place as any
i'll tell you exactley what i think of you
and you'll think it's pretty
my hair is undone
its everywhere
and you tell me it smells nice
but its just my cheap way to make conversation
i feel smart because, it works
taking me home isn't an option
because you'll never want me to leave
and now i want to hear a sad sad song just so we can relate
if we cried it would be SO beautiful
just because it was us
my insecurities would float into nowhere
just because it was us
our small smaces
seem larger with life and warmth
we could hold and be held
at the same time
just because it was us
my problems MY habits my flaws
would be the actual reasons you stayed
the reasons of EVERYTHING
and see, that is what would make me happy
one time
never again
just once
tonight? maybe.
your smile is my LIFE and you don't know it yet
the worst thing is
you wouldn't want to know it
and i would tell you anyway
just because it was... us.
_11/--/00____________________
cigarettes
____________________________
i sit there smoking my dry cigarettes
just because i enjoy the scent
of bothering you
as the smoke gets in my eyes
i close them quickly
too quickly, because now it burns with tears
you'd never care
you'd say it was beautiful
so you wouldn't have to move
i am the ashes in your tray
i am the fog outside your home tonight
i'll stay but i'll never go away
because i don't mind when smoke gets in my eyes
i'll take all the chances i can get
touch me once
touch me twice
touch me soft like a smoke.
feed my needs
COULD you???
get OUT of my mind will you leave me alone with the petals of nothingness that lay beside you in your black overcoat shiny and wet from the rain outside and your feelings that you wear so well just to make me feel sorry and maybe then i'll let you... touch me..... again.
if i was drowning in a sea of your imperfections
would you rescue me
or would you sit and watch while i dissapeared
just so you wouldn't have to move
because the honey you carry
is heavier then the concern you carry
for me.
_10/29/00____________________
unrequited love
____________________________
he seems so sinful
what a pretty boy
his hair is just the right shade
for my hands
no one will ever know
the way i feel about
the way his eyes
look so sadly at the ground
you wont see me talking about him
to my friends
and you wont see me describing him
to my diary
hes a secret to myself
and i have nothing left to lose
and all i want is nothing
he doesn't have to do anything for me
he just has to be... there.
i won't say anything
and i won't do any harm
to your reputation
if you won't ask
why i stare at you so much
and i'll never talk to you
if you don't want me to
and i'll never sit by you
if you don't want me to look at you and well...
it's okay.
i always wanted everything
but now i realize i can't have anything
you are no one anymore
it doesn't matter anymore
you shouldn't talk anymore
you shouldn't breathe anymore
if i can't watch your wrinkled shirt
i don't want to watch anything ever again
i don't want to see the moon with him
i don't want to laugh with everyone
i don't want to sit and write
i need to have you
like it's always been
even though i've never had you
wishing's never been a sin
_10/28/00____________________
in between
____________________________
play for me one more time
strum out all of my emotions
in front of your face
and in back of my insecurities
make believe you're deaf to me
i see through your perfectley tuned low e string
even though i'm different
doesn't mean i'm not the same
i laugh white-clear and breathe the dust in between
wipe everything off
can't put your finger on it?
light brown shiny wood
isn't meant to have everyone's lies smeared on it
_10/21/00____________________
sweater
____________________________
talking makes it seem so extremley bland
so invisible is the right handed pitch of words
impossible is your understanding of me
yellow feelings in my blue painted head
you'll never know how beautiful i think you are
i want to cry forever just so you'll feel bad
and hold me like you did when my cheeks were red
my scent is equal to my love and everything in between
the world doesn't even seem rose-colored
because am i that naive?
you would say it was so pretty with my mess
i would no longer have nothing to think about
the purple clouds would cover both of us
if you would just agree to my silent thoughts of cheating love
in the test you call: good night sweet blue suede shoes
yeah you don't know anything but the strings
nothing ever comes together like my speedy slides
i love you with the sweater.
_10/20/00____________________
the arts of you
____________________________
your oh-so-orginial rock band
it was perfect
it was peachy
it was punk
now it's painful
for you to tell me
"this is a love song"
your deep-as-hell lyrics
they were poetry
they were pretty nice
they were partially true
now they just remind us of the past
when we used to talk
about candy and coal
on the corners
your old paintings
were so special
were so significant
were so silent
now they're just sick and dying
like you
and don't forget about
little old pathetic me
and the love crackers
we nibble on
......sometimes.
_10/14/00____________________
my biggest fear
____________________________
my biggest fear is
one of these days
i'm going to escape reality
and not know how to get back
my biggest fear is
what if i don't find someone who loves me back
because i live my life on
"what if's"
my biggest fear is
maybe you'll hit too hard
and i won't be able to escape
the grasp of the floor
or the throbbing tears
my biggest fear is
that i'll stop eating
and not for you or anyone else
but because i am no longer hungry
for anything anymore
my biggest fear is
that i'll break all the strings on my guitar
and get mad
but get even madder
because i did it on purpose
my biggest fear is
that other people will stop caring
not so much whether i live or die
but whether they'll ever get to
see me again
my biggest fear is
that my pen will run out of ink
and i won't be able to write
and i'll surprise myself
because i don't even want to write
anyway
my biggest fear is
all the people around me will die
and i'll cry for a while
but then i'll realize
i'm happier without them all
my biggest fear is
the phone will ring
but i won't even care enough
to answer the call.
_10/09/00____________________
melissa's poem
____________________________
you let them steal your ruby jewels
you let them rape you of your pride
you let them use their words to kill
and sting your face like insects
sucking out your bloody courage
as fast as you can laugh it off
you want to take their used knifes out of your abdomen
and strike them on their heads with the handle
and make them aware of the
murder they commit in your head
you want one shining silver locket
to come and let you wear them
and let you wear them out
you want them to let you do
whatever you want to them
you want them to let you wear them
whenever you want
and lend them out to your friends
when you damn well please
and let them strip it's silver
off with harsh chemicals
and leave it on a table
to get pushed into the trash
to get taken outside
and to rot away until
the rain comes again
but most of all
more then anything
you want a small piece of wood
not too glamorous
not to flashy
to let you do what you want
but never strip away it's covering
to let you keep it near
but only when it feels comfortable
only when it feels right
and only when its good
you aren't sure if that wood will ever appear
on your doorstep in the rain
on that windy evening
when daddy is yelling
and mommy is covering her ears
and your tears are just about to cause a puddle right there
on the new couch
and your fists are just about to
make holes in the wall
when you are willing to let your head explode
into tiny pieces just so your family won't see you crying
and question you
yes when you feel this way
you just want that wood to come along
and not say anything
because you can tell from their silence
that everything's okay
but when it comes
and i know it will
just go and tell it how you feel
don't hide your feelings behind stone walls painted with graffiti
and huge waves
dotted with surfing bodies
that know what they want in life
just go and do what you've always wanted to do
turn that wood into gold.
_10/07/00____________________
makes me
____________________________
makes me
feel so strange
like hot chocolate
on a warm summers evening
while watching the snow
descend on the trees
and seeing the autumn leaves
like it was christmas eve.
makes me
think irrationally
thoughts of death
not by accident
how ironic
you say
in all the games YOU play
in all the circles you sway
as on the concrete cold floor you lay.
makes me
remember those times
when it wasn't so bad
and i actually felt glad
and i wasn't so sad
it makes me so mad
how everything's changing
how everythings already changed
and left me
on the side of the road
runover
dead and cold
even though i should be hot
because the sun's right there
chuckling because
there's a dead girl on the road
and no one comes to pick her up
and there's nothing she can do
there's no one she can fool
there's no time left to choose
there's definitley nothing left for her to lose.
_10/04/00____________________
sugar
____________________________
i say a lot of things
and i say that i wish you would believe
my sugar coated lies
cuz everything is always better
when it's fake and sugar coated
especially you
and i think
would it be fun
to peel away your dead decaying skin
and see what's underneath
see who you really want to be
and see what you think of me
you wouldn't bleed
because sugar doesn't bleed
you wouldn't cry
because sugar isn't sad
you wouldn't yell
because my sugar doesn't yell
and all for all of the times you hurt me
i'd pull on your muscles
and make you hurt
so you wouldn't make me cry anymore
even though i think i'm doing good
i'm not
just because you killed me inside
you made me hurt like nothing else
and you made me swim in my own tears
i shouldn't do this
because now i'm just as bad as you are
hurt plus hurt doesn't equal love
i say i'm doing good
but i'm making everything worse
thats just what i do
i say i want to be part of the solution
but i will never be
because i will always be part of the problem
_--/--/99____________________
you
____________________________
please don't come into the being that is me.
only you can be you.
i can't be them
blue eyes
don't stare too hard.
individual
opt to be
beautiful anyway.
don't cry over
a softspoken silluette
everything always looks so very strange to me
no matter for
you
is a beautiful word.
_--/--/98____________________
never to be unclouded
____________________________
i see all the puddled trees and the faint apple blossoms as i look at existence through this unbearing water that seems never to be unclouded.
unclear dreams and unclear memories are just cheap easy for which to peer.
too many clouds in the soul of such as me.
too many darkened days under the blanket which holds mind and body away.
all of the unreality and sheer lies of this existence come to haunt and make it more so of cloudiness.
no breath and close the eyes of the existence who looks towards withered flowers.
it's better no clouds.
there is better with none.
saddens me as faint apple blossoms lie with no drops of life in a neverending sky of clouds.
--/--/98____________________
quietly
____________________________
he stood there quietly
with no smile
yet no tears
beautifully strange
yet strangley beautiful
i loved his quiet thoughts
he moved almost never
never twice looked up
never once at me
his eyes danced
with his soul
i can hear the melody of his mind
within me now
a tear blossoms
it runs down his solemn face
and i ran and ran and ran
to be with him
and i laughed so much that i cried
and his tear dissolved into poetry
i loved it so much
and we just were
then we flew
ever upward
to life
beginning soon
all of my questions died
as i lived
and he sang
and we were still
until we danced
we cared not enough
and we cried
out of love
out of sadness
and we took to each other
nicely and beautifully
kindly and rightousley
we tied together
at that moment
i trusted him
no tears came
but he loved me then
and again i smiled
and life was so rose-colored
and beauty was a feeling
there was no fear
only love
and us
once more again
it was so lovely
so we stayed for a while
and we were made again
out of love
nothing more
and at that one moment
he loved me more
time sat still
and it was only his love
that made me smile.
_9/19/00____________________
drugs (final edit)
____________________________
sometimes i just wanna take 10 million drugs
and lay on the floor and look at the ceiling
and see some kind of wonderful psychedelic colors
and just watch for hours to no end
and not worry about anything
not worry about going to school
not worry about my stupid ass words
not worry about you liking me
let the colors absorb me
let the light burn my eyes out
let the intense feelings fracture my skull
let myself go and feel everything i wanna feel
and get swallowed into the ceiling
and go to another world
where i could taste everything sweet (your kiss)
i could lay on a (fake) fur rug
with swirls of soft chocolate sugar surrounding my tounge
with sweet creamy reminders of you mixed into my brain
but if the drugs ever wore off
i would definitley have to die.
_9/19/00____________________
cigars
____________________________
are you with anyone at the moment
are you smoking grandpa's cigars
are you looking in my window reading my mind
how is it possible for the world to be spinning still
how is it possible for me to be logical even though i've lost my mind
how is it possible for me to love you even though i hate you so much
would you be willing to sit down and talk
would you be willing to see me once more
would you be willing to reason with an unreasonable person
will it ever be normal
will it ever be satisfying
will it ever make me happier than i am now
could i stand up to you
could i sit all by myself
could i start a fight in my own head and win
is it normal to be thinking
is it normal when i stare at the wall
is it normal if i can't stop concentrating
can i have a privledge
can i take one extra ride
can i look you straight in the eyes
should i like you more
should i stay for one more minute
should i keep on walking even farther then before
am i who i want to be
am i paranoid out of my head
am i just too tired to think
i'll never stop wishing
i'll never stop whining
i'll always stop when you want me to
Email: Sublime0987@aol.com
