Saturday, December 4, 2010


When we were kids and nothing mattered
Except for five minutes.
It was only relevant for five minutes.

And maybe I'm wrong and
I should've said yes and
I should've waited and
I should've known what to say and
I should've done the right thing.

But, what the hell is the right thing to do, anyway?
Is honesty that good of a policy?
The truth was good but sometimes it changed.
It wasn't bad, but it wasn't the same.
Maybe the truth does set you free, but
Only when it's way overdue.
You're a lot like me.
I forget it sometimes.

I've not slept in 33 hours.
I've been sick today.
My father is in the hospital.
My mother is hurting.
My sisters are scared and
I'm scared.

I know I'm being watched.

Thursday, December 2, 2010

I Believe in Love

1 John 4:7,8
"Dear friends, let us love one another, for love comes from God. Everyone who loves has been born of God and knows God. Whoever does not love does not know God, because God is love."

I do not believe the ultimate goal of our lives on earth is to end up in heaven. I don't care if I go to heaven; the existence of an afterlife should be irrelevant! Personally, I believe that the ultimate goal is to live your life on earth, and do so experiencing and giving the most love possible. I think that we should focus on changing things, making them better, giving people hope, and helping everyone laugh. The world is full of terrible things; famine, war, disease, poverty, murder, rape, and the list goes on and on. The only true way to overcome all of these horrible things is to love.

Love is the ultimate in human emotion. Love transcends all boundaries from simple fear to agonizing death. Love takes many unassuming forms, such as that between parents and children, mentors and students, one friend to another, and a lover and his beloved. From these bonds of love, are forged honor, respect, courage, dignity, loyalty, trust, honesty, patience and joy. When one ignores, denies, or doubts love, anger, fear, and pain are spawned. But again, love must champion all! It also gives us remorse and forgiveness! Love, perhaps, is the sole foundation upon which humans must build.

We must learn to love, embrace love, feel and respect the power it simultaneously has over and gives us. We should not fear this intense and beautiful and immensely strong thing, for it saves and protects us. We must be mindful of those around us, knowledgeable of the world of misery that incessantly swarms about us; not everyone recognizes and accepts love readily. We should be patient and kind to those who don't, and we should show them that, through love, one can be a happier, better person.

I firmly believe that a good human being will make it his duty to work to truly understand everything in its essence, using love as a guide on his quest, a source of strength, and an infallible safeguard. One should not love blindly, allowing others to harm and take advantage of him. But he should love with his eyes completely open to how ugly and terrible the world is around him. It is unwise to love so innocently and to give so easily, when not everyone is so open to this blatantly simple, yet somehow complexly elusive, fact. And by gaining this full comprehension, he may learn to love purely and without inhibition, regardless of how wrong everything else may be.

God is love, and to truly experience God, we need to love. God is in all of us, in the form of that simple emotion and action. Reaching God through solitude and vows of silence seem ridiculous to me. We are all God's children, and as a parent, he would expect us, as siblings, to not only get along, but to love one another as he loves us. God, just as many people describe love, is benevolent and self-sacrificing. It is pure and entirely good.

The purpose of my life is to love as God loves. To be kind. To be good. All this I do because God loves me, and I love God. It's only right to love all that God has given me; from my favorite tree in the park, to my family, from my abilities, to the stranger on the sidewalk. God has given me everything on this earth, and it is my job to love every single tiny aspect of it as much as I possibly can.

Do not be afraid of love.
Do not be afraid of God.

Saturday, November 13, 2010

Common Courtesy

If you do not want me to do your kanji tattoo, let it be because you consider me incompetent or you have a preference for another artist. However, do not just mildly glaze over my portfolio, then decide against me, on the sole basis that I am female.

"Oh, quit griping. Get used to it. It's a reality of the business." Yes, of course it is. Being a female in this industry is a double-edged sword. For every neo-feminist or young girl that's afraid of being judged that specifically requests me because they feel more empowered or comfortable having a girl do their tattoo, is some jackwagon who insists on someone who is male, because a chick can't be trusted to insert their fourth illegitimate child's initials into their tribal armband.

I can't sit down and pretend it doesn't affect me. It doesn't completely bowl me over every time it happens, but it does happen to pluck a very fine nerve. Fortunately, sexism is a dying force in many aspects, and even then, I was never one to be on the frontlines of uterus-owning defense. I've always treated my gender, like I've treated everyone else's gender, as nothing more than a piece of description. There are certain stereotypes that are mainly apparent in either sex during rough, teenage, transitional periods or other times of hormonal off-balance; it's something we all can sit back and poke fun at. But never have I thought one's gender denoted his or her capabilities.

Then again, maybe I shouldn't take it personally. The very person who didn't want me tattooing her kid, is allowing her 16 year-old daughter to get her boyfriend's name tattooed on her shoulderblade...

Thursday, September 30, 2010


Oh, how his deft fingers play upon my heartstrings as easily as an accomplished harpist plucks each golden string of his giant lyre.
That silver tongue softly stroking each quivering note as it rolls smoothly from between his lips.
That soul, that tarnished soul, entwining itself with mine, pulling its hair and biting its neck.
Like the vines of his presence forever cling and choke the everloving breath out of my very being.
I will not be free. I do not know if it is me fettering myself or if he, in turn, is the one grasping my ankle in the quagmire of emotion.
This billowing swamp of turmoil and blind hope. Optimism and tumultuous misery.
The promise of something that will never be, those poisoned pomegranate seeds.

Tuesday, September 21, 2010


Though your voices have always been tarnished with cheap recording devices
And your faces distorted through poorly focused lenses
You are there
And I know you are

I feel your kindred spirits moving around me in sorrow and jubilation
My heart soars with yours
Your fears collapse with mine

Wednesday, September 1, 2010

The Animal

Growling, rustling, pacing
A small circle beneath its feet
Bared teeth and claws
Ragged, shallow breathing
Inside its furry torso
It tilts back its angry head and

This animal howls
For those of its kind to answer
Its call
Just to be touched
To feel
To see, hear, and smell
Its kind around it

It rears back, ready to pounce
Hungry for attention
Longing for contact
It will tear through creating
Broken limbs and
Broken hearts

It opens its mouth wide
The toothed gap yawning to be filled
With flesh and meat
To feel full
Sustained and satisfied before
Howling once more
Before bedding down
For the night

Sunday, August 22, 2010


When you were here before,
Couldn't look you in the eye.
There I was, in the far booth, by the front window.
My back against the cheap wood panelling,
Bass throbbing through my back.
I wish I were special,
You're so fuckin' special.
Two strangers, beauty and the beast.
Across from me, entangled in flippant conversation.
The hunger flickering in his furrowed eye.
Her detached laughter dimly haloed around them.
I want a perfect body.
I want a perfect soul.
All these voices flying around me
In a furious blizzard
Intermingled with drunken curses and
Dizzying laughter.
She's running out.
She runs. Runs. Runs. Runs.

This feeling lapping at my lungs.
The fresh smoke and the obvious fact
That nobody knows me.
What the hell am I doing here?
I don't belong here.

I don't belong here.

Friday, August 6, 2010

The Scar

I stood before you with the fingers on the buttons
Slowly undoing what had been so rigidly done up
I wanted to show you something
That I don't show anyone.
I pulled apart the fabric, so
You could see it.
I told you,
"I need you now."
Instead you rolled up your own sleeves.
Showed me your scar.
Didn't even look at mine.
I've seen it before.
I've seen it before.
I know.
I've seen it before.
I felt scared. Alone.
I wanted to show you.
Something I don't show just anyone.
I reached out to you
From the bottom of this well and
When I caught hold of your hand,
You pulled me down into yours.
I thought I meant something.
It's not me, is it?
It's your idea of me.
The velvet painting.
The life preserver.
The golden calf.
The bronze serpent.
The coat rack.
I doubt it was ever me.
Don't try now. Don't be my way out.
I wanted you to, but
You were too busy with you
To realize the cracks in my veneer.
You can't see this wound.
You had your chance.
I'm not opening the door
The veil
The space-time continuum
The way out.
You'll figure it out alone.

Thursday, August 5, 2010

Negative 23

I stood in front of the mirror this morning. I was running a little late, and I never care what I wear, unless of course, it looks awful. I grabbed my favorite pair of shorts. From the Gap. Boyfriend cut. Some khaki-like material that are a light navy in color. I reached down to slide them on and didn't even unbutton them.

I stopped, with the shorts completely on, my fingers still pinching the waistband. I just stared. With my right hand I grabbed the front of the shorts, and pulled them forward, away from my torso. I looked down. There were the tops of my feet, visible through the leg holes.

I glanced back up in the mirror. Tendons in my neck that used to look thicker, more of the masculine variety, were now visibly pinched, sloping downward and seamlessly into my collarbones, which now had a visible dip appearing between them. I bent far to the right at my waist, allowing my left side to stretch out completely. With that exaggerated stance and the minimal sunlight, I saw vague shadows I'd never seen before. I ran my left thumb from my bra to my hip and felt something I'd never felt before. They were visible and tangible. Rib bones.

I straightened up, and tucked my chin down to my chest. My breathing wasn't hindered. With my head still mostly down, I lifted my eyes back to the mirror. The extra bit of flesh I was so used to dealing with under my chin wasn't there. I reached up to touch my face. Definition between jaw and cheekbone.

I decided.
I will never be the fat girl.
Never again.

Wednesday, July 28, 2010

Flaming Eagle; Burned Alive

Each time I soar high and at the crescendo, the very peak, I am unstoppable.
This unnatural force to be reckoned with.
Flying high, fine as wine
A midas touch with sticky fingers.

After every crest there is a descent and
Mine are never gentle.
From the pentacle of my grandeur,
I must drop.
Consumed by fire, fueled by velocity
Burning down to near nothingness.

No holds are barred and I take no prisoners.
All is fair in love and war, and baby,
You are both.
Love, war, fairness, unfairness
In my furious closure
I feel I am being burned alive
and I feel I must take you with me
Into this pile of ash and charred bone.

Soon, I will be reborn
Fresh and vulnerable and new
From whence I came.
From all the death and dusty remains
I come out clean.
At the beginning again, but still clean.
You're not coming with me.

It feels different every time.

Friday, July 23, 2010


I sat on the warm pavement in the dark and stared upwards. I was covered by a blanket of night sky and the atmosphere was heavy with the day's heat. It's not safe here, on the wrong side of the door, but I didn't care.

I thought about where I was on that crisp fall. Freshly aged a new year and with a song blossoming in my heart. I had that... That something I think I loved. I don't know if I did or not, but it was close.

I was a wandering girl and I met a boy. Something about him; I was so taken by him. His voice, his thoughts, his cheshire smile. We met as the leaves were turning and the world was whithering. But the thing between us, it was thriving. It grew and evolved, stretching its leaves out into the cold, late autumnal sun. Slowly it would bloom, tiny flower after tiny flower.

I don't know how I lost that game. Maybe I was too far away. Maybe I wasn't pretty enough. Maybe I wasn't smart or funny or quirky enough. Maybe it wasn't meant to be.

But that something... That something I think I loved. I don't know if I did or not, but it was close.

I still feel it sometimes.

Monday, June 21, 2010


Wild and restless and dissatisfied and shaken.
I've seen the truth. Learned and saw things.
It makes me feel so uncomfortable and angry!
The uglier everyone gets, the more disappointing everything gets.
Like sobering up.
Life is one long chain of fucking or getting fucked.
Taking it in the ass or taking it out on someone's ass.
Vulgar, crass, brazen, unimaginative.
I feel my clear bright eyes have grown dull. Boring.
When I look in the mirror, I no longer see
Someone curious and whimsical.
Optimistic and light.
When I look in the mirror, I see
Someone who is jaded and cynical.
Disgusted and unattractive.
Something inside of me ruptured and changed last week.
Could've been the entire cataclysmic chain of events
That somehow had to all happen within the span
of seven days.
Some good. Some bad. Some...
Leaving me to feel tempermental and obnoxious.

Thursday, June 10, 2010

Shimmering Loneliness

How I’d love to write you one of those lush love songs of the eighties. I wish I could spin out those simple, boring words, dripping with dreamy honey, a baroque revival in the form of American pop music. The over -dramatic saxophone poetically interjected with spacey keyboard notes that somehow lilts any audience to believing those simple, boring words. Those colors, too. Ridiculous amounts of glitter, decked with magenta and lime green. Electric blue frosted with iridescent white.

We spend our time alone slowly coming to the conclusion that we are the rule, not the exception. That those disgustingly catchy and heart-lifting songs aren’t us. They are at the right moment, but truthfully, and at almost all times, they aren’t. Alone, we are, in our cars at night. The streetlights making bronze halos in the windshield. Those studded yellow songs come stepping out of the radio and they hook you on minor relativity. I am alone. I am looking at the stars. I am waiting. I am thinking about you and wondering, ever so insolently, if you you’re thinking of me also. Then you pull up to your house and turn the car off and you sit there, again, lost in your own innocent hope. It’s girlish. It’s inane. You know better, but you relish in this private moment up until it falls apart. The realizations set in. He hasn’t called. He won’t call. He isn’t thinking about you and looking at the stars and writing silly poems of how he is waiting to be the one to scoop you up out of your lonely, dejected reverie.

I did that. I do that. All the time, every day, whenever I can. It’s all I think about. Those stupid, simple, shimmering songs of how love is enough to keep you sane. It’ll keep you sane, but it’ll drive you insane first.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Freak Out

I'm scared, I'm fuckin' scared. I smell something vaguely lemony. I'm hurting. I'm confused. I know what I want but I can't get it! I know it can be mine, but not right now! I'm scared shitless, 'cause I dont know what to do. I'm going to tear you open. I'm going to hurt you. I shouldn't have let you be vulnerable. Should've kicked you off my porch on day one, but no, I didn't. I felt you, felt you needed something. Decided I should be the one to help you, but no, I should've turned around and walked away from that one.

I'm stuck, one ankle tangled in the quagmire that is you. If I pull it out, I may break it. If I pull it out, I will break you.

So here I stand. Stuck. Until I decide it's stupid for me to die here of starvation when one clean tug will set me free.

Thursday, April 15, 2010

Beneath the Proscenium Arch

I see their glorious painted faces, thick with foundation and bright with lipstick. Sweat glistens at their hairlines. Strong emotions are portrayed in these canvases. Their hands are open, arms drawn back in fear or rage. Porcelain smiles stretch largely between their cheeks in joy or song.

I can hear their distinct voices. Even the most tiny whisper exaggerated. Clear consonant pronunciation, ringing sopranos. Every emotion channeled perfectly through their vocal chords.

Their clothing is fantastic, overtly suggestive. Elaborate costumes that scream mother or priest or little girl or hero.
Behind them are dramatic places, arches and columns, green meadows and cloudless skies, old world villages, hospitals, retro living rooms.
Brilliant colors and bright lights drift over them. Unnatural hues and intense whites.
Upon scarred wood, they dance and move, sometimes running, sometimes waltzing, sometimes scuffling in a geriatric manner. Black electrical tape marks beneath their ballet shoes and pumps and loafers and socks and bare feet.

This small collection of people can hold the world in their palms. Dangling you over uncomfortable tension, dragging you through enhanced sadness, chasing you through uplifting happiness. They touch you through their portrayals of love and pain, drawing out every single note in each emotion's complex melody, without even revealing what their real names are.

I see them. I hear them. I want to be them. I used to be one of them.
The uplifted, the damned, the elite, the misunderstood.
These introspective psychologists, these entertaining therapists.
I will return.
I will be one of you again.

Sunset City

I can feel it

The sun sets in the west
Over a dusty city.
Its heart beats and it is alive.
Its veins crawl with vehicles.
Its lungs swell with voices.
People jump across the synapse
Of crosswalks.
I've lost you in the city
Among the throngs of beings
Hurrying and snapping pictures.

I can see you

Your cheshire smile in a sea of faces
Slowly dissapated
With time and distance.
The yellow taxi took you away
Into the heart of
The dusty city.
Among the lights and energy
The bodies, the cars
The pavement is hot from the day long sun
And the running
And the snapping pictures.

I wont find you
Unless I look.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

A Hopeful Summer

Glowing golden, gently gliding in the humid air against a deep fuschia blanket that is slipping to darker purple. You flit between the others, dancing with them, exchanging friendly luminated greetings. I could just pluck you out of the sky and put you in a jar, my treasured firefly.

Solemnly singing, quietly chirping in the cooler grass beside bohemoth trees that are swinging slowly, to and fro. You lament to the others, chirping with them, sharing saddened warbling melodies. I could just scoop you off of the ground and put you in a jar, my cherished cricket.

If I could take you and hold you and keep you and protect you and enjoy you and cheer you and love you, I would.

Wednesday, March 31, 2010

Ebb and Flow

Things ebb and flow with water and air. Grounded by earth and catalyzed by fire.
Our souls entwine with each other, mingle and settle. Slightly altered.

We are lonely, shrouded travellers headed down dirt paths
That wind through the hillsides at dusk.
We meet at shady taverns and trade horror stories
Of lovers quarrels and lost limbs.
Over a cup of poison in a den of smoke,
We become vulnerable and
Want to be touched.
Only to recoil slightly when something goes amiss.
We blame ourselves for laying our emotions on the table.
We blame each other for wars.
But we are always lonely travelers,
Cloaked and hidden and wary.
Travelling along the dirt path through a darkened meadow
Going the same direction.

Things ebb and flow with water and air. Grounded by earth and catalyzed by fire.
Our souls entwine with each other, mingle and settle. Slightly altered.

Friday, March 19, 2010

Heart Attack

The sharp aching in my chest was only enhanced by the incessant coughing. The pain reached up to my throat with sharp fingers, and back to my spine with an elbow jab. I kept waiting for my left arm to go numb, something to let me know that I was actually having a heart attack. I went to the bathroom, and opened the medicine cabinet door. Ibuprofen, asprin-free. Fuck. My roommate's bladder infection medication. Generic shit for colds. Flinstone vitamins. Hell, what could it hurt? I ate a red Barney.

I laid down on the floor and tried to regulate my breathing. Deep, long inhalations that only exacerbated the pain. I spread my arms out, crossed my legs at the ankle. Pretended I was Jesus. The exhalations dulled the ache a bit; I preferred not to breathe. Was it the cigarettes? Too much dark soda? The broccoli? Fuck, I don't know. Does it matter right now?

Okay. If this gets worse, my arm really does go numb or start hurting, I'm going to the hospital. No need to wake up my roommate, not like she could do anything. The hospitals only ten blocks away, anyways. I imagined sitting in that ER waiting room. Those kind of scratchy chairs and the stark white tile. What's the waiting room like at three am? It's only Friday morning, shouldn't be too outrageous, right? Where the fuck is the actual ER in that hospital anyway? I guess I'll have to put my parents' address down on the insurance forms. I'd call them right away. Well, right after I got taken back somewhere to a room. God, I hate IVs. Somehow, I wasn't as scared of them, at that very moment. It would totally get me out of work tomorrow though. I don't care about that, though, I just don't want to be having a heart attack. What if they have to use those paddles on me? What is that thing called? I dunno, that thing that jolts you back after you die. They yell "CLEAR" and shock the shit out of you. Those things leave burn marks. It'd be pretty cool to have burn marks left over. It'd suck to go through the process of getting them though. I'd call my parents when I figured it out, and they'd come in, and I'd call my boss that morning. How long would I be out? Friday and Saturday? I'm already off Sunday through Tuesday. My paycheck will suck. I hope I don't have atrial fibrillation. I don't want to get an ablasion.

I kept coughing. My chest kept swelling then relaxing with pain. A tide of it was slowly rising and falling beneath my sternum.

I guess perhaps, I might be dying.
What if I was, right now?
Oh well.
It's not so bad, is it? I wonder what happens next.

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

The Crossroads

For Katey Davis.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009

May it knock a brick of sense aside her far-gone noggin and remind her who cares about her.


Just who are you, little star? Do you think you shine brighter than your brothers; the both of us? We're designed for a little respect, possibly let-downs and drawn-outs but nothing of this sort. You speak highly of those never seen and darken under pressures of loneliness. You yearn for companionship yet shun the life you already have.


This ornament brightens not enough anymore, as if to say it's done for the evening. How can you gag onward for companionship then leave it unappreciated once received? Ashamed coward; turning a slight supernova into an otherwise bitter night. Crash gently now, bullet-proof because of distance, not because of durability. Make fools of the wanted, and misunderstand all direction.

To make frank of all best intentions, fuck you. The fellowship is leaving you behind; liked or un-liked. It's possible every smile hitting your face is a lie; a mild discomfort to your otherwise soulless disposition. It's possible you can't appreciate one from which you call a friend if they aren't thousands of miles away. For we cannot be loved as brothers considering our position as strangers.

Shine brilliantly now, little star. Impress the wanderers; the strangers you'll never see, a million miles away. While your true companions sit and watch you, wondering what happened to that old fellowship that once was, before the orbit collapsed. You might feel a sigh of regret, possibly.

As a tear drops forward from each cheek of our faces, we'll never forget you; possibly miss you but never understand you, little star. The world you live in turned mangled once scribbled on with the ink and needles of no-one's time. Make light of us, as we do of you.

We turn now blissfully to a planet unseen, to the familiar woods unseen by you, little star. A guitar sits beautifully in the night, reflecting the shimmers of sky-driven madness. The callous tears and bleeds over misbegotten chords, creating beauty from hideousness and grandeur from the macabre. The little star shivers and quakes on the gleaming surface of tradition, shaking until blown; on the last final note, never to be played twice, but remembered all the same.

Loved but regretted.
A tear for a tear.


You never forgave me, did you? I guess you couldn't, I never apologized. I never said sorry for making my choices and doing what I do and going about what I generally go about. My skewed modus operandi, and that was doing for me as I see fit. But then again, that's how we all operate, isn't it?

I am never going to apologize for my taxing job, my far distance, my internet friends, my demanding family. Just as you will never apologize for your marriage, your demanding family, your far distance, or any of those other things that would be a hindrance to a friendship. I don't expect you to apologize for your choices, for they are your own and no one else's, and I have no right to tell you what was good or bad. So, please, Billy, for both our sakes, quit making me feel guilty for what I've worked for and what I have and what I do. They were my choices, not up for your judgement.

Are we going to do this again? That awful awful cycle of nasty letters and defaming stories? I don't want to, Billy. I don't want this again. I can't take it. Every time, we agree on letting it lie and letting the ocean erode and cover it and eventually bury it under sand and decay. But somehow, it keeps getting unearthed.

I am proud, I am listless. I am a scared little girl. I was lonely. And yes, apparently, I am misunderstood. I never said I was better than you, never pretended to be. I never forgot you, Billy. Never pushed you to the side and acted like I didn't want you there. Due to circumstance, we hid our friendship and never spoke, and agreed to bide our time until everything was right. We have rules and restrictions. I can't randomly IM you. I most certainly can't call you. And I'm scared shitless to email you. Heaven forbid I say the wrong thing, have it misinterpreted and there we are again. Ground zero after everything we built becomes rubble, dust and smoke.

Why is it things are either thriving or dying? It's black and white. Here or gone. This is all gray, Billy! It's different, unconventional. I didn't think our friendship was fading or getting lost. We were waiting for old emotions and bitterness to die down so we could finally pick up what we had left off. It was off in the wings, waiting for its chance to come out on stage. Just because it isn't out there growing and changing every day, doesn't mean it's dying.

I loved you, Billy, the friend I could never properly have. And I still do. I wish you would quit pushing me into all of your labeled boxes of who I am or who you thought I was or how you think I should be. I most certainly would never do that to you.

I can't change the past. I can't change how people see me. I can't change how people are. I can't take back that we all got hurt. You, me, him, and her.

I don't know if you want me to go away forever or to try and stay. You know my buttons, Billy. You know which ones and in what order to press them. You have to quit hurting me, if you want me to die, to never see me again, for my name never to ring through your head, for me to just stop existing.
But if you want me to stay, I am patient, Billy. I will always be waiting.

Sunday, March 7, 2010

The Locket

He twisted the thin, dainty silver chain of the locket in his fingertips. The locket itself swung like a pendulum beneath his hands, and far above the crashing sea. With his eyes narrowed, he scanned the gray horizon with the grayer ocean churning beneath it. He looked down. The cold water pummeled the rocks a couple hundred feet below the overlook on which he now stood. The locket was still swinging idly, unaware of the danger lurking below.

Why did she have to go?

He angrily mused. There was nothing he did or didn't do that caused her sudden departure, he was sure of it. But she was gone; she was free. And he was here and he was bitter.

Here I am, baby. All alone. Where the fuck are you?
Do you remember where we are?

This is where they came for their first date. They went to a lighthouse and stopped at this very overlook on the ride back. They could see a thunderstorm brewing far out over the sea, several miles away, purple lightning striking the surface of the sea. She had smiled up at him and told him how exciting it was to see the storm like that, and after a moment of getting lost in her young, perfect face, he kissed her.

Did you know I was going to propose to you here? This summer... Our anniversary.

He swung the locket upwards and into his open palm. With his thumbnail, he pried it open. "For my Beloved. Now and always." He read aloud. On the side opposite the inscription, was a very tiny black and white photograph of the two of them. It was just their faces, and it was taken at a friend's wedding. He remembered that day so clearly. He remembered delicately zipping her up in her little black dress and being ever so cautious not to catch her soft skin. She had laughed then, at how gentle he was being, and he felt embarrassed. But she told him, no, don't be embarrassed because it was sweet, then kissed him lightly on the lips. The mere thought of her touching him made him shudder.

I knew you like nobody ever could. Loved you like no other man.

They both knew it was true. He knew just where to touch her on her neck, exactly how to brush his lips across her throat. He had deft fingers and a firm grip. He remembered running his hands down her ribcage, down to the thickest part of her hips. Kissing her bellybutton. Making her gasp and moan and scream and whisper and curse and praise his name all in one glorious, sleepless night.

Who can say they've ever given you that, baby? Nobody. Now? Now though? After all that we went through... After all I gave you. Would've gave you. Wanted to give you...

She saw the good in him. She wasn't afraid of him. She never chastized him and she always knew how to cheer him up.

You always wanted to be the 'strong one', but you couldn't carry us both.

He bit his lower lip. He had held her hand that day she decided to go to the doctor. He even held her purse in the waiting room. When she came out, red puffy eyes and completely trashed make up, he didn't say anything. When he put his arm around her shoulders, and he felt her stiffen uncomfortably, he didnt say a word. Even that night, when he tried to kiss her good night and she rolled over to face the wall, curled up in the fetal position, grinding her teeth he didn't resent her. He waited patiently and was ready to help if she asked.

You never did, did you? You had to handle this all by yourself.
Now here I am, baby! Where the fuck are you? You're never coming back to me.

In one brief moment, he balled up the chain and locket in his fist and drew back as if he was going to hurl it over the edge and into the tumultuous sea below. But he caught himself. He opened his fist and stared down at the tangled necklace. Never, in his whole life, had he so strongly hated and loved an inanimate object. It reminded him of how much he loved her, and how much he hated that she was gone.

He sighed and dropped it into his jacket pocket, and stared back out at the gray, gray sky. It looked like a storm was brewing off in the distance. He winced but couldn't completely stop the tears from sliding down his face. Leaning forward, he gripped the rails of the overlook, stared downwards, and tried to regain composure.

You didn't have to go, Stacy. I would've taken care of you. Forever.
I... Love you.

"Hey, you alright, man?" His best friend said, emerging from the path, then walked to stand next to him.
"Yeah... Yeah." He said. They both knew he was lying.

"Well," his friend began, looking down at his watch. "We really do need to get going. You can't be late."
He sighed and put his hands in his pockets. Gave the scenery one more quick look over, as if he were trying to remember random details. He looked down at his watch, too.

"Yeah, we should get going. Her funeral's in half an hour."

Sunday, February 28, 2010

Into the Sun

The burn of cheap vodka
And the following warm glow
Intermingled with the smog of cigarettes
And its surprising warm comfort
The cold, awful chill of winter outside
And the humor in its familiarity
Staring straight at a tiny black dot
Right into your eyes
Laying in bed with the phone pressed to one ear
And a familiar voice ricocheting inside my head
The thrill and comfort you brought me
The longing and joy you gave me
You made me see past jealousy and spite
I ignored secrecy and manipulation because you instead
Sent me courage and grace
And honesty and confidence
There were other things, though
The pain you felt
The women who actually had you
The far and uncloseable distance
Something about you is so unbelievably perfect
Yet everything around you is so utterly wrong

Thursday, February 25, 2010

Psychosomatic Injury

The process of turning intangible to real,
Something existent that we could feel,
Harnessed emotion becomes physical presence.
Is it still palpable, if only in essence?

From abstract love and theoretical passion,
We derive absolutes in our imperfect fashion.
Actuality is created out of flawed ideal
And we suffer and rejoice without knowing what's real.

Wednesday, February 24, 2010

Destruction Begets Reconstruction

"Ugh," she coughed, spit and blood collecting at the corners of her mouth. She clutched her stomach. Something that felt like anger coated the inside of her torso like molton tar. She knotted the fabric of her t-shirt in her fingers, twisting and pulling the cotton around her knuckles.

She looked out the gray, gray window with burning eyes. Her typically bright clear stare was replaced by something dull and listless. Veins pulsed red in her sclera.

"AAAAAAAUUUGHHH." She growled with a gnarled and dirty voice as she rose on unsturdy feet. She crossed the room and reached out in a staccato manner, then grabbed a decaying bookshelf in her dry, chapped hands and yanked it brutally to the floor. Musty, yellowed love stories crashed and splintered on the ground. Dust and paper burst into the heavy air, shrouding the room in a depressing snow. The fragments floated downwards almost angelically before settling on the ruins of demolished furniture and lost hope.

The waning sunlight that came through the window barely warmed her withered shoulders. It didn't reflect in her hair anymore. Everything she ate tasted like vomit and dust. Her fingers were perpetually plagued by slivers of old wood and dark circles sagged beneath her lethargic eyes.

She knelt by the remains of the former bookshelf, the crack of her knees starkly echoing, and stared, long and hard, at all that was ruined. Without thought, she reached out a pale hand and allowed her fingertips to sift through the surface of splintered boards and torn paper. Before she knew it, she was wrist deep in wreckage, pulling out and setting aside tattered papers, reassembling them. She didn't know why she was doing it. It didn't even occur to her to think about why she was doing it. It wasn't a puzzle or an act of regret; it was moreso a residual haunting inside of her just going through the motions of placing things where they belonged, returning things to their original states.

Having done it thousands of times before, she pushed the pieces of paper together, reforming love letters and old diary pages. A wilted smile tugged at the corners of her cracked lips as her gaze danced over the scrawled writing, as memories started blossoming, as her heart began to beat again.

Tuesday, February 23, 2010

In The Beginning

Like Eve gave to Adam, the bitter poisonous apple.
She knew she shouldn't have, but she wanted to.
She wanted to give and share what she wasn't supposed to know.
To show what she had learned,
To tell what she was told.
Revealing the inner secrets of the darkest order.

He fell for it.
He took it.
He knew it was wrong. Felt it was bad.
But took a bite anyway.

He fell into that same mysterious, downward path.
Slipping backwards into irrevocable actions.
Let himself feel vulnerable,
Felt her vulnerability.

She didn't do it to be wicked.
Or to ruin him. Shame him.
She did it so she could feel him,
And hold him inside of her for at least one moment.
Regardless of how erroneous it was.

It was beautiful; it was terrible.
That blessed moment of imperfect union.
Magical and full of fault.
Full of mistakes with no one to blame.

Unlike Adam and Eve, the punitive God doesn't exist on the same plane.
Unless you count
Guilt and
Regret and
Utter embarrassment
For making the wrong decision and not thinking about any future consequence.

She would be remorseful.
He would be punished.

Maybe unlike Adam and Eve, there will be no bad consequence.
Maybe it was supposed to happen.
Maybe it was good.

She would be ecstatic.
He would be rewarded.

Maybe this tiny rift will not ripple through the rest of their lives.
Maybe life will continue unchanged.
Like nothing ever happened.

She would lament it.
He would move on.

Friday, February 19, 2010

Baby, I'm scared.

Baby, I'm scared.
Did I make a mistake in coming here?
I walked through the wrong door, took the wrong drink.
The hallway is spinning liquid color and the acrid smell of pot clings to everything.
It settles in the fabric, mettles with the material.

All the laughing, laughing, laughing
Billows out from nearby rooms.
To tell me, "Hey,
"You're not supposed to be here."
"What are you doing here?"
"What are you wearing!?"

I think I walked through the wrong door.
There you are, like a prize.
Gold and blind.
She has you, dangles you, teases me with you.
With her laughing, laughing, laughing
and tossing her head back, shaking her hair
Wearing a mask and staring at me

With those glittery, malicious eyes.
Blue and mean and full of things that aren't true.
She has you; there you are
Gold and blind, like a prize.
In her ivory hands, with those awful fingers
That look like powdery spiders' legs.

I think I took the wrong drink,
And everything is spinning, spinning, spinning.
Blue and black and red and orange
I want you here; I want you back.
I want to give you back what she took away.
I want what I never had, what I always wanted.

To feel a heartbeat on my cheek.
To feel your breath on my hair.
To feel arms pull me closer to someone.
To feel time slow and gravity fail and for us

to go spinning, spinning, spinning, and laughing, laughing, laughing
Into our own way
But baby, I'm scared.
I'm scared of her.
I'm scared you still love her.
And I'm scared you both will ruin me.