One day, I stepped out on a limb;
stupid me,
I thought that I could fly.


The sun was shining
and the clouds were dancing
over the deadened grassy null.
I hadn't sung in days,
for my tweet was rasp and spent.


I lunged forward,
possessed by the idea of freedom.


At first I was gliding,
but then I began to fall.
My broken wing flittered,
hopelessly,
trying to catch a gust of wind coming up from below me;
to no avail.


A part of me was content with this,
knowing that I would land
and wind up dead.


I continued to fall,
fast and unsure.
My body violently twirling through the air,
until I landed,
not so gracefully,
on the slate of ground beneath me.


And there I lay,
still,
silent
and alone;
nothing but a dead little bird
in the middle of nowhere.

I've tripped and stumbled into a precipice.
I'm falling into darkness,
slipping without a clutch.
I can't feel,
I can't sleep,
eat,
or breath.


I'm no longer living.
I'm absent at the wheel.


Colors are dull,
foods are bitter,
light is dark.
There's nothing that's vivid.


I'm chained and shackled behind closed doors.
I'm blanketed in pain and hurt,
no longer hate.
I'm lost,
without cause.
I'm an empty shell.
A spectre that haunts me in my dreams.
A product of my acquired succession
of misery,
and misfortune.

Inspire me with kisses,
slow at first,
with your grinning lips.

Prove to me
tomorrow can be better,
that all this agonizing while
is worth it.
Prove to me
I love you.

Make my needy,
greedy, thoughts
worth your perfectly
imperfect
body.


I'd give you the moon.
Lasso,
tug,
and even wrap a bright red ribbon
'round it's full
figured
belly.


I love,
in that undefined way,
everything about you.

You make me smile,
even when you're angry.
Keep me on the edge,
and thinking...
Kiss me.


Reverse time
and hold me,
like all of the days before
(now).
Make it okay for me to
feel,
anything at all,

when I'm with you.

The stars are pixie dust,
and I can have them all at my fingertips.

The girl that was never
less
than more.
Feeling me from the inside
out,
my full of
wonder
girl.

The morning wakes us through my window.

Her hair,
a pale,
silky brown,
climbing down
her back,
(in reverse)
like matted vines
climbing up an eighteenth century wall.

The scent of my coconut lime
mixed
with her french vanilla
has glazed the room.

My face at the side of her,
still,
arm,
leading to her hand,
leading to her fingers,
unconsciously
twirling in the little curl of hair
behind my left ear.

My leg shifts against her body,
draws up,
then down;
a smooth frictionless
contact.

Contemplative thoughts of starting another battle
between tongues
and
dancing limbs
(our bodies)
on this battlefield
of wrinkled sheets
and sunlight.

We're all gonna die
some day,
not today.
Say,
so we're saying.

I like to think it's now.

The sex is killing,
people chilling.
Dope
and rum,
some shooting
up
is going on.

A gun.
Needles.

Some kind of fun.

Share the wealth.

"I like to hold my breath
and speak,
politics,"
addicting.
True addiction,
matted hair
and bad B.O.
"I'm all natural;"
the girl over the counter,
turning blue
in the face.

Where we're going:
automotives,
save the gas
burn the ozone.
Flying fucks
are passing by
in abundant store,
the only stock
we've got
saved up.

Religion burning holes
in socks,
the black man on the tree.
Little girl walks by.

(fast forward)

Grows up knowing
daddy did it.
Late at night she's burning
holes in socks,
shares her god,
tradition;
has a baby.

Baby grows up like mommy,
growing up like daddy.

Speaking of daddy,
daddies fucking daughters

never telling mommy.

Wonder what Daddy did for Bush,
by the way.
Why risk it?
Risky
little
boys,
playing with a country.
Killing
now they're chilling,
made the cut,
won the vote.

Maybe fixed

(automated thoughts)
Insert a "flying fuck."

Fuck the anorexic bitch
who giggles like it's all okay,
just before she splits a vein.

Angry little girls
having sex
with angry little boys
on a big yellow bus.

Six feet under's just not deep enough,
bodies washing up on shore,
natural disaster.

Help the needy,
only 37 cents a day.

(automated thoughts)
Insert a "flying fuck."


    Spread the love.

You snake your fingers
      through an elaborate
    floral-printed
  bowl,
barely heaped with
        various
          reds.
You realize,
    there's an art
   to picking the
      perfect
        cherry
from the bowl.

It's colored with a deep
      -not dark-
        hue.
The skin firm,
  not soft;
        and you squeeze,
just to make sure,
    but it gives no way
It must have a stem
      from which you wrap your lips
  and pluck
        this delicate flower
    from its,
          once,
nurturing umbilical cord.

You're tongue presses it
        against the roof
    of your mouth
and you savor its
        sweet
            nectar
slipping
      over your taste buds.
Next,
    you sink your teeth
        into its delicate insides.

Juice fills your mouth and you sigh .

      Moist textures
  dance
      over your tongue,
          and the sweet-tart
    that is cherry
    sings melodic songs
        to your pleasures.

Your final verse,
    in this silent sonnet,
        ends
  as you pucker your cherry-stained lips,
      and pop a crimson
      clotted
  seed
into your hand.

Passion flowers, an open heart,
bleeding tears, rubies,
fingers without fingernails, silk sheets,
whip lashes on a back, a tongue,
sliced flesh, dead eyes,
an unlit light bulb,
burning coals, rotting fruit,
apple skins, a missing ear,
dancing ribbons, the center of a peach,
a tainted sky, the nectar of fruit, rotting flesh,
burn marks, velvet cloth, a smudge of red ink on paper,
a raw uncolored egg, a tub of warm water,
the after effects of a blade to a wrist,
the roses in the garden.

My fingers glide above the ivory keys
then softly flow over them,
through them.
Causing bold notes to erupt
in a constant harmony;
a tune.
I can feel my soul,
as if a flask of water,
being poured out for the world to see.
Beauty within,
I feel
as this instrument comes to life.
Sweetness sounding,
I hear
as this hollow tree sings to me.
My passion.

Make me bleed
make me beg
for you to take me.
Make me cry
and scream,
make me want you.
Make me want to be with you.
Make me need you
love you
want to have you.
Make me.

Late night shadows playing,
dancing
laughing...
Sometimes just a little chat
about the things that die.
A chat of death,
between the dead...
And dying.
Never twisted
never sad,
or morbid.
Sometimes just a comic
relief.

We'll sit here
for hours,
you and I,
together.
Never.

We'll giggle and share
our grim little secrets.
The ones we never,
ever,
speak
in words.
Want to?

Late night shadows latent
resting
still...
Now they're never breathing,
thinking.
Anymore.
Again.
Now they're never more.

I see a shadow in the mirror. I think it's me.

Switch the lights on.
Who?
Silence.
No response.

I take one step closer, and reach out my hand.
So does she.

I know she sees me, looking back.
So content. I think she just might smile.

I reach and touch.
Cold.

Tear.
I walk away.
She's watching.

Turn around.
Reflecting?

She is missing.
Fading.
I dont see me.

Walk.
Walls are closing in.
I'm spinning.
Dizzy, feeling sick.
Please stop.


A little girl is sitting in the corner of the room.
Crying.
All alone.
Choking on the dreams I'm having.
Killing her.
My hands are bloodied.
Nail her down to blocks of wood.
My monster laughing, skinning her alive.
Pulling at her hair.
She screams.
Cut out her tongue.

Choking on the dreams I'm having.
The little girl.

Escape.
No.
Can't.

Trapped.

Long curvy lines
of mellow
sound
echo down the hall.

Heavy,
brazen...

My kind of music.

A solo.

Rich,
moist,
like a warm piece of
(unfrosted)
cake.

My child hood was like that.

And sometimes
I still hear it playing.
My empty opus of happy
always passing
through
my bedroom door.

My maestro of lull.

That beautiful sound,
vibrating deep
deep
in my ear.

Teaching my body to dance,
and my mind
to rest.
Quiet.
Stop thinking.

Then the music
stops.

Just short
of where I am,
somewhere down the hall.

Somewhere I know I'll never
find.

A place
outside my dreaming.

I'm here,
I'm here,
I'm below your big broad shoe.

Do you see me?
My little shadow cast below,
and the grass beneath my feet?

I feed here.
I sleep here.
I breathe,
and dream here.

I'm here.

I see you stare;
looking down
on me.
Temptation rousing you
to take me;
pluck
me from my
stable
stance.

Liberate me,
my body,
from my mind.
Make me yours,
dependant on your worry.

Different
from the likeness
of my surroundings,
make me unique to you.

But forget-me-not
(my fragile disposition),
my weight undone with ease.

On the porch,
above three creaky narrow steps,
the fireflies are dancing.

A somewhat silent tune
is playing through the trees,
as it drums on this mystic dance.

I shall creep up,
and peek;
raise my eyes,
step,
by step.

I will be witness
to the dancing lights,
and songs,
of nightly
summer happenings.

And until tomorrow,
I will watch them dance.
Then fall
one by one,
as the song dies down,
no longer whispering neurotic nothings
in my ear.

I'll rest my head
and dream,
of the twilight stars
I’ve seen.
Until tomorrow,
I'll be free...
      of things.

This little girl is queer,
in a funny sort of way.
She likes to kiss other girls,
but doesn't like to say
how she feels.

Slip the tongue,
and grin.
Her,
and this twisted little sin.

Turn away,
and blush,
act like you don't know.


She has a stupid little habit,
of always falling for the
(same)
wrong
one.
Addicted
to an evil drug.

Lust
-versus-
lust.

Far away
and free,
nowhere near the blushing
rushing.
Take her time
and share.
-Rhythmic bodies
dancing
in the back seat
of her car.-


A kiss.

Like a sigh,
I'm breathing
the heated weather.


The crickets singing,
forcing me,
my mind,
in thoughts;
to thinking


of her.


Ways to tell her,
not to,
to,
believe,
be free,
and see
the sunshine.


It's okay to leap
fly,
fall,
fast…
Because I'll catch her,
crying,
Smiling;
lying on my bed.

I went for a walk today,
and saw you there.
Simple,
and perfect,
though you'd been stripped of your vibrance.
Then carried you with me.


I went for a walk today,
and saw the moon.
Pale,
and brilliant
among the last of a sky blue hue.
Soon the sun would set.


I went for a walk today,
and the wind blew my hair.
Left,
right,
then flopped before my eyes.
But I didn't care.


Not this time.


I went for a walk today,
and felt content
with the queer,
and coy,
that stand apart.
How translucent I've become.


I went for a walk today.
(just)
A walk:
nothing more
than a nonchalant stroll
to my mailbox.

A stream of light
is shining through
my window.
One tiny hole
in the center
of my shade.

Shatter the darkness,
a sliver of glass.

Broken pieces scatter
reflections on my wall.

A poet is singing
me
in bed.

A quite
constant
humming.
Soothing me to sleep.

Then.

Sad
and
stagnant thoughts,
bid my brain
to wake
(again).

Refer back,
(to my window)
and the day within my night.

A static nocturne
behind closed doors.

The outside world
is reaching in,
a giant hand
is searching
for me.

Hide.

Feeling fake,
somewhat like
a lie,

I cry.

The kinds of things that stick to paper,
and never spread
by ear.

All the ways I'd like to touch her,
all the ways I think I care,
and reasons why I love
him.

The hate, anger, depression;
oppression
of the me I loath.

The kinky me,
the quirky me,
the way I hold myself and cry;
pretend
that I'm not standing
still.

Every smile,
recorded with a moving line.

These are the things that I confess,
in every conversation
with my wall.

These:

The kinds of things I'd like to tell you,
just to hear you say,
"you're crazy;

but I love you."

A world of grey
that fades away.
Slowly creeping
over gates
and under doors.
Around the corners
and through the cracks.
Where I rest
I lie me down.
Sinking deep into the ground.

Sometimes I think I know her,
the me that's slowly changing.
I recognize her quirks.
-Those things that make her smile,
giggle,
and laugh until she sighs,
with relief,
for her aching ribs
can rest.-

I finally had to decide.
Choose.

I feel like a time-clock.

Once wound too tight,
now winding backwards.
I see,
ever so clear,
the days that pass me by;
sunlight
to moonlight,
I'll never miss the dark.

The shady, dreaded dark,
the blinding dark.
The empty
that used to leave me
to me.
While I was still choosing,
confusing,
myself.

Grains of sand pack tight between her toes.
A little girl looks down,
watching,
as the sea comes in, slowly caressing her feet,
engulfing her toes,
then pulls back away, again.
Her bright green eyes,
Wide,
New,
fond of this surprise.
Her first visit with the sea.

She takes a few steps deeper,
and watches the stars on the surface,
ripples reflecting
the sun.
A giggle echoing
in her tiny ears.
Open spaces.
Still new places,
to explore.

Then she sits.

The chill from the sea,
much like a cool,
crisp, breeze in early spring.
It nips at her knees,
and her upper thighs.
She digs her tiny fingers into the clay-like sand below her,
and pulls some up in her fists,
her fingers curled.
Holding it in mid-air, she releases her grip.
The sand falls back to the water, with a splash.

A sweet,
sunny day.
Smiles, and laughter.

Laying back,
The water molding,
firm, around her face.
A perfect fit.
The little girl feels safe here,
at home.
The heavy waves come into the beach,
crashing,
splashing,
rolling over her tiny body.
She feels her hair flow up,
then settle back around her ears,
covering them,
blocking the sounds of the sea...
For just a while.
A reminder of her mother.
Of her soft,
warm
beginning.

Bruised and beaten by myself.
Open wounds
still bleeding.
Sometimes feeling
...somewhat happy,
I shrug it off with drugs
and pain.
Finding ways to make it hurt,
more,
every day I try.

Cold and naked in the dark,
my flaws exposed,
my body wasted.
Deserving every awful look
and every word
that's cruel.

My hate says it all,
everything about me.
My selfish
wasteful
ways,
are killing me inside.
Slowly,
surely.
But just like always,
me.
It's all about me.
You can’t fight my will
to fade,
not wanting your survival
skills.
Don't save me
...from me.
I'm my own demise.