Just a Bunch of Words or Phrases in no Particular Order.

Precious silver succumbs to rust and crumbles to dust

In the palm of my hand, I remember what it used to be and I miss your touch

Life stages change over incremental ages

The awkward sprouting of a tree on the face of a mountainside

Lost and humbled, my strong façade has crumbled

I never knew that I needed you this much

Excuses and silly reasons, lies and treason

Back and forth within our own minds all of the time

I speak for myself, and for everyone else

Who has ever had drunken words occupy a sober mind

Can you empathize? Sympathize?

Anything to seem more kind?

I think of you, I dream of you

I hate you and I miss you at the same time

I wonder who really holds my heart?

The thought of being loved, I know

But the moment you embody hope

You become the one I need to hold

Nicotine and liquor make long nights go by quicker

And my patience that had run so thin can run a tad bit thicker

My weakness is my weakness for glimmering eyes and seductive smiles

And for a glimpse at a lustful gaze, I’d travel for many miles

But I won’t malinger on my pen, I’ve exhausted malformed sentences

I had no reason to write this, but I suppose if I was sober

I’d say the same thing in less words –

And also, in less honesty.

 

My Best Dress

Is jet black, velvet and to the floor

Your eyes ache for a little more

My silhouette saves you from a bore

My neck and hem decorated with lace

For one like you who loves a chase

But your eyes are drawn right to my face

My eyes, my smirk, my mocking

Only exacerbate your craze

It was no mistake.

 

 

My Theology.

I believe in an attentive ear that seeks the somber sound of crying in a dark and sightless night. The truth in hearing and believing a life beyond one’s own beating heart is a religion of its own. If faith is mandatory, I’d rather believe in the pensive mind that yearns for justice; a law not written by man, but inherited millennia ago from the sky.

As you believe in God, I believe in a love for life so strong that no small flower be set to a flame. My deity is the beauty of an unkempt green valley, and the dandelion seeds that form clouds upon the horizon in a hot summer gust. As you believe in angels, I believe in the mindless creatures that roam the world with hope in their hearts of falling in love – those silly things are so romantic, they brim with more hope than could ever be discovered in a mine filled with diamonds.

Your belief in heaven is comparable to my belief of a sunny afternoon under a pale blue sky, somewhere far away from the city where I can hear the cicadas and the bullfrogs. There are no gates here, just a noisy silence that raptures me in a way that no psalm ever has. I can read catharsis from the cumulus clouds, or hear a chorus in the little things that live in the loam. What we have in common? We both call our heaven our home.

But what about hell? Well, I don’t believe that exists as long as there is another day. For there are days, nights, weeks and months that I lie awake with teary eyes. There are days that I wish I could simply stop my heart-beat on demand. The heat under my skin is comparable to the literature that describes the underworld, I suppose, when I feel this insatiable need for something, for anything to bring a chill to my fiery anger, or my branding sorrow.

Although I know that it won’t be for ever. Each time I watch the clock, and the arrow hits one minute prior midnight, I know that shortly there will be another day. As the seasons shift their way around the cyclical conundrum that life is made of, one spring day I’ll see my deity, one summer day I’ll fill my heart with hope.

Even in the season of the dead things, the fallen leaves remind me of the hearth of a cozy home. Though I may brood alone, I know that 11:59 is the truest worship time. Idle and fatigued I bide the time, the sixty seconds that always drags my atheist heart out and gives it a moment to practice religion – one second at a time.

Ghost in the Wall

Like a ghost in the wall, I long for your voice. I’m starving to hear your echo through the halls; to feel vibrations from miles away.

I long for the day that I can hear you say again all of the phrases and all of the words that made me shudder – that made me happy to be heard by your eager ears.

I held you dear. I miss you, dear.

And I miss your bright eyes, and your words so wise they sometimes brought me to tears in being all of the things that I have always been so afraid to hear.

But when delivered to me in your peaceful tone, even my greatest fears made me feel at home while swaddled in your arms.

The distance hasn’t made the sound fade at all even in my memory that waivers as I age….

Oh, I age, and like wine the years only make me a little bit more bitter but more or less worth my own weight in gold.

Still, I love to be your ghost. To never see you and yet to ravenously seek the bits of you you’ll never know, your many facets that you never showed;

You hid from me even in the bright lights of day.

Your voice echos over the ages, over many seasons and over many stages in which our lives play on like staged shows where no one knows what the ending will be,

Not for you, or me. Yet like a ghost in the wall, I watch you.

I yearn for your call to bring me back to life, or your silence to let me haunt you with my aching desire.

I wish to light a spark underneath your skin so intense and burning that when you touch me,

I have no choice but to breathe again – the way you did before I became the ghost in your walls.

Things We Do with Our Hands

We touch, and thus by assumption we feel

We mold things to life, we fix or we heal

Broken homes or broken bones; wounded hearts or scattered shards

Of glass, like glass houses or fragile minds

We use them to be cruel or capriciously kind

We cover our eyes, we lead the blind

Or we feel our way around with fingertips for eyes

We touch, and thus by assumption we feel pleasure

Or pain, or both in a masochistic way

Skin on skin, fingers over lips or over whips

We hope that in the end we’re satisfied at least a bit

We break things, like paper wings on folded paper planes

That we fold the way we fold our tales, our sheets at night, our wishful mail

Written with careful fingers under candlelight as nocturnal birds take flight

We write ‘I miss you so…’ then fold the plane and let it go

We lie, by proxy I suppose when we write falsities or sins

We apologize with the things we buy, most commonly being roses

We hurt each other, for pleasure perhaps in a sadistic way

But the worst we do is say good-bye

With something as callous as a quick and airy wave.

The Valley

No one search for me, for though I am lost I have no desire to be found again.

I long for the blaring sounds of cicadas over the overbearing silence in the dryness of the valley,

The rolling meadow with cascading blankets of green grass and yellow dandelions a map freckled in gold.

Wrapped in this dry and sweet-smelling blanket, my dreams of ebbing pain will never grow old,

They’ll only echo through satin blue dawn as loudly as the other sounds that never reach the air.

No one looks for me, no one knows I’m gone. Am I hiding, or have I been forgotten?

I don’t know; I don’t care.

There is nowhere else I’d rather go than this place so deep in my memories.

I can still hear the trickling of a stream over worn pebbles, I can still smell smoke so distantly.

As I tuck myself away in my warm reverie, I wait so patiently for the gold to turn to ivory.

The dandelions are so binary – white or yellow, I never witness them as both, though I delight at the tiny clouds.

Only in the brightest of the sun rays as the most ambitious seeds hop up and float away,

I hold my breath for the right one to wish upon beneath the blaring sun.

In burning heat and beading sweat, still so patient, I hold my breath.

This dream won’t last forever, but this memory will never fade as I remember my feet wade through the valley,

Time and time again, I’ll never forget about this place that I’m not sure I’ve ever been.

The way it holds me softly when the tears won’t leave my eyes, the way it holds me softly when I idly fantasize

Of somewhere that no one will ever find me, were they to even remember my face

And since no one looks for me, I can pretend that I don’t exist as I hold my flower and close my eyes to make my wish.

The sun hot on my face and glowing through my shut eyelids, I’ll make my wish.

And thus I release my breath, but it’s been so long since I inhaled… it’s been so long that I’ve been gone so far away –

I’ve forgotten what I hoped to wish!

So I watch the seeds drift off in a scattered cloud, into the pale forever blue in a quickly dispersing shroud

Next dream, they’ll bloom again and I can return once more to the valley in which I will never be found.

I haven’t learned my lesson

A rush of blood through the veins

A bolt of lightning to make the heart beat again

Hot tears simmering against eyelids

Cold drops of sweat on feverish skin…

Oh, what I would give to feel again.

I gave heartache the longest break,

A thin layer of frost coated my skin

And I placed chains on all the bits of me within

That ever longed for love.

I clipped the wings of that captured dove

Soundproofed the glass to stifle her song

I doubted I’d miss it after so long,

But now I can’t even recall the sound.

Now, I don’t miss your mischief or your mistresses

I long for steady heart-beats and only tears that accompany a smile

Hope has yet to seem worth-while,

When I remember cold and lonesome December

When ice and snow trapped me with no place to go

Your arms twice as cold, the novelty of me so old

In your fickle heart.

I do dream to the sound of my favorite song,

Of breathing normally after so long –

Inhale, exhale and carry on

With no drugs or no alcohol, just faith in love.

A rush of blood all through my face

Electric pulses resuscitate

Heat of the sun when it’s finally May

Cold chills of excitement; heart, don’t hesitate.

Oh, what I would give to love again.

 

Rainbow Rouse

Red lipstick makes you think I want you

I wear all black simply to daunt you

With pink flowers to awaken your gaze

And let you imagine my innocent days

Brown eyes to watch you wake

Under heavy lashes, to filter your face

Blue days in a cloudy haze

With white cotton clouds to give us shade

Yellow sun and silver moon

Mixed with the orange and violet late noon

Green grass after the storm

Reminds me that I have no need to mourn

Grey everything; a forecast forlorn

I can’t see your silhouette anymore

Just light and dark shadows in monochrome

And the glistening road where I seek my way home

All of the colors that I know

Couldn’t form a scene where I hold you close

In the damp air, a sunlit rainbow

Promised me the floodgates will close –

I’m still waiting.

 

 

 

 

Douse Me.

He once said to me:

“You’re like a fire – hard to hold close due to the heat of your flames

The ones you love end up scorched, and thus you flee in shame

But it’s evident that you were here, long after you are gone

The tell-tale trail of smoke lingers and the ashes are trailed along.”

I don’t intend to tend my embers, they spark themselves once I’m awake

They slowly kindle throughout the day and surround me in a steaming haze

I can’t see through the wispy curtain, I can’t comprehend the errs of my ways

All I see is red, vivid and growling through the darkest of days

I mourn for those I hurt – I swear!  I hope they do recover

But I beg for mercy under the heat, the sweat that drenches my covers

Every morning the yellow sun peaks over the lake my eyes are red with hate

I don’t want to live another day engulfed in these perpetual flames

Scorched and charred I crumble, ashes tossed into the air

Shrunken and crippled, there’s less of me and so much more of the terrible flare

Nothing will remain when I exhaust, nothing but the smoke and the haze

While I’m still here, I pray someone douse me

Much like my lost lovers, I despise the pain.

Oh Star, Die Tonight

Upon a glowing satellite I make a morbid wish tonight

With teary eyes, I hope to make a pagan sacrifice on her life

I’ve never seen a star fall, but I confuse the flashing lights of jets

In the midst of their midnight flights, but I’m disappointed by yellow lights

Hear me, clearly, white plasma being in your angelic glow

Fall down from your reign and ease my pain

Use your thousands of years to alleviate my fears

And take your brilliant heat to melt things frozen in my memories

Not unlike you, I want to be born anew

I can’t fight the hurt and lies that have passed before my eyes

I can’t wear away the scars that speckle my skin like black stars

But you… lucky you, you still shine true through the darkest dusk

You have no surface to be succumbed to rust, to negligence or dust

Though in time your flames will explode and you’ll be mine

You’ll fall so rapidly, your tail will spread for miles against the sky

And I’ll be there, I swear, to make my wishes come true

But tonight you live, and I have no use for you

 

Yet I fear the day you pass away, and I’m not there to pray

And ever worse, I fear you’ll pass away

And all of my hopes will dissipate along with your silver flame