The Bloody Lover of Time

Tick Tock.
There's a deep beating of a
bloody clock
nailed to the wall.
You're a nest breaker
with the cracking of the eggs
underneath the thin layer of static
we're walking on.
There's a stretching sensation
of time spreading thin
as the cells snap, breaking
and drowning within the bruises.
I delight in the sadistic side of your love
as I watch it bouncing down
the steps and into the glass,
smashing and cracking
the delicate frame
you've placed yourself in.
Tick Tock.
Tick Tock.
It's not as if you can rip
the hands apart,
smashing the fingers as they stretch towards the hours.
We can break the eggs
and drink the yokes,
letting them run yellow down
the fronts of our clothes,
soaking and dying,
molting and shredding
the remains of this
broken relationship
while mixing a glass of
wine.

fly

fly
and rid ourselves of pain
grow soft
and feel the breaking of bones
tearing of flesh
relax
lean back and drink
the constant falling of rain
before we drown
so fly
high
until we are without direction
lost within this state of being
not fully whole
neither empty though
fly
as far as you can go
moving within circles
yet always leaving
fly away
from me
from here
from everything, until you can go no more

walk
for now your wings are shredded
broken
blistered
walk
for now you can fly no more

Sinner

I am used to your sins,
the curdle in the air, the scream
that poisons the frothy
white of the milk.
There is no doubt it was you,
yet the evidence is foggy,
smoke upon the glass, ashes
upon the sidewalk
and mud within your hair,
a sweet, sticky solution
to these ravages
while you kiss me open,
hold me back,
and lie directly in my ears.
I fold myself to sleep within
your voice, my arms
wrapped 'round the hollow
of your ribs,
blessed in the ruddy wounds
that weight me down within fatigue.
Still,
I know the breath of a liar,
the stench of the mad
and the ever molting sensation
of a killer's hands wrapped
'round my neck...

and there is no discomfort.

Drinking the Storm

You know that I can taste the thunder, pull back my eyes, cross my lips and whimper beneath the slight chill that foams across the air. Because it's coming, the splatter against the pavement, the collapse against the windows and the thrilling hum of energy as I inhale.

          

But still, I don't think you really want to hear about that, my feelings about something other than yourself. I still wish for the cheap sensations of desire to kiss my lips and knock me backwards into the damp grass while gray clouds roll and boil above my heart.

            

I'm just waiting for it all to explode with thunder and let the lightning skim across my flesh, mar my surface and try to prove something. I don't know what though, I don't know what.

            

I need to taste thunder though, chew the lightning and drink the storm, knocking it all back with the third rate sensations of sensuality detained at the border, guarded and shot upon at sight. I need to let it go, fall forward, tumble down the hill, clutching the fragments of what little self-esteem you allowed me to keep.

            

I'll keep rolling until I hit the bottom and find the rain upon me.

Watching You

06/03/12

I can remember the way
I watch you,
eyes darting away to not get caught
as I check you out,
scrape the lines of your body clean
before rising up to meet your eyes
in a panic,
for I want to touch you,
kiss you clean,
straddle your lap, lace your fingers
through mine and allow myself
to fall forward into you.

More of a Poet

I think I’m more greedy

than you can imagine,

spread out and dyed,

smothered in the freshly baked pages

of imagery gone wild,

swinging out across the sand.

I want to swallow and taste

the bitter hue

of words gone sour

in the library of our thoughts composed,

boiled, shredded and baked

in the oven of our small apartment.

I’ve got the sensation

of all your angles and panes

stamped across my tongue

despite my actions of trying to

scrape myself clean of you

with a bloody knife.

I’ve got you printed deep within

the pages and painted

across my skin,

despite my horror.

I’ll never see your grimace,

your smile, your laugh

carved and curled around the words.

I’m expecting myself to write fantasy

in which you don’t exist,

the wall are white

and the sheets are clean.

You’re more of a poet than

I am though,

for I can still feel your presence

moving inside me.

Confession

06/17/12

There's the gap in my chest
as my ribs are slowly pried apart,
my lungs gasping for air,
my mouth dry as I try to swallow
my heart down deep into my chest
before it bursts.
I can't believe I said that
to you.

This Evening

I can feel the ache of my lungs,
the collapse of my bones
as I start to fall inwards
from the weight
of this evening.
I need you to pull my ribs forward,
kiss the dry whites of my eyes,
smother me down, bite
the blue of this bruise
slowly starting to bloom
upwards along my chest.
I know this will take time
to heal.

Fall

06/09/12

I want to fall,
unbuckle my arms,
stretch out my fingers,
and feel my bones snap against the wind
as I become elastic, sinking
downwards beneath the bruised
undersides of my eyelids,
heavy with the tears I haven't managed
to shed yet.
But I'm scared to saying this,
spreading voice to these desires,
afraid that if you get in the way
I'll grab hold
and I can't ask you, I can't
ask you the burden
of catching me.
Not when I don't know how far
I have to fall.

That Night

What if I could taste

the broken memories of that night

against my tongue,

sticking to the roof of my mouth,

fighting the forbidden desire

to swallow,

to assimilate you

within me,

buried within the squirming

silence of desire,

swallowing with a gulp

the fantasy you've brought

the dreams you've played,

spun around my neck,

designed in the wish to garrot,

replacing all my fantasies

with your reality,

crying, sobbing,

crawling through the sheets

and falling off the bed

with a clatter of bones

as they break

all connections between...

Learned to Hate

You’ve learned to hate,

starting with the slow

painful quick growing

of your skin,

stretching a betrayal all across your body,

because you’re no longer a child.

You’ve learned to hate

this cage you’ll never be rid of,

for it’s too big,

too fat, too wide,

not skinny enough to swallow your soul whole

and eat you through from

the inside.

You’ve learned to hate

this blood that’s always flowing

when you least need it,

for in the eyes of anyone else

to you it says you’re dirty,

you’re sinful

now that you’ve split

the essence of life upon the floor

and devoured the fruit of heaven,

because you know

you can never go back.

Catching Me

06/12/12

I am not asking for anything,
not the weight of your hand
in mine, the trace
of your breath along the back of my neck
or even your smile.
Because I am content
with how it is,
this distance, the searching glances
from the corners of my eyes,
your name not even mentioned
as I run my pen along the paper,
afraid as if I could jinx myself.
I'm scared to lean against you
because I want to, need
to fall
and I can't ask you the burden
of catching me.

Red

Red lips that are not so red.

You smile

with mock sincerity etched upon your face.

You’re laughing at me.

I’d hear whispers late at night, of how

you rip peoples’ hearts out

and leave them to fester in the open air,

blood spilling out,

dying red to black,

sticking, causing a permanent wound,

just like the one you left on me.

Red lips that are not so red.

You pout,

creating the unfair urge to protect, yet

you’re cutting into me.

I’d watch you paint, never sleeping,

creating false visions

and twisted pictures of reality,

paint smeared across the canvas,

staining white with red,

mixing a permanent brand,

just like the one you left on me.

Red lips that are not so red.

You frown

with distain marked upon your brow.

You’re looking down on me.

I’d listen to you criticize and mock

my every move and reaction to you,

launching a frontal attack with words,

piercing deep within my cells,

clouding back a layer of rage,

just like the one you left on me.

Red lips that are not so red.

You laugh,

knowing my limitations and boundaries.

You’re playing with me.

I’d hear your voice with taunting tones,

drawing me in circles,

wearing me down because you know

I can’t resist you,

dark red on skin, you lips on mine,

a branding of ownership by lipstick,

just like the one you left on…

him.

Red lips that are not so red,

sealed tightly against what

I want to hear.

Concrete Paradise

You comb the flowers,
brush the grass, pick
the earth clean and design
the streets running through it all.
This is a maze, this is
your concrete bed upon which we walk,
struggle, wander forward and
chase the wilderness all down.
It pays and it sells to develop soft recollections
of paradise, fake-Edens planted,
and weeded and trimmed and
mowed and painted and picked free
of undesirable life forms.
But still...
the sun is hot as it oozes down
the pavement, seeps through the gray
and reflects off the noise of
society in full throttle motion,
sliding forward into the
red lights of traffic,
paradise forever lost to us on
the other side of the
highway.

May 23, 2012

I already knew how
this would end,
the rasp of your voice
as we talk in quiet whispers,
spinning memories and confessions
of love, my hands gripped
tightly in yours,
tears forming as I whisper
I love you again and again
until the echo of your breath
fades away softly into the night air
as I let go of you
for the final time.

Open

My body is open,
curved wide along the pieces
of my spine,
heart failing as the blood
pulses weakly through my veins
until I'm left with nothing
but the faint beat of my heart
a dull echo in my skull.
I'll ask you to fill me,
hands fluttering along the sides of my ribs,
fingers tracing the ache of my lungs,
the strips of my skin blood ribbons
trailing down my clothes
as I wait to receive your love
and end the emptiness
inside me.

One Thing

I want you to know one thing
about this
about me
about how I feel about you
but more importantly how I wish you would feel about me
because if you smile then laugh, say that I'm great
say that I'm funny
say that you love me
even if I can never become your lover
so please, can you humor me for a day
for an hour
for a minute
for a second frozen in time
pretend that you love me to the end of the world and that your love will never change or waver
pretend that you are mine
because I am already yours and have been long before
you've known it
yet this is wishful thinking
a dream that I can't escape from and sometimes I wish it was over.
Yet I want you to know this
before this dream has ended and we go back to reality
know that I love you and pretend that you love me
just for a second to humor me.

Then we can go back to being
friends.

Bald Moon

You know I dream of a
bald moon,
pale in the remnants of a sickness
floating on the surface of the skin,
frothing within the veins
and piling high behind my eyelids.
I'll pool in the blood,
mark 'cross the darkness
as I step forwards across the hollow bridge
while the soft
sick sounds of reality snapping
echo around my flesh and
through the hollow curves of my bones until
I'm dying
again and again
within the sheets of a murder,
all white,
all damned,
slowly smoked apart and served
upon glass dished with the semblance of
your screams.

You know I wish that this
was over.