Falling
The falling was the easiest part. And, really, it was more like sinking. It was like walking into the ocean’s arms until all that existed was salt water and the ache of breathless lungs. But what an exquisite ache.
The beginning is always easiest. There are no quarrels, no silences stretching into the darkness, no empty words or broken promises. There are passionate kisses in the rain, frenetic love making. There are soft kisses too, evenings spent cuddled together. There are cups of hot cocoa or lemonade.
If you had asked her the moment she fell in love, it would be when he breathed her name against the paper of her skin. The way he said it like a promise.
If you had asked him the moment he fell in love, it would be when she walked out of the bathroom wearing his shirt from the night before. He knew he wanted to wake up next to her every morning for the rest of his life.
Swimming
The middling is richer than the beginning. It has more depth and is full of sweetness. It is a settling; a melding. It is a slow blending of two into one.
She loved making love during these times more than in the beginning. Those were hurried, sometimes awkward. These were slow and delicious, full of the mutual feelings and shared passion.
He loved talking during these times. They had passed the superfluous “getting to know you” chatter and could get to the meat of shared interests and philosophical topics. They sat, entwined, talking for hours about everything.
Swimming along, they resurface from the falling, riding waves as they come. They take their time, enjoying the feelings without the breathless ache and rushing need. Swimming, they sometimes dive deeper than they ever have, touching milestones to guide them back to surface.
Drowning
The end is defined in the moments they can’t take back. These moments are sometimes clearly etched into memory and sometimes forgettable.
The end came without fanfare. There was no straw to break the camel’s back; no warning bells. They simply let go of each other’s hands in the dark, took one last lungful of air and dove too deep to resurface.
She said it had started ending the day they ran out of things to say. The flow of conversation, their never-ending dialogue, became a trickle and then a drip, until it finally stopped altogether.
He said it was the day they made love and the distance between their fingers seemed to grow shadows and their bodies took up space outside of each other. Separating like lips for a kiss, but never following through. They had blossomed and, just as quickly, they had wilted. No hard feelings, just the memory of oceans.
Showing posts with label imagery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label imagery. Show all posts
Tuesday, July 4, 2017
Saturday, February 27, 2016
Eating Disorder
One day you eat lemons, because the internet says
lemons help detox. And your thighs could use all the
detoxing they can get.
The next day you eat cake because you think skinny
could never taste as wonderful as this slice of
ultra moist chocolate layered heaven.
You obsessively weigh yourself, counting down to the
ounce just how much your belly fat jiggles over your
jeans and how much that piece of cake cost you.
You eat nothing. You don't deserve it, you miserable
waste of human flesh and space. Even the air you breathe
is too calorie dense for you and you practice holding
your breath to make yourself look smaller.
Cake, lemons (no fear of scurvy here), air, measuring
tapes, work out videos, sweat and tears of frustration.
You just want to grab a little slice of happiness,
swallow the sun in bite sized pieces until you glow from
the inside out.
You drink nothing but water, you eat nothing but lemons,
wracking your body down by a pound. Need to run faster,
eat better, swallow the diet pills, measure your food
in eighths of a cup for one meal.
Then one day, the person you so obsessively abused,
forgets how to be and simply vanishes into your punished
body. There is nothing left of you, except you. And
you don't even love you.
lemons help detox. And your thighs could use all the
detoxing they can get.
The next day you eat cake because you think skinny
could never taste as wonderful as this slice of
ultra moist chocolate layered heaven.
You obsessively weigh yourself, counting down to the
ounce just how much your belly fat jiggles over your
jeans and how much that piece of cake cost you.
You eat nothing. You don't deserve it, you miserable
waste of human flesh and space. Even the air you breathe
is too calorie dense for you and you practice holding
your breath to make yourself look smaller.
Cake, lemons (no fear of scurvy here), air, measuring
tapes, work out videos, sweat and tears of frustration.
You just want to grab a little slice of happiness,
swallow the sun in bite sized pieces until you glow from
the inside out.
You drink nothing but water, you eat nothing but lemons,
wracking your body down by a pound. Need to run faster,
eat better, swallow the diet pills, measure your food
in eighths of a cup for one meal.
Then one day, the person you so obsessively abused,
forgets how to be and simply vanishes into your punished
body. There is nothing left of you, except you. And
you don't even love you.
Sunday, February 7, 2016
A Sexual Encounter from the Point of View of a Loveseat
-Twelve hundred dollars and a Pearl Necklace-
He kisses her into my arms; admires my gilt, cream and gold threaded, upholstery. He loves the contrast of her skin against mine. He says so as he slides his hand up her thigh and under her satin slip of a dress. He finds something just as satin and she lets out a gasp of pleasure.
-Venetian and Satin-
Her dress whispers to the floor, intimate as old lovers, and her hips kiss the cushions. Between deep kisses, he notes the plushness. He sighs, blissful, pushing into her and her into me. Her breath comes in short gasps, each one a love letter into my silks. She holds me, shaking.
-Love and Seating-
He cups the curve of her skull, bringing her face closer to his, sharing breaths. Her skin is a blushing umber rose, petals unfolded against cream and gold. She is ripe with need, skin caressing skin until they both begin to burn. When they release, they both cry out in animalistic joy, equally ravaged by waves after waves.
-In years to come, I am a lusty reminder-
He kisses her into my arms; admires my gilt, cream and gold threaded, upholstery. He loves the contrast of her skin against mine. He says so as he slides his hand up her thigh and under her satin slip of a dress. He finds something just as satin and she lets out a gasp of pleasure.
-Venetian and Satin-
Her dress whispers to the floor, intimate as old lovers, and her hips kiss the cushions. Between deep kisses, he notes the plushness. He sighs, blissful, pushing into her and her into me. Her breath comes in short gasps, each one a love letter into my silks. She holds me, shaking.
-Love and Seating-
He cups the curve of her skull, bringing her face closer to his, sharing breaths. Her skin is a blushing umber rose, petals unfolded against cream and gold. She is ripe with need, skin caressing skin until they both begin to burn. When they release, they both cry out in animalistic joy, equally ravaged by waves after waves.
-In years to come, I am a lusty reminder-
Saturday, February 6, 2016
June Bugs
Drinking mint juleps with a striped straw,
empty June lungs soon fill with June bugs
and sparkling July promises.
Bitter. The air is bitter with June skies
and July lightning. We called them fireflies,
like tiny beacons to follow home.
By September all our leaves had begun to
brown and the last of the June bugs had
flown South.
These empty June lungs breathe summer and
taste autumn. The sun sets slower, lingering to
glimpse the moon.
The fireflies fade out, one by one, candles
blown out by turning breezes. We're lost in
the dark and tied to each other by red threads.
In December the stars glitter like cracked glass
and dusty diamonds. Our June lungs have frozen
solid, all the air withered and lost in the snow drifts.
Those summer children have long returned to the
ground and all that is left are naked branches.
We remember lemons and the moon longs for the sun.
empty June lungs soon fill with June bugs
and sparkling July promises.
Bitter. The air is bitter with June skies
and July lightning. We called them fireflies,
like tiny beacons to follow home.
By September all our leaves had begun to
brown and the last of the June bugs had
flown South.
These empty June lungs breathe summer and
taste autumn. The sun sets slower, lingering to
glimpse the moon.
The fireflies fade out, one by one, candles
blown out by turning breezes. We're lost in
the dark and tied to each other by red threads.
In December the stars glitter like cracked glass
and dusty diamonds. Our June lungs have frozen
solid, all the air withered and lost in the snow drifts.
Those summer children have long returned to the
ground and all that is left are naked branches.
We remember lemons and the moon longs for the sun.
Monday, January 11, 2016
Disappearing Act
I woke up this morning missing my feet.
Below my ankles was nothing but air,
those two lefties I always claimed to dance with,
the ones too large and flattened,
those feet that I took for granted,
vanished.
By lunch I had lost my hands.
At the wrists I flexed,
stretching invisible fingers toward glasses of milk,
grasping, but not lifting,
dragging knuckles against ivory keys,
simply gone.
At dinner I noticed the hole in my chest.
Oddly misshaped, somehow full of its invisibility,
I touched it with my missing fingers and wondered;
wondered if I was just imagining those tactile senses,
will the rest of me follow suite?
Disappear?
By bedtime I was nothing more than a head.
Resting on a white pillow, dreaming of bodies fled;
wondering where all our pieces go when we fall apart,
aching from lost soles to lost digits,
my head rolled from side to side,
weeping.
In the morning I was gone.
Below my ankles was nothing but air,
those two lefties I always claimed to dance with,
the ones too large and flattened,
those feet that I took for granted,
vanished.
By lunch I had lost my hands.
At the wrists I flexed,
stretching invisible fingers toward glasses of milk,
grasping, but not lifting,
dragging knuckles against ivory keys,
simply gone.
At dinner I noticed the hole in my chest.
Oddly misshaped, somehow full of its invisibility,
I touched it with my missing fingers and wondered;
wondered if I was just imagining those tactile senses,
will the rest of me follow suite?
Disappear?
By bedtime I was nothing more than a head.
Resting on a white pillow, dreaming of bodies fled;
wondering where all our pieces go when we fall apart,
aching from lost soles to lost digits,
my head rolled from side to side,
weeping.
In the morning I was gone.
Saturday, November 21, 2015
Snowflakes in Black Hair
You are romantic; like snowflakes in black hair,
your smile askew, your hair rakish.
Your lips are roses, pressing themselves together,
parting like every movement is a kiss.
You are quiet; soft spoken like summer rain.
Yet, intense; passionate, provocative, polite.
Your eyes turn into oceans, I could fall hard into,
drowning in them, storm-tossed in softness.
your smile askew, your hair rakish.
Your lips are roses, pressing themselves together,
parting like every movement is a kiss.
You are quiet; soft spoken like summer rain.
Yet, intense; passionate, provocative, polite.
Your eyes turn into oceans, I could fall hard into,
drowning in them, storm-tossed in softness.
Friday, November 20, 2015
Anxiety
"Oh, hello," I say.
It seems you have come to pay
a visit and I am woefully
unprepared for your company.
My anxiety is like a frightened child,
crawling into my bed, inviting me to share
all of it's nightmares so that sleep seems
terribly far away.
It causes my mind to chuckle at
itself. I know this is silly and foolish,
there is no reason, but that is all the
reason I need to want to fight or fly.
My anxiety is sometimes ever present,
sometimes hardly here, sometimes
creeping along the southern walls of
whichever brain's hemisphere, I do not know.
It drops in, uninvited, at the
most random moments.
Whispering nonsense that makes
only sense to my fears.
It wrinkles the blankets,
races my heart up and down my ribs,
like a ladder to some heaven or hell,
knowing very well there is neither.
It wrings its hands against
imagined slights and old debts.
It trembles at phone calls and
knocks upon the door.
It forgets that we must eat,
forgets we must drink,
forgets all but the encompassing
fears.
My anxiety, it is a friend I do not
want to speak with anymore, but
somehow I can't seem to show it the
door.
Only, opening my arms, pretending
I am fine. I am satisfied with this
shell of a life, hugged by a butcher
with a skillful knife.
My anxiety, it kisses me to sleep,
rolls itself into my waking dreams,
shapeshifts into things I think I can't trust,
then back again.
My anxiety is a living, breathing, being.
A guest that refuses to leave.
A child that wants only to share its dreams.
And I am alone with it.
It seems you have come to pay
a visit and I am woefully
unprepared for your company.
My anxiety is like a frightened child,
crawling into my bed, inviting me to share
all of it's nightmares so that sleep seems
terribly far away.
It causes my mind to chuckle at
itself. I know this is silly and foolish,
there is no reason, but that is all the
reason I need to want to fight or fly.
My anxiety is sometimes ever present,
sometimes hardly here, sometimes
creeping along the southern walls of
whichever brain's hemisphere, I do not know.
It drops in, uninvited, at the
most random moments.
Whispering nonsense that makes
only sense to my fears.
It wrinkles the blankets,
races my heart up and down my ribs,
like a ladder to some heaven or hell,
knowing very well there is neither.
It wrings its hands against
imagined slights and old debts.
It trembles at phone calls and
knocks upon the door.
It forgets that we must eat,
forgets we must drink,
forgets all but the encompassing
fears.
My anxiety, it is a friend I do not
want to speak with anymore, but
somehow I can't seem to show it the
door.
Only, opening my arms, pretending
I am fine. I am satisfied with this
shell of a life, hugged by a butcher
with a skillful knife.
My anxiety, it kisses me to sleep,
rolls itself into my waking dreams,
shapeshifts into things I think I can't trust,
then back again.
My anxiety is a living, breathing, being.
A guest that refuses to leave.
A child that wants only to share its dreams.
And I am alone with it.
Sunday, September 27, 2015
The Skeleton Remains
The skeletal remains of your kisses
clink around my incisors, tickle the
ivory of my molars, tap dance across
my canines.
At night I can hear them, tinkling
like chandeliers in a breeze. I can
taste the bittersweet, hollowed, bones
of them curled against my tongue.
Their sugar melts into cavities of
emptiness, blackening my teeth with
the ash of them. They rub themselves
against my taste buds, reminders.
In the still of your long absence,
all of my teeth have rotted away, wasted
by the frame of your feelings for
me. Too sweetly bitter to remain in me.
The ghosts of your kisses have replaced
the skeleton of your love. They howl,
but at least the clink of your chandeliers
against my teeth has ceased.
clink around my incisors, tickle the
ivory of my molars, tap dance across
my canines.
At night I can hear them, tinkling
like chandeliers in a breeze. I can
taste the bittersweet, hollowed, bones
of them curled against my tongue.
Their sugar melts into cavities of
emptiness, blackening my teeth with
the ash of them. They rub themselves
against my taste buds, reminders.
In the still of your long absence,
all of my teeth have rotted away, wasted
by the frame of your feelings for
me. Too sweetly bitter to remain in me.
The ghosts of your kisses have replaced
the skeleton of your love. They howl,
but at least the clink of your chandeliers
against my teeth has ceased.
Thursday, May 21, 2015
Drowning Sun
The Sun drowned last night.
He followed the Moon through starlit passageways, black hair streaming behind her in waves.
She tripped over galaxies, swaying in the celestial ocean; waiting for the next starry tide to come in.
He waded out to stand beside her; their hands entwined like the constellations.
His lips grazed her still night hair, breathed in the newest scent of her and laughed.
She kissed the lemon slice of his mouth, drinking in the golden lips, a hand coming up to tangle in his wheat field hair.
The stars chattered, their diamond teeth clinking together like spoons in glasses; warning bells.
He lost his grip on her hand, slipping under a crescent wave, drifting out on primordial seas.
She lost him amongst the roiling blackness; holes swallowing the sound of her cries.
It was foolish to believe such moments were endless.
When all of heaven's din was hushed, they found him glowing beneath the mirror of the universe.
He had drowned in the tempest of her skies, lost in the voids of their eclipse.
The Sun drowned last night and the Moon has yet to stop weeping.
He followed the Moon through starlit passageways, black hair streaming behind her in waves.
She tripped over galaxies, swaying in the celestial ocean; waiting for the next starry tide to come in.
He waded out to stand beside her; their hands entwined like the constellations.
His lips grazed her still night hair, breathed in the newest scent of her and laughed.
She kissed the lemon slice of his mouth, drinking in the golden lips, a hand coming up to tangle in his wheat field hair.
The stars chattered, their diamond teeth clinking together like spoons in glasses; warning bells.
He lost his grip on her hand, slipping under a crescent wave, drifting out on primordial seas.
She lost him amongst the roiling blackness; holes swallowing the sound of her cries.
It was foolish to believe such moments were endless.
When all of heaven's din was hushed, they found him glowing beneath the mirror of the universe.
He had drowned in the tempest of her skies, lost in the voids of their eclipse.
The Sun drowned last night and the Moon has yet to stop weeping.
Sunday, February 22, 2015
All of Her: Prologue (Final Edit)
Prologue: He doesn't Love You.
"I'm still in love with all of her."
I say nothing. What is there to say, really? I barely hear anything else he says. Not that it matters. He keeps talking; as if this conversation were about what to have for lunch. Or something just as bland. He doesn't even notice that my heart is breaking. I think I might be sick.
His words are echoing in my head. I am stuck on repeat. All I can hear is that awful sentence and my heart, drumming erratically against my rib-cage. I've gone mad. I'm standing here, on my own two hands, going crazy. I'm shaking.
I know he is telling the truth. I don't even have to look at them to know its the truth. Being a glutton for punishment, and already drunk with pain, I look anyway. Why not? She's smiling; lit up by the sunshine of his love.
"I'm still in love with all of her."
I'm not blind; anymore. Its like the gauze has been ripped from my eyes. How did I not see it before? How could I be so completely clueless? Looking at it now, I can easily imagine them. Entangled, wrapped in pink sheets, their pink flesh fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. How did I miss this?
Am I an idiot for wishing he was looking at me?
She's standing a short distance away, barely out of ear-shot, and he is staring off and into her distance. She's still smiling at him, practically basking in the assurances of his love. I recognize that smile. Its the same one I had plastered across my, idiotic, face. Once. I can still remember that feeling; being loved and believing his sunlight would always shine on me. That smile, the one she wears now, is the same smile I was wearing just a few weeks ago. How did I not recognize that look before now?
The whole beach feels like it is trying to swallow me whole. Everything is rolling beneath my feet and he is rocking away from me and into her arms. I just stand there. I feel so pathetic. I try to smile, as if everything is okay, but it wobbles with the weight of the truth. He doesn't notice. I will never smile, like her, again.
How can I when I am watching the love of my life fall even more in love with my best friend?
"I'm still in love with all of her."
"Stop saying that!" I say, practically shrieking. David looks back at me, startled.
"I didn't say anything."
I look at him, sheepishly. Having no explanation for my odd behaviour, I bite my lip and turn away.
I need to get drunk. Is it normal for my chest to hurt this badly? Its like I've been punched. My whole body aches, like I have the flu. Its all just so ridiculous. This isn't fair. None of this is fair! Of course it isn't, but I can see that it doesn't matter what is and is not fair.
"Abra," he touches my shoulder. "Are you alright?"
The gall. The absolute gall.
"Am I 'alright'?" I ask, turning back toward him and shrugging off his hand. "Yes, David. I'm absolutely fucking peachy. Its not like the love of my life stood me up, on our wedding day, and then has the audacity to tell me that he is in love with my best friend. No, I'm not 'alright!' I feel like I'm going crazy right now! I've never been better."
Dumbfounded, he just blinks at me.
"I... I am sorry." he stammers. I wave off his apology as if it smelled bad. The thought that I should be nice flits into my head. I mean, you can't help who you love, right? As quickly as it entered, it is chased out by my anger and pain. I think I might vomit. I'm going to scream, or laugh hysterically. It is, in a sick and twisted way, quite comical.
She is looking back at us again. Her face is slightly cloudy, concern warring with the sunshine of love. I want to slap the sunlight off her cheeks.
"Go." I say, turning away. "You're going to leave with her anyway. You might as well leave now."
I turn back in time to watch him walk away and I have to resist the urge to chase after him. I want to yell at him, grab him by the shoulders and shake him. I wish I could smack some sense into them both. Or perform a relationship saving lobotomy. Well, relationship saving for me, not so much for them. There they go; their shadows seeming to swim off into the sunset, like a couple of mer-people to Atlantis. Or maybe that's my broken-hearted imagination.
I turn to leave, again, but I can't seem to make my feet move. Instead, idiot that I am, I turn back and see them kissing. Alice and David, off in their own personal wonderland, in love and laughing. They're smiling; that sweet and innocent smile of a first, and only, love. Damn. Why did I look back?
I'm feeling like I've just been turned into a pillar of salt; frozen and more than a little raw. Its like my wounds just got a vigourous scrub.
The time has come, the walrus says, to talk of many things. He's right, of course. Even talking walruses can be right. I don't feel like talking. Not to a talking walrus or anyone else. God, I hate Alice so much right now. I never thought it was possible to hate someone so much, but looking at her with David, I could almost spit acid. I could almost go up to them and wring her pretty, swan-like, neck.
Why couldn't they just disappear as soon as I looked back? Would that be too much to ask for?
Despite my desire, nothing changes the fact that Alice and David are still canoodling and I'm just standing here. Caught up in my foolish daydreams. If only I had super powers or something, I could destroy Alice and live happily ever after. With David. Like I'm supposed to. If she were my ugly step-sister, she'd cut off her nose to spite her face and I'd win him back with perfectly fitted glass slippers and my obvious charm. He would realize he is the only Prince Charming there has ever been for me and all will be right with the world.
I'm rambling.
"I'm still in love with all of her."
Those words are still echoing in the air around me. I have to get out of here. I need distance. This isn't running away.
He didn't even hesitate when I told him to go. I guess that tells me all I need to know.
"I'm still in love with all of her."
I say nothing. What is there to say, really? I barely hear anything else he says. Not that it matters. He keeps talking; as if this conversation were about what to have for lunch. Or something just as bland. He doesn't even notice that my heart is breaking. I think I might be sick.
His words are echoing in my head. I am stuck on repeat. All I can hear is that awful sentence and my heart, drumming erratically against my rib-cage. I've gone mad. I'm standing here, on my own two hands, going crazy. I'm shaking.
I know he is telling the truth. I don't even have to look at them to know its the truth. Being a glutton for punishment, and already drunk with pain, I look anyway. Why not? She's smiling; lit up by the sunshine of his love.
"I'm still in love with all of her."
I'm not blind; anymore. Its like the gauze has been ripped from my eyes. How did I not see it before? How could I be so completely clueless? Looking at it now, I can easily imagine them. Entangled, wrapped in pink sheets, their pink flesh fitting together like pieces of a puzzle. How did I miss this?
Am I an idiot for wishing he was looking at me?
She's standing a short distance away, barely out of ear-shot, and he is staring off and into her distance. She's still smiling at him, practically basking in the assurances of his love. I recognize that smile. Its the same one I had plastered across my, idiotic, face. Once. I can still remember that feeling; being loved and believing his sunlight would always shine on me. That smile, the one she wears now, is the same smile I was wearing just a few weeks ago. How did I not recognize that look before now?
The whole beach feels like it is trying to swallow me whole. Everything is rolling beneath my feet and he is rocking away from me and into her arms. I just stand there. I feel so pathetic. I try to smile, as if everything is okay, but it wobbles with the weight of the truth. He doesn't notice. I will never smile, like her, again.
How can I when I am watching the love of my life fall even more in love with my best friend?
"I'm still in love with all of her."
"Stop saying that!" I say, practically shrieking. David looks back at me, startled.
"I didn't say anything."
I look at him, sheepishly. Having no explanation for my odd behaviour, I bite my lip and turn away.
I need to get drunk. Is it normal for my chest to hurt this badly? Its like I've been punched. My whole body aches, like I have the flu. Its all just so ridiculous. This isn't fair. None of this is fair! Of course it isn't, but I can see that it doesn't matter what is and is not fair.
"Abra," he touches my shoulder. "Are you alright?"
The gall. The absolute gall.
"Am I 'alright'?" I ask, turning back toward him and shrugging off his hand. "Yes, David. I'm absolutely fucking peachy. Its not like the love of my life stood me up, on our wedding day, and then has the audacity to tell me that he is in love with my best friend. No, I'm not 'alright!' I feel like I'm going crazy right now! I've never been better."
Dumbfounded, he just blinks at me.
"I... I am sorry." he stammers. I wave off his apology as if it smelled bad. The thought that I should be nice flits into my head. I mean, you can't help who you love, right? As quickly as it entered, it is chased out by my anger and pain. I think I might vomit. I'm going to scream, or laugh hysterically. It is, in a sick and twisted way, quite comical.
She is looking back at us again. Her face is slightly cloudy, concern warring with the sunshine of love. I want to slap the sunlight off her cheeks.
"Go." I say, turning away. "You're going to leave with her anyway. You might as well leave now."
I turn back in time to watch him walk away and I have to resist the urge to chase after him. I want to yell at him, grab him by the shoulders and shake him. I wish I could smack some sense into them both. Or perform a relationship saving lobotomy. Well, relationship saving for me, not so much for them. There they go; their shadows seeming to swim off into the sunset, like a couple of mer-people to Atlantis. Or maybe that's my broken-hearted imagination.
I turn to leave, again, but I can't seem to make my feet move. Instead, idiot that I am, I turn back and see them kissing. Alice and David, off in their own personal wonderland, in love and laughing. They're smiling; that sweet and innocent smile of a first, and only, love. Damn. Why did I look back?
I'm feeling like I've just been turned into a pillar of salt; frozen and more than a little raw. Its like my wounds just got a vigourous scrub.
The time has come, the walrus says, to talk of many things. He's right, of course. Even talking walruses can be right. I don't feel like talking. Not to a talking walrus or anyone else. God, I hate Alice so much right now. I never thought it was possible to hate someone so much, but looking at her with David, I could almost spit acid. I could almost go up to them and wring her pretty, swan-like, neck.
Why couldn't they just disappear as soon as I looked back? Would that be too much to ask for?
Despite my desire, nothing changes the fact that Alice and David are still canoodling and I'm just standing here. Caught up in my foolish daydreams. If only I had super powers or something, I could destroy Alice and live happily ever after. With David. Like I'm supposed to. If she were my ugly step-sister, she'd cut off her nose to spite her face and I'd win him back with perfectly fitted glass slippers and my obvious charm. He would realize he is the only Prince Charming there has ever been for me and all will be right with the world.
I'm rambling.
"I'm still in love with all of her."
Those words are still echoing in the air around me. I have to get out of here. I need distance. This isn't running away.
He didn't even hesitate when I told him to go. I guess that tells me all I need to know.
Saturday, February 21, 2015
Twitter Prose (a piece posted originally on Twitter)
Living all year for the tax money,
suburban alcoholism,
climbing a hill of seashells that stab your feet.
This is an awful kind of reality.
suburban alcoholism,
climbing a hill of seashells that stab your feet.
This is an awful kind of reality.
Friday, December 19, 2014
If you love me
If you love me
it is the same as loving fire.
At some point
you will be
burned.
Not because I want to burn you,
but that is the nature of fire;
to burn.
I can be calm,
unassuming,
like the flicker of a campfire
or
a candle's flame.
But there will be times
where I rage;
out of control,
full of anguish,
of wrath.
It is in my nature
to burn quietly
or
rage out of control.
Would you ask the ocean to
stop kissing the shore?
Would you ask the winds to
never whip the trees?
As romantic as it may seem to be in love
with the flame,
you must know,
that someday it will burn you.
Some day it is going to sweep through,
destroying everything in its wake.
And I will try to hold it back.
I will try to never let you see,
but there is a trail of
ashes.
And I am what I am.
it is the same as loving fire.
At some point
you will be
burned.
Not because I want to burn you,
but that is the nature of fire;
to burn.
I can be calm,
unassuming,
like the flicker of a campfire
or
a candle's flame.
But there will be times
where I rage;
out of control,
full of anguish,
of wrath.
It is in my nature
to burn quietly
or
rage out of control.
Would you ask the ocean to
stop kissing the shore?
Would you ask the winds to
never whip the trees?
As romantic as it may seem to be in love
with the flame,
you must know,
that someday it will burn you.
Some day it is going to sweep through,
destroying everything in its wake.
And I will try to hold it back.
I will try to never let you see,
but there is a trail of
ashes.
And I am what I am.
Monday, November 17, 2014
The Things We Claim
Flowers in your beard,
your arms around me,
the way you looked when
you fucked me...
Those are the memories I own.
The taste of your smile,
like a slice of the sun,
dimpled perfection...
Those are the things I miss most.
Tears and burnt love letters,
the snarl of your anger,
spitting venom...
Those are the things I remember.
your arms around me,
the way you looked when
you fucked me...
Those are the memories I own.
The taste of your smile,
like a slice of the sun,
dimpled perfection...
Those are the things I miss most.
Tears and burnt love letters,
the snarl of your anger,
spitting venom...
Those are the things I remember.
Sunday, November 16, 2014
New York
Standing on the subway train,
wondering what your name could be.
Looking out at the darkness,
barreling through time and space,
daydreaming sunshine into the moonlight.
Is it David? Jon? Sebastian?
I'm trying to guess from your features;
eyes the color of a root beer float,
lips like Cupid's bow and a darting
tongue like an arrow through my heart.
In my mind I imagine the curl of your
lips tasting mine. You taste like the
color of your eyes and I get high off
your sugared breath. Could you imagine
my arms circling your neck like a necklace?
Is it James? Perry? Geoff?
The train is pulling into the station, you
stand to go and you push the ribbons
of your hair out of your eyes. You step
out into the world and the only name you have...
Is it New York?
wondering what your name could be.
Looking out at the darkness,
barreling through time and space,
daydreaming sunshine into the moonlight.
Is it David? Jon? Sebastian?
I'm trying to guess from your features;
eyes the color of a root beer float,
lips like Cupid's bow and a darting
tongue like an arrow through my heart.
In my mind I imagine the curl of your
lips tasting mine. You taste like the
color of your eyes and I get high off
your sugared breath. Could you imagine
my arms circling your neck like a necklace?
Is it James? Perry? Geoff?
The train is pulling into the station, you
stand to go and you push the ribbons
of your hair out of your eyes. You step
out into the world and the only name you have...
Is it New York?
Saturday, November 15, 2014
Prometheus
You thought yourself Prometheus;
stealing fire from the gods to warm
the world.
In the end, you turned my bones to
firewood and warmed only you.
stealing fire from the gods to warm
the world.
In the end, you turned my bones to
firewood and warmed only you.
Tuesday, November 11, 2014
Love Poem to a Cannibal
Blend me with all of
your raw fruit.
Shake me together with
your tossed salads.
Mix me into all of you
until I am dissolved.
Add a pinch of salt,
a sprinkle of sugar.
I was never flavorful
on my own.
Bake me at 375° until I
am done to your satisfaction.
I hope I am delicious.
your raw fruit.
Shake me together with
your tossed salads.
Mix me into all of you
until I am dissolved.
Add a pinch of salt,
a sprinkle of sugar.
I was never flavorful
on my own.
Bake me at 375° until I
am done to your satisfaction.
I hope I am delicious.
Monday, November 10, 2014
Concrete Shoes
Concrete shoes
sinking further,
falling to the bottom
of your ocean.
The weigh isn't all
You...
Some of the concrete is
Mine too...
But what am I to do,
drowning under you,
feet weighted down in
concrete shoes?
sinking further,
falling to the bottom
of your ocean.
The weigh isn't all
You...
Some of the concrete is
Mine too...
But what am I to do,
drowning under you,
feet weighted down in
concrete shoes?
Sunday, November 9, 2014
Nursery Rhyme for Astronauts
Ring around the moon,
a pocket full of loons,
spaceships
spaceships
we all fall like shooting stars.
a pocket full of loons,
spaceships
spaceships
we all fall like shooting stars.
Saturday, November 8, 2014
A Fault in Our Stars
These faults are not in our stars;
they do not lie in our falling in love,
but in how deeply and utterly we fall.
The fault in these, our stars,
is simply that we are made of the
essence of stars and not wishes themselves.
they do not lie in our falling in love,
but in how deeply and utterly we fall.
The fault in these, our stars,
is simply that we are made of the
essence of stars and not wishes themselves.
Saturday, November 1, 2014
Summer
I'm trying to bleed summer,
pushing sunlight from my veins,
slicing through ripe fruit to
reveal the frozen boughs of
all the winters I forgot.
pushing sunlight from my veins,
slicing through ripe fruit to
reveal the frozen boughs of
all the winters I forgot.
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