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Thursday, April 24, 2014


a very still breath
flashes of color from shifting eyes
two not at their very best
whispers that melt into lies
wandering hands, nothing to hold
a frosted spark
misunderstood intentions
pull light from this dark
luminescent intervention
scraping the bottom, empty we find
let’s move this mountain
it’s become too high to scale
drowning in this ocean
we’re destined to fail

but I want to explode still
oh, I wanna feel again
I wanna feel again

Thursday, April 10, 2014

stay.


turn off the sun
it hangs too low today
the winds of change
are trying to blow me away

I have held on remarkably well
but time swore not to tell

keep your eye blind
I know what you see
keep your words unkind
they settle better with me

I have made my sacrifices
they choose to lie with my vices

Tie my hands behind my back
Paint the roses black
They always die anyway
Sow my mouth shut
Salt the paper cuts
I’m numb anyway
Will I stay?
Will I stay?

drag the book out again
I want to feel the words
scripture from before then
healing in reverse

I used to be someone
and now I’m no one

Tie my hands behind my back
Paint the roses black
They always die anyway
Sow my mouth shut
Salt the paper cuts
I’m numb anyway
Will I stay?
Will I stay?

I ran until my feet bled and watched until my eyes burned
You laid out all the lesson plans but I can’t remember anything I learned
Where’s your hand now? How did forever somehow slip away?
Will I ever, will I ever, stay?
Will I ever stay?

Tuesday, April 8, 2014


I sit on the bathroom floor. The shower liner needs to be replaced because it’s old and falling apart. I bought a new one at Big Lots but it seems like such a huge task to switch it. I stare at the scale. I should weigh myself. I’m hungry. Surely I’ve lost a few more pounds.

I clean the kitchen counters. Empty the dishwasher. Stare out the window. I would love to take a walk on the trail but I worry who I’ll run into. I don’t feel like dealing with human interaction.

My room is messy. I tell myself that not everyone is neat freak and it’s okay to have a messy room. I mean, who sees it but me? It doesn’t matter. But it does. That shower liner matters. The kitchen counters matter. Walking matters. Everything matters. I’m tired.

I was big into fruit infused water. I prepared it daily. It’s a chore now. It sits on my computer desk, some water and lemon still in it. The lemon is probably eating through the Walmart plastic. I don’t care. I can’t make myself care.

Do I want to care?

I’m so “on” at work that I turn myself off when I leave. I’ve become an amazing actor. Where’s my Academy Award? Where’s my fucking award?

I’m tired.