Is anyone here?

Lies and deceit are a heavy spritzing of perfume,
truth and honesty are a rotting carcass in the ditch.


Both are bitter and sickly-sweet to my nose,
and if my eyes are going to water either way
then what does it even ******* matter.

She uses her tongue
to write her name
on my skin,
and I can smell autumn
in the firey tapestry
of her auburn hair.

I can taste the moon on her breath,
and it reminds me of home.

Polaris is reflected on her eyes
like slumbering summer nights
spent inside
with a distant chorus of crickets
coming in through my bedroom window.

She's water in the creek
babbling beside my childhood memories
where I would play the days away.


I'm too old to feel so young.
Don't stop.

Plunged into the tides of your mind
swimming along just to find
a little space to breathe.

Crowds choke the throat of the streets
where they all came to meet
someone else to squeeze.

Now there's a sign up in the sky.
Cursive smoke spells out the end of time,
in bitter stuntplane strokes.

A brush the size of our collective hearts
comes crashing down in the dark
to paint us all anew.

I love me
for what I am.

I hate me
for what I'm not.

I've grown so
envious
of taller men

because I'm sick and tired
of standing on my tiptoes
to **** in the kitchen sink.