"Don't die on the inside,"
was the text i sent-
knowing it was a bittersweet visit
and a hard decision.

"I'm gonna get so ****** up,"
to forget- as we discussed,
because everyone knows
Bud is the friend of the broken.

Never forget, my friend,
the things that make you feel,
because numbness is a hell
of probing fingers only the mute acknowledge.

Upon discussion, you recite back
the "right thing to do" with all the logic-
an adult assurance of
knowing what's best over what's wanted.

And yet, stone words
rolled easily off of my well-advise tongue
to assure you
of the answer you dreaded.

We both know the ONE will
never come, doesn't exsist, was never determined-
but try to appreciate that your stage time
hasn't yet come in the tragedy that is love.

So when the stone words weigh you down,
don't jump in, don't drown.
Take each stone, examining it well,
and don't die on the inside.

I use to know this person

Eyes like honey and the words just as sweet

From a distance you share the silhouette he kept

And when you whisper the voice seems to match

But no

There is an edge to your step

And when I’m scared you don’t have a shield

You see I use to know this person

But he must have gotten lost somehow

Or perhaps he has decided never to come back

When I look into you, I see him sometimes

The way you chuckle under your breath

The smile you let show when you sleep

But no

He would never let me sit alone in the dark

Or cry softly into my pillow

I mourn for him

Because I know he will not be back

Neither will the words he spoke while we lay in bed

The tenderness of his kiss

Or the way he would laugh at my silly jokes

But that is O.K.

Because I have the memories of him

And the silhouette of you

It’s been said to cause success,
Yet its’ face is boldly grim.
Some even say it makes or breaks you,
Kills your soul, or fills the brim.

It’s been deemed the roughest test,
Where preparation meets implausible.
Whenever passion makes a breakthrough
Sounds of hell’s end become audible.

It’s received reviews of stress,
Of endless torture tearing through.
Leaving good men self-departed,
For they had no will to make it through.

It’s been seen in years of the past,
The trials of Job denote it well.
As Satan crushed his joys,
Job consummated to prevail.

It’s been said, “show no regret!”
When you look deep into your mind,
For this test is truly an artist
Creating a man, from pure divine.

So why let discouragement corrupt
Your trip through the abyss?
For it’s been said to cause success,

And that’s one hell of a gift.

I found a door

which leads me

to the next level.

The door led

to a new land

a new world.

And now I stand

before a bridge

and across it,

my dreams.

But before I can cross

a witch stops me

and charged a toll.

The toll to my dreams.

But the price:

my life.

The more my eyes open
the more my lips
are stapled shut.
To tear them
open would
only pour
pain and
nothing
would
stay.

But
outside
this world
I would be
able to tear
these so apart
and I can pour
out the illusion
that I am who is
filled with the soul.

But I remain opposed to
everything I wish to be.
To being filled past
belief that I can
be whole again
to tear these
apart. But I
cannot. I
am gone.
Empty.

Another Fleshy Idol,
          
         to whom I sew myself,

Nameless to he.

Turned up, my head illuminates.
Knocking at the door it creates.
Free from this I do implore,
There's another creature at my door.
Clawing, screaming for his turn.
I have no key, for me to learn.
Sights of these, the mirror lies.
Another knocks with his disguise.
A new hole opened, the world to see.
The door wide open, in sanity.

I'm not afraid to fly,
Except when I have wings;
And then, you see,
Is when I'll be
A fearful, flighty thing.

Joy stayed with me a night--
Young and free and fair--
And in the morning light
He left me there.

Then Sorrow came to stay,
And lay upon my breast
He walked with me in the day.
And knew me best.

I'll never be a bride,
Nor yet celibate,
So I'm living now with Pride--
A cold bedmate.

He must not hear nor see,
Nor could he forgive
That Sorrow still visits me
Each day I live.

I die a little bit inside each time
you offer an explanation for my
self,
   stubbed heart [popped out of sync]
   dips toward the ground and
   flutters to a silence

a still, empty blue presiding over
the world at large tonight, permeated
by plumes of white
(from the scrambled heads of dreamers)

nothing to hold against your
fiery facade, flaming formidable
fits of brilliance blazing before
my flustered eyes

and why do we cease to
contract, left ventricle?

to start up again and enjoy
it that much more (the second
time around)