I was praying that there was more to time than numbers on a clock. I was hoping that throwing coins into a well was not all that fate left us to tamper with and that maybe I could throw them into your mouth instead. How you've managed to shackle my feet with words alone, smooth as silk bindings, I will never understand. But those words are leaving red marks on my bones and I'm beginning to have the urge to gnaw at them. I have heard the clocks tick in disapproval at the hours we spend staring at the walls instead of at each other, and the sound of your foot bouncing against the floor is all to similar to the sounds of my fist tapping the wall, contemplating if it's worth putting a whole in it, around the size of the hole you put in my heart. The numbers on the clock is all that we have, so we have to make it count, so let's stop counting down the minutes until we're over and start counting down the seconds until we begin.

b.b.

Two drinks in and all my thoughts are racing.
But for once it's almost positive,
instead of mostly negative.
I know I'll always have my issues,
my mistakes are who I am.
But why should I let them break me
instead of push me ahead?

There will never be a moment
where I don't remember his face;
sweaty and contorted
forcing me to keep silent.
Or his hands around my neck
and the darkness closing in.

But he's not here anymore,
and the torment is all over.
I have people surrounding me
who love me for everything and anything.

And there won't be a day that passes
where I don't remember the love
of me and Josh sitting on that hill
watching the sunset sink beneath the clouds.
I can never forget that sacrifice,
of a young life lost to save another.

But in my memory he will stay,
because I have someone who cares.
Who knows all of my faults,
and wants to help through the pain.

And I have my friends
who only want the best for me.
Who listen when I talk,
laugh at my corny jokes
and love me for who I am.

I will never be perfect,
but I need to stop trying.
Imperfect is beautiful,
and I'm starting to see my beauty.

The scars will remain,
white and raised against my skin.
But they're reminders of a past
that changed my course of action.
The bones will never heal,
and the insults won't disappear.
But learning to live with them
is something within reach.

I'm not broken or damaged,
but pieces put together,
mended and healing.
I am superwoman.

Everything works better in the cold.
The vacuum of space fuels
perfection, zero point
energy yielding limitless.
Orbital and quantum mechanics,
these mysteries of ordered
chaos, the compression of
external combustion that
defies and evades physics,
were solved and forgotten
long ago.

Humans invented time to measure
everything, but now don't
know what the numbers mean.
The Nineveh Number has
lost its purpose, much like
we have lost its meaning.

Above, this morning, on another plain
Over bogland and tundra rising snows drift
Darting birds white, unlike you, they strain
Fleeing on wing to save some earthen kin.
Blood runs as they race, your shadows cast,
Their hearts beating to some distant dawn.
Under the pale sun, white burns on their backs,
Daylight sings, their ears are horned, little faun
White as snow, the prince of the sky is blessed
On high by drops of rain, and dusted freeze,
Then blood and breast sacrament and eucharist,
Their tale ends in glory, risen as a breeze.

stop loving me.

i feel like a selfish **** asking you to
but there is no love
in my bones
for you
stop breaking them open
to check

i can't be open with people
they feel sorry for the things that have happened to me
then they love me
more
but i can't do anything back

hatred i can deal with
i've dealt with it my whole life
but i don't know how to be careful with you
how to be something different
to make you not love me
moose, darling
don't love me,
please.