Don't worry darling,
When I push you away,
I promise,
You won't feel a thing.

I'll be the one,
To burn in the fire,
The smoke,
Causing my eyes to sting.

I know it's for the better,
I'm a burden,
Don't you see?

I promise I won't blame you,

Who would want to be around me?

Your




                                                                                                             broken





                                                           ­                      bindings




                   have




  ­                                                                                                                 torn




                                             my




              pages.

And sometimes it happens
That it wells up
A lump in the throat
Something deserving of more than tears
But so suppressed by well-meaning logic
Hidden by a dramatic mask, too well worn
of its true shape, sharp edges removed.

A vectorless emotion
Stuck in a maze made with walls of reason
The unreasonable contained
Rebellious without a cause

Yet so susceptible to a simple kindness
That puts all at risk of disastrous desire, calamitous confusion
Demanding release.
So, those poetic parents; Darkness and Light
In a tryst at their boundaries, defuse the danger
And make, in quiet conception,
Amongst the gentler shadows of the soul
What gestates and finally
In a spasm of wordy contractions
Spills live and ****** into the paper world.

How can a hollow ache?
Or a poet write?
When the part that felt is cut away
Excised with a razor of reason
Bandaged with the dressings of the Sensible
To be healed, so it is said, with time
Yet like the morbid curiosity of the child who picks at the scab
Or perhaps more akin; the itch of an amputee's phantom limb
There is still an ache
How can that be so?
How can a hollow ache?
Or, come to that,
A poet write?

Daydreams
you slip in
like spring
between
body and clothes

breathing cool air
on the spine

never face to face
closed off to
being close

I am freezing
The window is open and
I can't handle
This breeze
I am
Shivering
I am
Shaking
So violently
But there is no shutting it now
This window is open for
Good
I just have a hard time
Seeing, feeling, recognizing this
Good
It's so
Cold
Please
Make it stop
I am reaching
The blanket is in sight
It's warm
I know
But I can't get it
My arms aren't long enough
My hands aren't strong enough
I think I may have a piece of the corner
But it's slipping from my fingertips
I can feel it
Slipping
The tighter I hold
The harder this wind blows
The faster it slips

I am freezing

You,
  you are the cause of your own demise
  shelling yourself away in
  a mere attic of your marvelous mind
  selectively mute
  & self-paralyzed.

      Shake your self awake now!
      I just can't seem to understand
      how such a beautiful soul
      can be so strung out of sorts
      when my tiny heart
      pumps all of it's oxygen to provide
      some sort of love & support.

          Heart beat, fingers on your pulse
          lets race our hearts
          till we've nothing but beaten pulps.
          In all of my small wounds
          I've made, remind me
          to fill them with salt.

              I've slit my throat
              here's your perfect American movie scene
              slow, merciless & know, if
              it helps you breathe-
              every time your name escapes my cracked lips,
                                                                                

                                                                                                       I bleed.