I keep having this recurring dream
where you're there
and I'm there
and we're hiding beneath the sheets
because that's the only place
the light can't find us.
You're brushing up against my face
and I can feel your chest contract
with mine.
I look at you
and I know it will be the last
but I just hold you
And your heart beats against my throat
and your breath expels along my skin
You're alive
and I can feel you
and you can feel me too.
I look into your eyes
and I see the ocean

I'm on the beach
and she's walking behind me
humming sweet songs of adolescent love
she's happy.
I dive into the waves
but this time it's different
this time I'm drowning.
I'm drowning and she's not there
I clench my fists and count to ten
but I'm still drowning.
I call for you but you never come

I'm in church
nine years old
and the pastor swears I am pure
he swears we will be forgiven
and I turn to mommy
ask if Jesus will forgive daddy
for the lipstick on his collar
but she doesn't reply.
She's in the bath late at night
she's crying softly
dropping her cigarette in the tub
I try to make her smile
but she's still crying
Daddy left her for a *****
and she's still crying.

It's you again
This time you're holding my hand
and we're walking, just walking
you plant a kiss upon my forehead
and we keep walking.
But somewhere in this version of my terror
I'm still drowning
and you're screaming from the surface
that I deserve it
That I finally know
what it feels like to die
and you're not going to save me.

I wake up
in a place that my body knows as hell
and your gazing at my corpse
I'm chained against a wall.
You're crying
you're begging for my help
but I can't
I tug against the steal
hanging like anchors
from my wrists
but I can't move
You're bleeding out
across the floor again
calling my name
but I can't save you

I awoke to a symphony
that reminds me
in every filthy way
that I have killed you
I am reminded of my brother
trapped in an unforgiving youth
playing spin the bottle
but here
he is alone
kissing the wounded parts of himself
in hopes that they will heal
I am reminded of my mother
and how she still thinks
I don't notice the empty pill bottles
in the bathroom
and she still can't seem to stand straight
without daddy by her side
I am reminded of my friend
and how she gave the broken parts
of herself
to a boy who didn't give
a ****
a boy who kissed all the girls
that tasted of *****
and had no scars along their writs
I am reminded that people leave
in every conscious minute
of every hour
ever lived
people leave
people leave
*p e o p l e   l e a v e.

Once I loved a man
who crushed my words between his
fingers.
I never told him that I cried for three weeks straight,
and that to this day
I still can't say his name.
It was the first time I truly felt the pain of empty sentences.
It was the first time I ever wanted to see my pulse from the inside.

Once I loved a man
that chose his ****** over reason.
Said the world was too bitter
and he was always afraid.
I dropped a dime inside his mind,
but it only sank the boat.
He still sleeps inside my walls.
Today I thought I saw his corpse sitting in my bath tub,
but I think this time it's just the oxy kicking in.
I keep a blood stained shirt inside my pillow case,
and I don't know if it's good or bad
that the blood isn't mine,
or if it's just embarrassing to say
I will never stop loving him.

I loved a man that never hurt me,
but still I ended up in shards beneath the ocean.
He doesn't know about the mess I made upon my sheets,
because I couldn't shake the feeling
of his footsteps on my veins,
and I couldn't bare
to lift my head above the water.

the problem with us is that I have always loved you like you were leaving,
always left the door unlocked, like you might stagger into bed drunk with a few
different names on your tongue
in the spaces between breath, I love you, I love you
in the out breaths, I love you, I love you
in the inhales, I love you, I love you
maybe someday, I say when you're not looking
when you're not looking I think about how we have never looked out the same window twice
how it keeps me awake, that you and I will never be more than a story told to children
about the dangers of loving without breathing and breathing without sleeping,
I'm not sorry I lose sleep over you
the only thing apologetic about me is my mouth
and also my hands
and also my heart.
the problem with us is that you never believe me when I say that you deserve so much more
than lately
I'll go to my grave thinking you deserve firework eyes over dinner tables and hands
that hold more than they shake
you deserve a girl who is not more hero than honest
you deserve more than a good storyteller
the problem with us is that we settle for half way, never look both ways before crossing the street,
never care enough to anticipate a red light
you don't know the color of my eyes
some days I'm convinced the light's gone from them,
some days I'm convinced it's in your hands.

when Whitman wrote, "I sing the body electric"

I know what he
meant
I know what he
wanted:

to be completely alive every moment
in spite of the inevitable.

we can't cheat death but we can make it
work so hard
that when it does take
us

it will have known a victory just as
perfect as
ours.

there's nothing like being young
and starving,
living in a roominghouse and
pretending to be a
writer
while other men are occupied
with their professions and
their possessions.
there's nothing like being
young and
starving,
listening to Brahms,
your belly ******-in,
nary an ounce of
fat,
stretched out on the bed
in the dark,
smoking a rolled
cigarette
and working on the
last bottle of
wine,
the sheets of your
writing strewn across the
floor.
you have walked on and across
them,
your masterpieces, and
either
they'll be read in
hell,
or perhaps
gnawed at by the
curious
mice.
Brahms is the only
friend you have,
the only friend you
want,
him and the wine
bottle,
as you realize that
you will never
be a citizen of the
world,
and if you
live to be very
old
you still will never
be a citizen of the
world.
the wine and
Brahms mix well as
you watch the
lights
move across the
ceiling,
courtesy of
passing
automobiles.
soon you'll sleep
and
tomorrow there
certainly
will be
more
masterpieces.