I am chaos.
I've ceased to be adjectival; I no longer embrace, but am, chaos.

My heart has been broken and glued back together in ways all the pieces were never meant to fit.

I am one million miles per hour over the speed limit, on a dead-end road, with no intention of stopping.

I'd rather not sleep, not eat, not laugh.
I'd rather get ready for the day with swollen eyes and a worn-out mind.

I just want my lungs to explode.

I just want for my eyes to slam shut.

To be still.

You listen but are incapable of (truly) hearing.
You say you're sorry but, even to yourself, can't explain what the words mean.
The truth is...
We're just empty shells of people.
We walk through halls: judged, misunderstood.
We accept the inevitable: that life is unfair and no one owes anyone a single kindness.
The truth is...
Kindness is a blessing. It's a patch, but it can't mend a broken heart.
Kindness can't rewind our lives.
Kindness helps us through each day, but Your kindness is no substitute for Their love.
The truth is...
You say, "It will all be ok." And, we know this.
We keep to the maximum dosage, the guns are kept unloaded, razors are left to their proper use.
The truth is...
We WILL be ok, because there is nothing else we know to be.

(May 2010)

It's the feeling.
Or lack thereof.
Hollow.
Empty.
A rush of air.

An attempt to fill the lungs so full they burst.
Old wineskins to new wine.

It's the desire.
Or lack thereof.
Lifeless.
Anorexic.
A stifled sob.

The realization: Darling, you're far too young for death to come knocking on your door.

My bone structure is broken
These contusions- unseen
Yet, they're as real as the skin they hide underneath.

They cling to my ribs
They're the blush on my cheeks
I'm a fragile construction of feverish dreams.

Your words are like x-rays
That reveal where I'm weak
What once was deemed beautiful
Is the mere cage that contains me.

(July 11, 2008)

One word on your lips
"farewell"
echoing up from the ashes,
r a t t l i n g in my ears,
a thousand horses across cobblestones.

No forever;
No futures.
This is the E N D
And then the world will be over.

I'll bathe in the streetlights,
stumble into your graveyard,
bottle in hand,
with your promise of eternal youth f a d i n g from my sight.

Poetry is ***
... it is ecstasy
Makes you want to speak through me
Bulletproofs me

Poetry is complex
... it is simplicity
And means nothing

No, these words aren't for the birds
They ARE me.

(Summer 2008)

Fingertips touching and feelings colliding
The taste of your lips, God, you look so inviting.
It's kissing and clashing- electricity
It's panic! It's fever, as skin and skin meet.
We're a collection of colors, pieces, and parts
Eyes appraising each other as a work of God's art.
It's a pulse; it's a heartbeat- the music of life
Fireworks... explosions... shooting stars in the sky.
Let's burn the books darling, for fire's our friend
Love's a beautiful disaster... beginning to end.