skinblade

I dine – you grind my guts through shattered glass
and show me my short comings in a pleasant way
as if to say, ‘it’s not okay – you can do better.”
I agree. I know you’re right. And I must look away.

Awkwardly, I lick my lips to say another word
but my tongue fails to follow the commands I give.
I wanted to tell you things that shouldn’t be said
outside of each others company. I swear I live

in between a magical place inside my head
and a sober reality that you share with me -
ironically looking down from the pedestal
I erected to make sure you’d keep the mystery.

Naively, I tell you that I have no regrets;
and I explain that I’m happy and simply must
display the deepest parts of me - for all to poke
and judge and fondle – until we all become dust.

I want to rip through this digital mess
and be reborn a butcher of your enemies.
This distance is tragic yet necessary -
a spartan against instant remedies
that only changes us into slaves that we
always wished we’d never be.

You send my soul on a brutal quest,
forcing all my will and ingenuity
to break mirrors that once claimed to be
reflections of my blasphemies.
I’m coming to a clear understanding
of what your smile could truly bring.

I’m no longer a child on a breast
feeding for lack of self sufficiency.
My fear is gone; my mind is free.
And even though I finger your keys
I know I don’t need them to survive
but they will make me feel alive.

I wander in to the room,
half-heartedly moving towards my seat
with a glass of vodka in one hand
and her heart in the other.
My eyes wander across all faces -
buzzing bees
looking for a flower or two to pollinate.
This is the judgement room. The womb
where you said I’d end up.
And I am glad to know that it is only in
my head -
that all of these faces
looking back at me
are the dreams of yesterday
which I only remember
when I am weakest -
and not the hell you described
while scratching my back
and praising my flaws
by not being disgusted by them.
I land my eyes on your
particularly deadly flower
and linger there.
Your stare is cold.
An expression thirsting for comfort,
twisted in pain,
and I’ve known it all my life
but never really knew you at all.
You’re asking me how many more
I can destroy.
I’m laughing at the awesomeness
but disintegrating in your eyes.
I knew you’d never fail
to creep out of your grave
and burn me while I’m weakest.

The futurist in me is asking if we
ever considered all the factors
while assembling our construct.

The nihilist in me screams that it
would have tumbled down anyway -
our promises only tempted luck.

This prototype was designed so that
it could only take a specific but large
amount of general punishment.

The pieces were jammed together
awkwardly and hastily. Yet we mourn
the failure of our bad judgment.

It was inevitable and beautiful
while it ran in constant motion.
But once it stood still, it collapsed.

And while we look upon the heaps
of memories and hopes we invested,
I weep for the deep and obvious cracks.

Walking in to the sun with eyes and mind wide open,
I climbed the highest plumes of heat just to see your smile.
Leaping incandescent footsteps you left behind,
I drink the aftermath of your mystical style.

Burning hope, desire, certainty and fate
down to small embers that we carry to this day.
I move in to your arms with nothing but a sense
that we’ll figure out the right words to type and say.

Breathing was a difficult task to accomplish
in the presence of a fiery angel in flight.
But it was all I could do to keep myself
from falling in to the stars and emptiness of night.

Going through the last moments of a listless life
I remember laughing, taking and giving a nod.
And just as the moment was closing in on me
I looked upon your smile and blazed in to god.

A blowing whisper to the prophet
as if he heard your prayers.
Anger’s overrated, so you should
move towards joy.

The pain is an experience
you always took for granted.
Feel it overwhelming you;
beautiful and coy.

You always believe the simplest
explanation for it all.
That’s the beauty of being you
in all this stupid shit.

I apologize for my part in the plan
that obviously went awry.
But plans were meant to break
when they don’t fit.

Trust in love and not in me;
trust in you and not in me.
The best part of you is that
you will carry on.

I didn’t throw a thing away
as it still fits deep inside.
and even if you don’t agree,
our love is dead and gone.

Eleven is a number
just like any other.
Confusion is a sobering
power of now.

Lies, lies and lies
when all I see is truth.
Moving towards the deepest
assembly of wow

I feel the moment pass
as if it were always there.
Yet you doubt the substance
of a poor young soul.

Perspectives are in
one way a relief as much
as a they are painful reminder
that there was a hole.

I will find love as you
will definitely find love.
Why do you doubt the power
of our ability

to move forward and
bless each other for this
beautiful experience?
Let go and just breathe.

Whispering in a mother’s ear
about my hopes and dreams, I suddenly become aware
of a glistening tear.

She’s no longer looking at me
though her eyes are fixed on mine in a steady stare
of cold sincerity.

Millions of miles away -
her mind’s eye is focused on pain that’s too difficult to bare.
Her body begins to sway.

She slowly let’s a breath in
and comes back to a safe and comfortable place where
I won’t let old ghosts win.

You are a woman with hips.
I’ve gone to Vegas and doubled down on your shoulders -
your neck.

Tom Sizemore is telling me
that the movements you make are perfect -
and respectable.

And I hope that’s not why
I’m looking in your direction with a leery sort of stare.
Or maybe -

I don’t understand all of these comets
that are shooting right through my heart and soul like an
emo kid.

I wish I knew control and
center-of-ease. I’m beginning to understand the balloon
in my face.

It’s understandably empty
with nothing but air and the hopes I blew in to it.
Empty.

Your love was like a sunset
when I needed a sunrise.
I was disappearing into comfort -
resentment, and
I became visible when I threw away my disguise
and realized I was no more indebted to a promise
than you were in need of my
dysfunction.

Blue, purple, orange, violet and red.
The colors drowned the very being of me
taking me down in to the inevitable blackness of night -
despair, and
I began breathing when I flew into the sky
and I’m living with this broken promise
just as well as you’ll feast on
a new one.