Hero

Aging before the evening begins, we're dead by morning.
There was something that I loved in her; I loved it fiercely until it hit the glass.
Shattering the rain clouds, within the tender light of sudden sun, I couldn't see at all.
Smiling and drowning and wondering where the breath I'm holding would run to if I let go, she's always been my hero, even before she had someone to save.
I'm an international bachelor because she won't love me back enough to make me an honest boy.
Youngsters watch us like a sitcom. Elderly watch us like a warning. Rebellious youth watch us like an infomercial.
So much blood flowing everywhere that her pulse is like a thunderstorm and my breath makes the palm trees sway.
Give me liberty, or give me her.

cloud-talk

Please: 

Do Not Feed the Animals

Rattling rattling rattling

without

understanding

anything at all

sensors pointed 

every direction 

under the 

sun

or

moon

or 

left

or 

noon

hold on. 

Warning: 

The drink you are about to consume is very hot. 

Drink tea without sensory memory

It's supposed to burn

For Sale: 

Black silk sheets. Never used. 

I clenched her sheets 

                       between my teeth

So bittersweet                                     and full of heat

          She sleeps in keys

                                that never open

only          ... what does that mean anyway? 

Caution: 

The Girl Behind the glass may explode

Boom. 

Radioactive:

27,000 mile radius

Too soon, man, too soon. 

twist

It was a place where darkness looked light and where it was only the shadows that shook hands. Until the sun burned skin fell away, it turned the best of men into the worst, with blood seeping under their fingernails like the rain soaked afternoon of a stormy July. It was beautiful and human and fresh until it wasn't. Before the emboldened question hit the black, the night held the reverence of a virgin land, beat upon only by the shreds of time and the whips of expectancy. It looked like a graveyard now; and when the corners of their eyes only held suspicion and little prayers to last the night, it became devilishly, heart wrenchingly clear that the beauty of youth had been lost upon the land of the devil, and that it truly was a heart of darkness that rested in us after all.

Alarm

Intuitively, she knew that bolded existence wasn't as slicing as the western winds and the settings of the phone she called herself on every night, just to be sure that it worked. It was still a dull sensation, though, with her nails sharpened into a point to match her teeth and her eyelashes, that began to pulse in her threaded undershirt and in the middle of her empty sheets. It seemed like it was wandering just as far as the smiles that were showing in the theatre across the street. She pocketed her inspiration to save it for a rainy day on the other side of the globe, with a lonely bird watching her as she sung its tune. Like understanding and misinterpretation, she was a misguided fantasy that seemed to slip into all the wrong brains at all the right times.

The clock keeps striking. It seems like it's time to wake up.

But the longer she watched
                    as the buildings around her rippled

down

along

the 

empty

street

extinguishing every light that  could have ever burned at all

                            she realized that the future might have already passed completely

                 and that

                 

   

                          she might have to wait for history to repeat itself. 

It was always a little too warm and a little too mad, because your sins are too good to be able to compete. It burned without persuasion and it throbbed like ultimate passion. It was blood, it is hell, it is the way that you’re born, and the question you start, but never end, when you die. Nobody felt anything so strongly, because it was pain until it melted and it was morbid existentialism until tomorrow hit the sky. Left alone, it is patriotism and ultimate illusionary motivation. Losing innocence like it is stylish and faking orgasmic pleasure until heavy breathing takes the place of the moans still ricocheting of the walls. The only evidence is left on the sheets, mimicking the questions that they posed to mommy and daddy. It’s all fire engines and flames. It’s all rainbow tops and sunburns. It’s too much to bear without something to lessen the blister.

It’s altogether addictive like nothing else is.

A Silent Sonnet

The New Year starts in twenty seven breaths
Without a candle burning, it's too dark.
Though all the resolutions taste like death,
I'm still quite sure that yours will make a mark.

I'm baking cakes with your name carved on top
Organized to feel like summers eve.
My thoughts are puncturing my heart to stop.
But when I close my eyes, you never leave.

It's holding on like hidden babbling brooks,
All  clouded with the trees and sound of none.
But with your poisoned eyes, I'm burning books,
And hoping that I'll someday see the sun.

You're floating in the effervescent space;
I wish you knew, I love you in this place.

Happy Birthday.

When she smoked like she belonged, she looked like a champion of an era filled with coffee drinks and cigarettes in public places. I watched her with a twinge of sorrow in the background of my eyes, because I knew that a couple of mysteries had done her wrong. I counted myself as one of them. It wasn't until the rest of the social prerequisites had been filled, when her hand had another hand to hold, all coddled up and cuddled down within the confines of an unempty sheet, that I would be able to sleep soundly knowing that the mysterious nonsense had finally done her proud. She pushed her bangs with the corners of her fingers and let the shade of the shady place mingle with the shade of her eyelashes until she was a sun-proof enigma born in the wrong city at the wrong time. I liked to watch the way she watched other people. I hated to watch the way she watched herself. Intuits and indecencies aside, though, until her labels got washed away and she could be everything that destiny had assured all of us she would become, she was one of the greats. She didn't know it yet, but I did. I do. Happy birthday kiddo, I whispered in her head, you'll be better than me until the moon becomes the sun.

Triton

Morphing in the dark, she was breaking her bones and tearing her skin until she could be come what everyone else had deemed her worthy of being. It wasn't without the youthful extremities that were falling out of her lips and the joyless relevancies of all of their expectations, that she could overcome the obstacles and run or die. She couldn't die in this life. They watched her as she sprinted on the tread mill at the edge of a cliff, waiting to pull the plug so it could look like a suicide. Their lips were too pursed and too French to count for forgiveness and, whether or whether, can or cannot, they would always see her as the rock that shattered the stained glass window on the south side of Chartres cathedral on the eve of the birth of Jesus Christ. It wasn't a fairness question, it was a contemplation as to whether Republicanism was worth the risk.