Wednesday, September 11, 2013


Perforated lines,
Like the return portion of a bill.
Fold and rip along the tiny dots --
That is my heart, now.

I kissed you on the eyes that day -
While they were drawn closed.
It felt like warm sun rays to my air conditioned soul.

I poured out all the love I had left
In that one kiss.
Feeling as small as a child, 
Awkwardly overfilling a
Cup of lemonade.

It still wasn’t enough,
To make you laugh.
To make me change.
To save us from this.

I poured,
You drank.

You drank.
I poured...

Until my hands began to weaken
From the weight of the glass.
And the pitcher 
Fell to the floor...

“Watch out!”
You yelled, 
Hurriedly trying to tidy my mess.

Ignoring your heed, I jumped headlong toward you,
Hanging onto the cuffs of your pants.
Baring my feet to the shards beneath them.

Bleeding, I felt your arms sweep down to save me.
Ready to carry me to safety.
A dance, we knew by heart.
I jump,
You save.

You save,
I jump...

But today
It isn’t enough.
To make me safe.
To make you change.
To deliver us from this. 

Your arms begin to shake 
From the weight of anchors 
Tied to my soles.

And finally,
I fall. 
To the floor...


Friday, September 6, 2013


That’s what we are
No initiation on either of our parts 
To revive or extinguish
To enkindle or deaden
No movement
Up or down
Toward or away from the other.
We’ve chosen stasis...
Too afraid that if we bend to touch the other's heart
The uncomfortable shock of 
Chaos will ensue.
Yet, if I'm forced between chaos and this mental torpor with you,
I must choose chaos.

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Zero Scaping of the Heart

My heartbeat quickened with the noise of curses spinning in my head
Wanting nothing more than to purge these thoughts and you from my mind.
Instead I stay quiet and quickly feel tears burn my eyes.
Eyes that you once said created the most beautiful color of green 
When stained by those liquid marks of grief.
Is any part of me beautiful to you anymore?
Gutted and bare I lay before you,
Knowing I am not enough 
And realizing perhaps I never will be.
Accents of empty promises and self delusion decorate our happy home.
As long as the exterior is painted nicely
With flower beds and white picket fences,
Creating the perfect veneer for the debris inside,
No one will ever be the wiser, will they?
Especially not us.
Like monkeys in cages, 
We were so accustomed to the stench and mess
That neither one of us could smell or rid our humble abode of this fetor...
Until now...
The smell is apparent and abhorrent.
And we both finally acknowledge it.
Can this be saved?
Or is there now so much destruction, 
The only choice left is tearing it to the ground?