Monsters Meeting *

I'd like the skulls in my closet
And the demons in my head
To all get together
With the monsters under your bed
They can all share some stories
Maybe have a drink or two
And as they plan their great escape
We'll wave goodbye to them as they do

Circles Made of Squares

Tiny little boxes form in my brain
Sharp and rigid
They're ungraceful
And they move in clumsy patterns
I shut my eyes hard
   and change them into circles
As they change,
   the crows-feet loosen their grip on my face
With no sharp points to hurt myself on
   the circles lighten the blow
   when they all collide

Lovers In The Mud

After our days are done,
Once we're through wandering around on our own,
As soon as the bullshit subsides,
Nature takes over
   and her positives find my negatives
   and the pull drags us up
   and out of the mud
Face first
Teeth full of dirt
Smiling as big as ever

At School

There is a freshness to all of their faces
A new-car-scent type feeling that'll decay
I take note of those who's smiles fade first
And I welcome them to the otherside
I tell them not to worry though
Because their parents are probably already here
Unfortunately
Waiting for them

Charlie

I heard a dog trudging through my driveway this afternoon
I didn't see it, but I knew it was a dog and a pretty large one at that
I knew because I heard the distance and timing between each of his legs,
His hind legs more audible, with the jingling of a collar displaying his home and name
I guessed brass and steel but I'm probably wrong
I also guessed his name was Charlie, and he was a yellow lab, I imagined
Charlie didn't run though, or sniff around, he just walked right through
Like we lived in a railroad style apartment, on his way to wherever he was going
I wondered all day what he was up to and why he was doing it
I still am wondering where his end point was, or if he even had one at all
I hoped he didn't
And to be honest I'm a bit jealous

Writers or Thieves

I feel bad for whoever falls in love with me
or with anyone who writes of their lovers like they are some tool
that we can use to build a mountain of words to surround them with.
And we build just to show others, the audacity is sickening.
Like a saw we will cut you down, your words into pieces
and your secrets so small they slip into that grey area I call public domain.
We will take everything you do and display it for the masses.
If you're connected to my writing and I,
your life will become scrap paper marked in bad handwriting
and halfhearted, oft-forgotten lines as I drive in my car,
as if you were simply that easy to forget.
Each conversation we have I'll listen but not to you,
instead I'm listening for things to steal, to strip away from our dialogue.
I've stolen from everyone I've ever slept with and even more from those I've loved.
You never think about it while it's happening and you don't realize it until it's already done with.

Like Monsters

I love the scent of the inside of your lungs.
And while I picture it clinging to the fleshy walls of your insides,
as it reluctantly races for an escape,
I find myself envious of where it will end up.
Once it makes its way through your mint lips,
it could potentially travel anywhere it pleases.
I scramble to try and collect it all into my own lungs,
taking the deepest of breaths in until I feel lightheaded and see colors.
Breathing you in deep leaves me breathless somehow though.
Hunched over with fatigue and with quiet frustration,
over anyone who's lucky enough to breath in even the slightest of your scent,
I've become numb to sharing the majority of you but not this.
To me they are thieves and I make them out to be scary and forceful.
Like monsters but I fear nothing.

Happy Birthday.

To the woman I've never met but know almost everything about
Enjoy and celebrate, and take plenty of pictures
I'll never look at them, but someone's going to want to remember you
Just as you are right now

Beautiful with pin straight hair caught in the corners of your mint lips
Look beyond the camera and smile big
Focus on the point in the distance and try not to blink
You've been great at it for years, so I'm sure today is no different

Put something on you've been waiting to wear
Make sure he notices, he probably won't on his own
Stand tip-toed, one foot arched more than the other
Show off those legs in the best possible way

Each year on my birthday I blow out my candles to the West
I watch the smoke travel as far as it can go as it settles above me
For a brief moment I panic but then I remember there is no reason
The winds from the Atlantic hardly ever reach your boarder anyway

If you remember tonight though, just as someone clumsily carries a cake your way
Angle yourself to the East, stand facing home, and close your eyes
Make a wish that gives you chills when you think about it coming true
And wait as you feel the wind pick up from behind you and as candle smoke hits your face
Mother Nature has always been a sucker for romantics

If You Were To Write To Me

I'm sorry for holding the flame just close enough for you to constantly feel the heat.
And I'm sorry I slip sometimes and inch even closer to burn you.
I never thought the flame would have stayed lit for this long.
How could I have known?

I remember standing in that blizzard, watching it dim in the wind.
We were as sad as humanly possible while we assumed it would be out by morning.
The snow should have eaten the flame whole.
How could I have known?

A decade's worth of heat and ash and soot rests in our hands, but our fingers never touch.
Our hands have both become callused but mine for different reasons than yours.
The universe was telling you one thing and me another.
How could I have known?

There's this pain that rivals the loss of a family member and I've felt both recently.
It just doesn't seem fair. I know you would take it all away if you could.
I try to let myself understand but it's hard to do so while you've already taken so much.
How could I have known?

After the first few years the hurt became bearable, like it was just another part of life.
You weren't even fueling the fire. You weren't supposed to, I wouldn't let you.
The snow failed, the wind gave up, our hands were a fortress, a castle.
How could I have known?

You were the drawbridge and the walls, and I, the princess safely inside.
You took arrow after arrow, waiting it out while enemies and friends alike tried to lay siege to this castle.
I am sorry, but I am too terrified to scan your body, inside and out, for the marks and wounds that were inevitably my doing.
How could I have known?

Route 353

My car ride home tonight reminded me of you
The perfect temperature, not too hot, and with a breeze to boot
All four windows down, just letting it surround me
My body relaxed and breathing with the tempo
Of some beautiful song playing in the background
If you were here I'd be using your left hand as a cymbal
For my make believe drum set while I play along
To the same song singing us home
I'm driving with cruise control on
Every limb at ease
No need for breaks
Wherever I'm going it's in a straight line
If I were to get into an accident I would certainly survive
The way a drunk driver always lives through a crash
But I'd remain fine for far more romantic reasons
My speed remains steady
My eyes focused
And my lips reaching for the stars above
Your hair would be a mess
Flying recklessly with the wind
I'd love every second of it
While you try to wrangle each piece
As they slip right through your bone-thin fingers
The smoothest road I've ever driven
With the prettiest view I've ever seen
The route I took tonight reminds me of you

This Won't Hurt

Plant your feet and dig them into the dirt
Lower your shoulder and drive it straight into mine
Make me crumble, start on my left side
But I need you to promise that this won't hurt
I need you to lie and say that this won't hurt

Definition: Straight Line

Some years ago,
   when I was far braver and much less capable of love
      a hook set into my jaw.

Unaware of what it was entirely I tugged at it,
    yanked it from here to there without concern.
      My curiosity pulled the string attached until taught.

A straight line was in view,
   from my jaw to wherever that line was to lead me.
      And I would follow along for however long it took.

As time continued on, and the face of the clock laughed into mine,
   I thought I knew the definition of a straight line,
      the space in between point A and point B.

The line never curved left or right,
   but it rose, and it fell,
      so effortlessly in the passing winds of others trailing their own lines.
   
When the sun was perfectly still behind the clouds,
   just enough to see her radiate on her own,
      I would catch a glimpse of this beautifully slender but fierce figure holding tight the other end.

We waited and held with all our might,
   but we became tired, and she became fixated on these sights way beyond me.
      And I, without even knowing it, began to look right through her.

We'd never leave each others vision,
   but we let our eyes wander as far as they could,
      all along knowing we would never catch up to one another.

Older, wiser, and a bit torn at the seams,
   we still hold onto that line, that defines a path we could never truly grasp,
      in every sense of the word.

There is a love there that hardly fits into a neat and tidy box,
   one that, at times, may cross over to other lines,
    but one that will never fray and snap under the pressure.

It stretches. Further and more distant but still there.
   It is a bond that we have been laying at the feet of our enemies.
    And the breadcrumbs, just in case we ever need them to find home.

The tiny, powerful, and truly remarkable vision at the end of my line has never changed,  
   She taught me some years ago the true definition of a straight line,
      And the only thing that will change is the way we'll constantly redefine that definition.

In Bed, In the Morning Into the Afternoon

I whispered to my sheets while you slept,
Grab hold of this one, hold on tight.
Gently wrap yourself around her ankles and wrists.
Keep her warm and comfortable.

And I pleaded with my pillows,
Let her sleep in peace, 
remind her of nothing outside my bedroom door.
Become an ocean of comfort 
that cradles her head into the afternoon.

I cut a deal with the birds outside my window
If you just keep singing through morning, 
after the sun has packed its bags for the day, 
into the evening, maybe we won't hear our alarm clocks. 

The sun owed me a favor from a few years back,
Stretch your rays a bit further this morn.
Thread yourself in between my shades but keep away from her face
As badly as I'd like to watch her open her eyes, we mustn't wake her.

If you were to wake up now I would pretend I was asleep the entire time.
I would calculate my breathing to ensure we share the same breath,
and I would tighten my grip around your waist,
just barely but enough so you know where you belong.

Without Ever Opening My Eyes

In the morning I wake and I'm shivering
   The wind trapped between my house and the bay window makes a familiar sound  
It wakes me but the shivering keeps me awake
I listen to the birds outside and try to count how many there are
   just by listening to the chorus they were all singing
I never really knew if what they say about birds was true
  about how they can only hear the chirping of their own kind
Sometimes that just seems so sad to me
the way they all sung, like a choir together without ever knowing it

Listening closer still I can hear the sound of a chainsaw
   and it cuts right through me
Bringing my sunrise chorus to an abrupt end and replacing it with
the teeth of the chain as it rounds the blade and shreds through wood and bark
  and the sound of mother nature as she weeps for her early morning miracles
I feel bad for her and try to apologize for everything
   but that task is a daunting one and I am sleepy still

There's the hum of my ceiling fan that buzzes above me
   It gives my bedroom life, and acts as a net, wrangling all the sounds together
Like that faint hiss you can only get when a needle hits vinyl
   that warms it all up and holds you tight
The fan blades spin and provide the tempo with each rotation

The only other sound I can hear is of my own lungs
   as they fill up and deflate in perfectly awkward timing
On my inhale, with my eyes shut, I can hear the roll of waves getting ready to swallow a shore
   On my exhale, the sound as they blanket the sand and retreat back ever so stealthy
For a moment I'm standing on a beach right before sunrise and I cannot see a thing

I trick myself into thinking I can hear my heart knocking on my chest plate
   And I can't tell if it's asking to be let out or if it's trying to break out
It all makes me want to jump headfirst into the sky, the clouds seem quiet
   But for some reason I recall learning the opposite
In a small way, I hope they're louder than we all think
   So when I get up there they can drown out all the noise down here

New Roses

Even when your brain slips away
And it forgets every memory we made
I will write them all down for you
Even when your body is cold
And your veins stop racing
Even when your eyes glass over
And your skin no long radiates
Even if your hands can no longer grasp mine
I will try to keep you secure and warm
Even when your wrists stop vibrating
And your limbs become stones
Even when your lungs fail to rise 
I'll breathe for the two of us
Even after the worms take their share
Every inch of you will still belong to me
Even when you become the grass
And the roses bloom with your scent
Even as those roses wilt
And sink back into the ground
You will always belong to me

A Sun In The Top Left Corner of My Paper

I wish I could write as my 6 year old self.
I wonder what I would have to say.
I bet there would hardly be complaints.
Or talks of destroying myself.
Instead of lines declaring all of my fears and regrets,
I would write of my favorite color. Or colors.
Cause I never really could decide between blue and red.
I think I'd say, "Blue is my favorite color...
...and so is red, so I guess red is my favorite, but blue is too."
With daily struggles between whether or not to be
A fireman, or a lion, or maybe a pirate when I grew up,
I'd have no time to worry myself about the time.
And I definitely couldn't be bothered with loneliness.
I had toys and imaginary friends to keep me company.
And, albeit reluctant, a few tea parties to attend.
When I wasn't napping I'd be flying, and if I wasn't flying,
I'd be avoiding lava, or the bad guys that I swore were
RIGHT BEHIND ME!
Instead of checking my bank account each morning,
I'd check my treasure chest at the foot of my bed.
Making sure everything was in order;
1 Nolan Ryan baseball card. Check.
1 Forest green wall ball. Check.
3 Uniquely shaped rocks from the backyard. Check. Check. Check.
And 6 twenty-five-cent-machine super balls,
Worth AT LEAST ten kagillion dollars each.
Check. Check. Check. Check. Check. Check.
If anything were askew I would remain calm and shrug it off.
All I had to do was check one of my super secret hiding spots.
Speaking of which, when I wanted to hide back then,
It was always coupled with counting to 10
And with the anticipation of being found by someone else.
For some reason though, that's not the case nowadays.
When I go to hide now, I want to be left alone,
With no red face from trying to keep my giggles in.
No childish fear of the person seeking you turning into a REAL LIFE MONSTER.
No one to burst out in laughter with once found.
It's just me, alone and forgetting to smile,
As well as every good reason as to why I should.
If my 6 year old self could write to me,
He'd probably remind me of my superpowers
And also to not use them all up at once,
Because well, superpowers run out sometimes.
I think he'd write, "I love you Mom" a few times.
And definitely a list or two of who my best friends are,
right next to a rundown of my favorite dinosaurs.
Most of all though, I hope there'd be this sun that I used to draw
In the top left corner of the paper with red and yellow and orange rays of sunshine
Hovering right above each colorful and waxy word.
I haven't drawn a sun in the top left corner of any paper in years,
And it's beginning to worry me that I can't remember when I decided that was no longer a necessity.

From Memory From Apple (v.2)

We waited but we were hardly sure what for.
You always seemed so preoccupied and unaware of my wandering.
My eyes, my brain, hands; you missed them all drifting from your hold.
I'll be the martyr because you failed to be the artery I needed.
Your lungs didn't work for the two of us, you were selfish with your inhale.
Your heart was alive but barely for you and I.
I began to digest such an awful concoction of chemicals that went unnoticed.
And I was taking in such a poisonous mix of smoke and the breath from whoever.
You missed every breath I took that didn't stem for your exhale.

Organ Donor

I am used, secondhand
My parts once had other plans
Sure they work just like they should
Just trying to work for something good

They were hardly ever yours
I'm missing pieces from before
Way before I knew your name
If you're here to help, you're far too late

I like to watch you lose your nerve
I like to watch you start to squirm
Like watching something pretty burn
I like to watch you lose your nerve

I've given up my heartbeat
Handed it out, all for free
The last one here took what was left
Didn't leave much for the rest

I close my eyes when I lie
So I can listen deep down inside
Just to hear if there's any sound
It's my own damn fault, it's all run out

I like to watch you lose your nerve
I like to watch you start to squirm
Like watching something pretty burn
I like to watch you lose your nerve

You Asked For This

I'm sorry, but you won't be joining the others.
I had to change the pattern up a bit and experiment a tinge.
There won't be any more discussion of you in the future.
You will remain in the past.
In my head, there will be no filing cabinet kept with your initials on it.
It will restore to it's previous settings, based on my time before you.
Any brief moment of weakness will be immediately followed by an extended moment of relief.

The Animal Inside

I'd like the animal inside of you to show it's face
Come out and tear away at my lungs, crack my ribcage
Watch the smoke escape like a prison break
Sink your claws into the meat of my thighs
Drag them up and through my eyes
Whatever you do, just make sure my love is blind