i am a coalmine

"the kid was alright but it went to his head"

currently - my insides are waltzing outside to the beat of your fingertips against the keys of your keyboard. my heart is a coalmine made to be quarried for an alternative source of energy. keep you running smoothly, even if your lungs get filled with sooty ash. i'm dirty but i'm not a secret. thesecret. there is no secret, there are only lies behind pretty, empty eyes. all the words that aren't my own are the most impressionable. you pour water over my head but you never let any reach my lips. the drought of my soul is stronger than the sahara. i belong below the earth. posthumously removed from the earth by your dainty hands, they opened my casket to find worms and scratchmarks. buried alive by my own hypocrisy is the way i'm going to go, with or without you. all my sins are calculated by the notches on my bedposts and all the extremes. i am in love with love songs but i never sing along. i keep the words in the back of my head along with the aftershocks. i've already set myself up for my own demise.

my lady macbeth

"the lady doth protest too much, methinks."

oh my darling, it takes an axe and a crack and a scream for those that are hard of hearing to realize that we are nothing short of the perfect crime that's badly covered up. my fingerprints stain you like the crimson wine that trailed down your chin. "you glutton." gluttony is one of the seven deadly sins. clearly i am deadly enough to do you harm, but i know my charm is really just bravado and a transparent smile that doesn't quite reach the eyes. my lady takes deep breaths and every exhalation fills the air with ice. i've frozen her to the core, i've etched into her heart. "i was here, now i'm gone, take three beats for my every two." all this philosophical waxing and waning has got your feet up on the table, leaning back in your chair with two of the legs off the floor. eyes in the back of your head are currently closed. sneaking up unnoticed; eating away at the edges of your head like acid on the brain. we can't all be geniuses - i am not van gogh, i didn't go insane from lead poisoning. surely i am as romantic. surely i would cut off my ear and give it to my lover. i lack the typical signs of affection. i lack anything but some pretty words and a blank stare. i am nothing but the love that you've given me, filled me with. you breathed life into me and welcomed me into your bed with open arms after all of my transgressions.

live forever never

Ever since you were gone, the only treatment I received was being called a repeat offender, too many tears and not enough nostalgia. She always cries on the same day every year because her only and best love tied himself to the traintracks and screamed out that he wanted to die. "But I don't wanna die, I just got to live forever." Or maybe never. Straight up blood rush, ultraviolet lights making it too hard to find the veins. She shoots between her toes to hide the trackmarks. Her veins collapsed the day he was run down and she was in the laundromat scavenging for coins to put their clothes in the dryer. That night, mama took care of her, but not even trauma nurses can mend cracked and broken, mangled hearts.

weal

"Today is the first of August. It is hot, steamy and wet. It is raining. I am tempted to write a poem. But I remember what it said on one rejection slip: After a heavy rainfall, poems titled RAIN pour in from across the nation."

I miss you most on the days when it's sunny and the beams soak into my skin, making it a little redder than it needs to be. My skin always burned and then turned white again, like hitting an arm on the stove and watching the weal form. The scar a reminder of the past - the problem is whether the past that it reminds you of is either beautiful or ugly.

No words can do you justice, and no song or skit or play could relive your life the way an old photograph could - your son and your daughter laugh and play like any normal children but something will always be missing.