iamyouareheissheisweallare

The match that has prematurely gone out,
A zippo with no lighter fluid,
A star burnt out,
The ash under your shoes that mixes with the snow.
The grey slush and cigarette butts creating tangible undesirables
Right before all of our eyes.

Carbon monoxide,
Rat poison,
Acetic Acid,
The fumes that unfurl and infect your nose with knowledge,
The type you would rather bypass.

The guts of an Art History textbook,
The brain of Esther Greenwood,
The veins of Diane Arbus,
The liver of Charles Bukowski,
The chemical imbalances of Sylvia Plath.

Every locked door you’ve tried to barge through without a key,
Every wall you’ve slid down to the base of in defeat,
Every phrase you’ve shouted in private that you would never repeat,
Every folded and pressed shirt that you’ve kept so neat,
Every pair of sunglasses you’ve worn so they couldn’t see.

Erratic dramatic hypertension,
The shakes and the sweats in the middle of the night,
The tangle of those covers with someone else’s legs other than your own.
The antithesis of kitsch,
The ultimate opus,
The birth of creative genius and creative craziness.

The aged oak of the bar,
Where the amount of dirt and scratches overwhelm the patron.
The burn marks from the age when cigarettes weren’t barred,
Littering the oak like track marks on a junkie’s arms.
The dirty, empty pint glasses that surround you,
Drained like the Mojave,
Leaving you endlessly unsatisfied.

The last thing you see before you shut your eyelids,
The first thing you see painted against the redness
When dawn peeks over the horizon like a little child
Playing hide and seek with the hills of his covers.
The novel you curl up with before you go to sleep
That you have read at least a hundred times,
But it never goes stale and stays immortal.

I am a mecca composed of nerve endings that just end at you.

I can't see a thing except for you;
Grafted to the inside of my eyelids
You shine red in the morning light
everpresent and invading my cocoon of sleep.

But sleep is something I deign to have,
And this smoke filled raunchy cabaret is what I long to have.

It is the idea of you
Your whispering is your genetic blueprint
My map to find you when my demeanor becomes dreary and hopeless.

You are lurking inside every word,
Nestling yourself in the dark irises of my soul.
Take the edge off.
My form of dancing is wasting away before your troubled eyes.

And I am cracked like every greek statue you will ever view in those
posh art museums across countless
Countless meccas of culture
Countless cities that I like to blend with

A sidewalk is a sidewalk
A park bench is a park bench
I am just a passerby
Dissolving into the cover of the concrete trees
And the quaint lights at night.

sensitivity

All this change,
It is new and unfettered.
It is the crashing of a wave,
The slow shake of the sand on the beach. 


Don’t you want to know details?
It isn't surgery for the soul. 

I opened up from the neck down,
My torso cracked apart like a dead cow.
They want my meat still.

You could take out my heart, 

Dissect it.
Tweezers couldn't make it in those cracks; 

They would catch up,
Jarred so deep on a break in routine.

They say you only get beautiful

After the biggest of tragedies; 

The sorrow in your eyes catches on film,
And those cameras,
They soak up your misery like a dirty rag.

That’s the only use for all these trash magazines, 

They mop up the blood when you get too obscene.
And now, what can you even be?
Nothing more than a vintage Polaroid
Quaint as the time from which it came
When there was time to shake it out
And lay us down to dry.
Well, that time has passed.

I must preen my ruffled, bejeweled feathers
Sitting on my throne of demands
Perched as stately as a peacock
Humoring you
And your fucking complaints -
They grate on my skin like dirty nails
And you can't catch your hooks in me for long
Since I distract too easily.

Just like the polaroids,
The sunlight catches on your sin

And all those little points sprinkle over my skin
Like gunshot wounds,
About seventy of them. 

I’m open like a watering can
So pour my blood over all your lilies -
I’m sure they would appreciate my honesty.
Shoot a hole through all of my neat photography.

But not everyone can be like me.
All saintly and frayed at the edges,
Makes me think of your coat;
It’s been eaten away by imaginary fangs
And sometimes I wish you had some bite in you
But as I peek around your sides like a little child,
It yields nothing.
All I see around your arms and legs are chains.

God keeps you and your alcoholism with him for eternity.
He breaks you from your soul outwards

And damn if you'll ever know what he's going to do. 

You aren’t an angel and you shouldn’t attempt to flatter yourself.
With your head gasping in the clouds
And your feet sinking into hell,
All you can do is scream
For eternity.

You put me in a coma. 

I wish for the IV to erase any trace
Of you tearing through my veins.
I want to wake up and feel the blood sluggishly pump,
And hear the rhythm beat a tattoo inside my ears.

I am strung out,
Purple and black and blue,
And it’s true;
You can't even revive a soldier.
I’m a (soul)dier of love.
With my nails digging into my wrists, 

And my heart in my head, 

I think we’re starting to think on the same patterns.
So this is what it’s like to love rationally.

This is a spiritual meditation,
An exact question about anticipation,
A series of signals misinterpreted
Then reinstated like a political official.
We are creatures of habitual formality,
Preying on the institutions of nerve endings.

I am most sensitive at the fingertips,
Closing my eyes and feeling my way along
Your neck, spine and the inside of your soul.
I don’t have to remind you that I’m still
Watering your lilies,
Feeding you some sort of truth,
Wasting this time among the living,
When I could be passing through.
But for tonight,
My malleable body spells out the truth
In the nest of your cotton sheets,
Praying for midsummer like a martyr.

3.01

Skeletal hands reach up to the sky,
Whiter than a dead body,
And colder than the most frigid marble under bare feet.
If I could reach your hands and collide
With all of the stars that make up your
Transparent skin full of sins,
I would be engaging in sensory debauchery.

But I am just another pull from your flask,
Amber misconceptions that spin when you walk.
Each footstep wrecks the marble of the dead bodies,
Wreaking havoc upon the graveyard of the lawn,
That was once so green and untainted.
They’ll bury you in here,
The same place, the same way, the same broken cry.

You wear a cloak constructed of pieces
Of the hearts that you have collected,
Yet you still do not have a whole one
To call your own, “your conquest.”
Your own heart is comparable to a Dali –
A reference to time and experience,
But a loss of all reality.

All I am is
The snow under your boots,
The flush in your cheeks,
The blood oozing through your veins,
The ideas sewn to the folds of your brain,
The ash of your cigarette.
You said you were quitting, but you can’t quit everything.

I am everything, a reminder, a lock on your thoughts.

whore of babylon

all this change
it is new and unfettered
it is the crashing of a wave
the slow shake of the sand on the beach

don't you want to know details?
it isn't surgery for the soul.
i opened up from the neck down
my torso cracked apart like a dead cow
they want my meat still.

you could take out my heart,
dissect it
tweezers couldn't make it in those cracks
they would catch up
jarred so deep on a break in routine.

they say you only get beautiful
after the biggest of tragedies
the sorrow in your eyes catches on film
and those cameras
they soak up your misery like a dirty rag.

that's the only use for all these trash magazines,
they mop up the blood when you get too obscene.
and your fucking complaints
they grate on my skin like dirty nails
and you can't catch your hooks in me for long
i distract too easily.

the sunlight catches on your sin
and all those little points sprinkle over my skin
like gunshot wounds
about seventy of them
i'm open like a watering can
so pour my blood over all your lilies
i'm sure they would appreciate my honesty.

but not everyone can be like me
all saintly and frayed at the edges
makes me think of your coat
all lumberjack without the saw
and sometimes i wish you had some bite in you
but i can look high and i can look low.
sorry baby,
all i see around your arms and legs are chains

god keeps you and your alcoholism with him for eternity.
he breaks you from your soul outwards
and damn if you'll ever know what he's got in store for you.
you put me in a coma.
i want to wake up and feel the blood sluggishly pump through my veins.

more than you could ever do,
you can't even revive a soldier.
i'm a (soul)dier of love.
with my nails digging into my wrists,
and my heart in my head,
someday you will pay.

those breakers of babylon will swallow you,
drown you inside your own mind.
oppressive little town,
built up on the seaside
everything is just an illusion
for nothing we will ever see.

you're acid on the brain.

And if I wake up
I hope the sky will break up
Into a million little shards of mirrored glass
reflecting the light of the sun like a prism.

The inside of your skin looks like heaven
Its message wrapped in scar tissue and repaired muscle.
I want you to be as brave as the war,
I want you to explain to me what this feeling's for.

I sat in the garden
Watching the sun reflect on the undersides of gardenias and lilies
Questioned our existence
And found every answer I was looking for

In the thorns of the roses.
Our lives are brambles
Our resolve is prickly at best
And our hearts bloom in crimson fashion.

Despetrately we try to grab at explanations
Like too many layers of clothing
In between our destinations
Our bodies sinking into a glass full of amber fantasies.

You can set us all on fire
But I will never fade out.
I am brighter than the sun
I am the smoke of the gun

Put me to your temple
Send me racing though your veins
I want to be the rose that blooms
Inside your vibrant head.

A 90% chance that this is all on you.

I am only eloquent when I talk about my own misfortunes.

I woke up in a nest of ashes
Ressurrected
My head clear full of objectives.

You run through my veins
Sprinting
Out of breath, like a horse in the heat.

All these pinpricks of light
They shoot through my skin
And I'm wondering if you should taste like this.

I drink to the ages,
A thirst always unfulfilled.
And if you were at the bottom of every bottle...

I'd drink my way down there too.
My insides would be perfectly new.
I'd drown at the dirty bottom with you.

The only life is the bedroom (night)life

It is a disturbing notion that you can only live in one realm of a
person's life.
Pinup nude model with a mouth larger than all the screens in times
square.
Those eyelashes could snap you in half.
It's like a ghost town there,
In the vacation spots of your head.
Monosyllabic.
When I say you put me to sleep...
I really mean you hand feed me melatonin.
You say anything herbal goes.
I say that I believe in vampirism.
The death I know rings my eyes.
You're the biggest case of a.d.d. when it comes to shedding clothes.
Xyz.
Affair.
You'd appreciate the reference.
I dropped the vowels hoping you would decode my plea.
Sv m frm m wn hd
Spdrs crwl n yr bd
Wghts md f ld
Drg m dwn t fd m t th tdl wvs
I cn hr y n th s shlls
Brth lf nt dth