ch-ch. eat and her.

he knows
and you're not sure
if it makes you feel
comforted
or pathetic

the way you looked away
mumbled out
half-assed answers
and vague assumptions
they both knew

you think
sit back and breathe in
hold your head in such
small hands

it's the fact
that you didn't even have to tell him
he didn't read veiled words
just by your composure
he figured you out.

it keeps replaying in your head
that one word that wont stop
that replays like your life

it's the fear of being figured out
maybe
or the fear
of being known so well
and what the knowledge will bring
you both.

too high up

all of this is deja vous [not deja vu]
"already you."
you know you've done this before
you can foresee all that comes
you know their every word

it's all so familiar
it should be comforting.
yet it's not.

first, time skips, like every time
but after; your throat
it wants to rip itself from you
move on somewhere else

or maybe
it's the words that want out.
all of them held up
in your head
buzzing like mad bees on glass
the hard interior of your skull
nesting in cerebellums
and lobes and glands.

mouth partched
gum feels like hammers on your teeth
and no matter how horrid it sounds
you love it.

everything..
life, it seems to all start
from between thighs
and under abdomens
all the warmth in your body flows inward
to one spot, and you thrive there.
it seems like you're being sucked in
to the medium on your body
to the core where everything starts
where life starts
where you wish it would not
but it's all so warm
for a moment you're stuck in it
upside down
and unborn again.
but,

under the bright lights
and the boys and their sounds
you sit without movement
heaven is pounding not at your doorstep
but your ears
your head
you're pinned to the seat you're in.
everything is weighing down on you
you just wish to sleep.

at the same time
you're floating off somewhere
the outside of the infinite universe
looking in on all that inhabits
floating forwards and to the side
forever going, but never lifting off

you see the world and how it really is:
tiny humans in capsules
all reliving the same day
over and over again.
each assigned to their own scene
in someones life

for you, it's a peak you can't come down from
and for everyone:
they're all at the end of their scenes
when the scene ends, they end
yet
the deja vu kicks in
and it's all replayed back
from the back of a movie theater
films rollings and clicking
and they're all just living sometimes
feeling like they're at the end of their scene

and they feel like
this is it.

but it's not.

and when you finally lay to rest
not lay to rest
but to sleep, to start over
you feel all your past nightmares
nightmares as a child
all rise up, from your heart
to you eyes
and you should be scared, but you're not
you feel refreshed
born again, to face your fears.

and we're all just
reliving.

and what she found there

You lie when you say
you don't shove your face
too close to static-kissed t.v's

we're just trying to see
fireworks explode


he ran his fingers over her collarbone
rough, calloused fingers
pressing down hard
as if you break her apart;
destroy her

it's not...

with the moonlight so bright
mimicking dawn before daylight
or sunrise.
star speckled sky.
you want to fling yourself
into the cold, crisp air
birthing yourself anew
and screaming at the top
of your frost-filled lungs:
thoughts about love
and everything in between
even the hate you see
when you read between the lines
of l-o-v-e.

smoke

inhale.
white, gray
off white
eggshell
pure to the look
but evil.
these demons fill you
and you turn your head
slowly, to the right
it seems like a lifetime
but in only an instant
your lips touch
and all your breathe leaves you
along with those demons
"i took your breath away..."
and you smile
eyes shimmering as you watch it disperse.

warmth

fighting about
who should keep who warm
when really,
what should be passing your lips
instead of sighs
and presses to another's
is
"it is us who should keep each other warm"

black coffee

his intentions, unclear
does he wish
to serenade you into his arms
or his bed?

a small play in your life

it was the most vivid picture
you had ever seen in your mind
light, yellowed skin
just like yours
open mouthed and half lidded

then
it was the most vivid voice
you had ever heard in your mind
deep
half mumbling
and a small laugh

not even your dreams
could live up to that show.

sewn on

messages sent and received
and in queue
the t.v.s painted static black and white
are all broadcasting
you to us.

the boy with the dark hair,
on his lips are patches
that sew and glue on to denim
they say
"kiss me"

so you do.

grocery list

water, salt, skin, hair, teeth, brown eyes, body modification, one liners, tasteless pickup lines, laughter, pretty words and love.

stop it. stop it. stop it. stop it.

calloused fingers run over sharp collar bones
and too big ribs for such a small girl.
you breathe in
quick, deep.


the lights went out
seemingly years passed
each tick of the second
each slight move towards another number
went unnoticed
but painstakingly slow all at once.
and you sit there speaking with him
every detail about you laid out
on a table such as:
cold silver, blue cloth over.
sharps and dulls and rings.
and you figure it's the only table
you'd ever want yourself upon

and when lips touch
lights flicker back on

they're no fireworks
but they'll do.

lovely

every word you ever put here
has been taken
stripped raw from your mind
epidermis from dermis.
sometimes cleaned until pink
but mostly left red and spotted.

this is how your brain works
the way you see things
are in prose and pretty words

typed out for all the world to see
because none of the world will see.

goodnight.

eyes holding eyes in vice-like grips
fingers on fabric covering skin that stray
and stay too long
it's too fucking late
but the words never cease
and it's then ending all over again
every thought in your head
screams
and reverberates
until you never know
when you're sleeping or awake.

looking up

you got a dozen red roses.
but what you'd rather have
was a bouquet of dandelions,
buttercups and weeds.
or maybe
if it must be such an evil flower
as roses are

[sharp thorns that break
pale, perfect skin
red like the roses
too dark and harsh against such beauty]

you'd much rather get
a single black rose
to rest against your chest
as you sigh and sing in your red dress
in the darkness of night

the best thing that's happened to you is insanity

what he wants you to say
is "because i like you"
but you can't quite get it past your
... fingers.
he'll have to suck it out of you
his mouth on yours.
before you'll actually admit it.

you really don't want to change
you don't want this
and you can't help but feel
as if you're hurting people.
you want more self control that that other bitch
and you'll practice it if it kills you.

and maybe the part of you
that fills up with tar colored dread
like sand filing into an hourglass
[hot, dark sand on a warm beach]
you think maybe it's the thrill of
"not just love"
that makes you want it.

it's just like last time
whispered, silent words
just words, black text and white screens
in your grasp, but slippery wet
until, when you had it
a firm grasp of reality and dried out realism
it wasn't so
beautiful
anymore.

what to do.

they stand up
all of them, in that room
from where they had been sat
and you figure it's like
one huge wave
in one large, blue sea
you also figure
they way they all move; one way
then the next
juxtaposed, warm.
well, you figure that's almost like a current.
and maybe that's what we all are
just part of one huge sea
whenever we move.

and when you see such a face:
blank and yet...
the familiarity brightens it
the feelings sharpen it
and create something even more beautiful
you can't help but think
things are moving much too fast
and you love it, you adore it
and still they move
inches out of your grasp
the lovely dizziness you remember
from long ago
you wish for it and you turn it away

what the fuck to do?
chance it again like you had last time
just for it to turn out the same?
or will it be finally different.
the shattering of gold-tinged glass
can be heard from all corners
from each sense:
smell, taste, sight, feel
hear.
so many things now brighten before you
things that were gray
black and white.
now they're robin blue
hot pink and canary yellow
swirling together, these pastels
in your mind's eye.

and
what to do.

the coolest

often
when schedules melt
when days are missed or exchanged
the week seems to be stuck
in limbo
you know what day it is
and yet,
you don't.
and it always never ends
be it too many pointless hours
or ends melting seamlessly
into beginnings.

sun

don't you just love
those dirty snow clouds
when they cover up
the hot, mean midday sun?
you feel like you could stare for so long
until forever, that's just what you see
and then you could truly
be blinded to all things.

god fucking damn

the burning newspaper grew, like a woman fitting herself into a dress.
you watched, and you saw as it swayed in time with the music
it swung its hips, flailed its arms
a red, red woman in a black dress
the embers were her body,
her hair.
it decayed
as if soft whispers were tearing it apart
as if there was a constant wind blowing it apart.
weightless, and alien
unlike nothing you've ever seen

---

and then, it was the car
in the car,
in a bottle.
you stared as your own little world passed
you stared into soft,
clear plastic
red liquid pooled inside
and you watched as trees passed
like a world in your hands
a red world.
yours to own, and watch over
for all eternity

no, i'm not.

Him and you, in that room.
Windowless, but the dark was always
that side of not dark enough.
The spider webs held their own dewy glow
and the dust never seemed to
settle. The air was thick with this:
Dust and also your thoughts and lies.

Your fingernails at a constant state
of: dirty. And all the colors
you ever saw were black, gray and white.

And one day when the roof blew off,
and lead way to the hot blue flame of the sky,
you seemed to melt into it;
you made yourself a part of it.
Comical and yet beautiful like a teapot whistling.

And you hoped yourself better that day.

Him and you, in that room.
That boy with the broken cheekbones,
brown face and bright eyes.
You hoped yourself a part of him.