skin deep

bitchy, grouchy
hard crunchy exterior

soft, mushy
loving, accepting interior.

cake makeup and
dark lines.

business suit of lies.

completely oppose the exterior
in order to change the interior.

bleeding

fishing line lassoed
round your heart.
each tug creates
a laceration.

classic piano feeds your ears.
loud.

alone,
ghosts surround you.
each latch on
with a sharp iron jaw
and feed,
relentless.

all is still
and company is sparse
blood pours from your mouth,
the pressure resumes.
the ghosts coax from you

one scream, to the ceiling
another, the sky
a third, distant nebulae and
twin neutron stars.
each reaching farther distances
than the one before it.

alone,
a "help wanted" sign
hangs from your neck.

ruin

what outerspace feels like
tremendous pressure
and breathless lungs.

infinite and black
with no one around
to hold your hand

it's like being underwater
with no way to
resurface.

springtime

your heart as the earth;
broken, each piece a
tectonic plate.
it quakes,
trembles and quivers
and the plates move.

mostly, subduction and
convergent.
but tiny pieces break off
with every tremor.
they can start in your head
or control your torso

both equally painful
(convulsions,
like electricity passing through
a grid
wreck your torso
in small bursts
and long
back-arching strikes)

the sunlight brightens.
tints subjects yellow
and creates
3d cardboard cut-out nightmares
in front of your very own eyes.

springtime brought the sun
and the sun, in turn
brought you nightmares.
and every walk outside is
struck with a myriad of
buzzing bees
telling you to close your eyes
in fear of the scenery popping up
and reaching out for you.

reconnection

tangy metal bounced off
the walls inside your nose.
tickled the back of your throat,
swam inside a teapot
the teabag filled with dirt and
stitched closed with sweat.
hair a dirty mess, just the same
and another scent prevailed
still unfamiliar, yet
safer and warmer.

spicy and warm, like chai
but not sweet enough to drink
just tantalizing enough to inhale
and to press lips together,
perhaps tonguing the chapped outside
safely hidden, stuck together inside.
invisible but knowingly visible.

the day changed and night fell
and another came and aged halfway
and the smell of fast food and pine
mixed together.
it was like organic and artificial mated
and labored something new
not-so-nose-upturning
and not nostalgic, either.
the rain cascaded and didn't soak,
the wind, though bothersome
standing hair on end and
passing tendrils as curtains
in front of eyes,
it didn't phase you.
there was no chill where there could have been.
and perhaps this is all attributed
to what was in front of you.

and in between these two occurrences
metal so cold it numbed your feet,
but thankful were you of it's inched support,
your arms wrapped around at the perfect point
where hand meets hair
and fingers thread through tufts
and noses, 70 degree angles
meet scent saturated necks
the frogs sang in a chorus of
hundreds
and silenced every other sound of the night.
a symphony, an orchestra
of different pitches
all conducted just for you.

blood pressure

a long-bladed dagger in your heart
with every beat, it ticks
side to side
like a metronome
as if your breast plate was
irregularly absent.

and if the scent
catches any updraft
it's necessary to hold your breath
to keep the downpour
at bay.