old writing

exactly how it's written on paper.

--

everyone gets scared sometimes-
all i see is red-
red brake lights, red traffic lights,
red veins beneath my eyelids.
the boy whose scarf conjoins his head
and neck-
his bust out the window-
scarf blowing in the wind-
and it is just that-
which almost blows it away-
my head turns and i deliver a
secret "i love you"-
and he mouths it back-
it is this which i live for.

--

his fingertips as sandpaper
rub against your own to
erase your finger prints.
yearning for the static that's
missing when you kiss.

half your personalities are
opposing
but the other half
identical.

--

the middle of both your lips
glued together
the corners open and rise
few teeth show.
you don't want to smile
but can't help it.
he mirrors your expression
and it's like a visit to the
dentists
office inside a house of mirrors.

perfect in symmetry
perfect in color.
expressions of the same expressionless
stare.

same eyes lidded
and sunken in.

it would be cruel if he didn't
think the same as you.

the obvious already stated
never questioned.

twin stability
different cause, same effect.

there is something floating in the
corner of your eye.
it catches and snaps each
eyelid shut.
there is something there you
can't ignore.

the agreement spoken, more or
less.
but four steps, you turn your
head to look back
and 7 steps, he turns
but your head is straight forward.

you're almost certain, it can't
be nothing.
but you truly are
drowning in naivety and false
romance.

--

accidentally initiated.
is it out of nerves or
interest?
that it's as if
he's pretending
to play the bass drum
on your foot.
barely any words to the left
but a constant flow to the
right.
an old colleague and a new
friend.
a past lover.

a jolt
raising skin as it passes along
a fleeting motion
a relative reflex of muscle
replacing something displaced
a scent tiptoes along the
cord
and it's sweet, but faint.
it asks for your company
but you decline.

his face, a sickle
his profile is bordered.
you can imagine when he sleeps
little agricultural geniuses
cutting & tilling and trimming
to keep everything
in line.

the searchlight did not pass
his eyes.
so the purple half moons were
not acknowledged, if there.
and everything registered too
fast.

he left with "what?"
and "alone"
and without any formal
issue of farewell
like a criminal
avoiding the question.
he's a man who doesn't
accept "goodbye"

--

faces everywhere
melting.
a girl with black lined beneath
each eye
they droop
and identically so do the mouth
and cheeks.
another girl faintly resembles
melted wax.
but maybe that's just your
eyes swish panning to view
something else.
the elder woman
who spreads sadness, hatred,
depression,
her face, permanently melting
frozen, cooled wax
its crevices deep and dropping.
at Walgrins
'bringin the grin since 1989'
the cashier has a kind soul
it pulsates warm and big
his voice is endearing, caring
his eyes search yours
but when you agree to look
back
agree to play a game of
glances
he is already ready
for another customer.
his jacket was sporty
wind breaker shifting in the
stagnant wind of inside an
artificial
pharmacy, convenience store.
the wind outside chills to the
bone
but brings with it the scent
of a new season and the
song of birds' rebirth.

slowly, alone
destroy yourself.
this time, it's real.
it's coming and it's real.
you don't want it
but it's an unstoppable force.

--

deep fluttering heart beats
that nestle in your throat
making it impossible to breathe.
it hurts.

empty stomach
its contents rise
and pool at the opening
everything in your body
assembled in one place.

--

each beat conjures lightening
and it strikes, sharply
left ventricle,
right.

your life is
pretty vibrant.
your life is:
pretty,
vibrant.