When no one is around youLook, I'm going to start saying your name like a swear word, okay? I'm going to muster all my little kiddedness and scream it like I can offend someone, see.
I'm just going to say it at inopportune moments, and clasp both of my hands over my mouth when I say it in front of the wrong people.
I'm not going to say it like a magic word anymore, I'm not going to say it like it invokes enough happiness in a papercup that I can swallow down and easily discard of the carrier. Crush.
Well then. I'm just lying arent I?
I'm not going to say your name at all anymore; I leave it up to the screams.
batteries unincludedyou are an hourbatteries unincluded9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
sixty minutes of sixty tickings
in this hour is every word
youve ever said
i have an old wrist watch my father gave me
i say old, because five years is a long time when it is a quart of your life.
i use it to count you.
staring at the straight lines and reflecting the tubed light into a dancing circle on the wall
a spotlight for an ant
i imagine a woven straw hat and cane
there was always dancing wasnt there?
there was, but it was never us that were dancing. its just a configuration.
you know, of talk.
something we forgot all about.
perhaps it wasnt forgetfulness but forced ignorance.
you know, being stubborn, like stains you can never get out in the morning.
running through the messesyou trick your mind,running through the messes9 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
you forget all the impulses,
you silence the routines and fractures of memories isolating your every moment.
you take a long cold drink.
you rest your head against the wall for some stability.
you let your mind drain out the sludge you keep there rotting.
you stop the motions,
you stop them just before they start,
you volley your thought processes into another direction.
you loosen your grip,
you let it take hold of you for just a second,
you allow yourself to give in to the screaming and all of the rushing voices.
you do this
you do this so you can
you do this so you can just go on.
two taughtYou were me in my dream. I watched you placate myself with nervous flickings of my fringe behind my ears. Smoke curled around my splutterings as you habitually inhaled, forgetting it wasnt your body; those werent your lungs.two taught8 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
I tried to warn you before you looked into my satchel; you made me take out a handful of balled up tissues, bunches of forgotten receipts and a half empty notepad, with some useless words scrawled joylessly across the half full. No pen.
Curses started to back flip continuously out of my mouth, words you had always said, and I had never wanted to. I tried to tell you that I didnt mean what I was sayingbut stopped shortrealising.
I wanted to know why you felt the need to. But I knew, because you were me, and I was you, so I had toright?
In my dream I was you. Your fingers, your hands; I traced your right forefinger around the loop on your left thumb. Followed the spindly branches of your life line, resting on your luck lines and sl
culta cloud of lemon haze sprays out from your gazecult9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
[i know i shouldnt squeeze you so tight]
45 ways to shine
ways to die
underlined and exclamation pointed,
[stop telling me what to think]
this is the penultimate song
second to last scene in the play
[i never listened when you told me]
how i loved her.
lappedi want to be sp i ltlapped9 years ago in Typographical More Like This
white bl ms of cream ing
i want to be spilt all over
all over [the floor]
[all over you]
...would you cry over me?
say cheeseHow can you manufacture emotion?say cheese9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Such a bold statement. Look capital letter. Punctuation.
Must be true.
[i smile everyday for you, it kills me, every day, just a little bit more of me, falls to the floor, and i step on it]
thenbefore i met you, there was god. yes in a stereotypical Christian way, with blonde pig tails and hooker hips. the way you loved it really.then9 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
see, thats what you read, what i wrote, what i thought you would laugh at when you read it, and how much of a little child i really was at thirteen.
im not so sure if you did laugh, you never told me. but you read it all. perhaps, you know, if you had soaked any of it up, i couldve asked you for dissection, plastic gloves twanging and delving deep deep into my psychosis.
but you only laughed when you saw i was laughing at your jokes.
driving past old dusty thoughts.
(last time i went there i drove past that place, you know, all detached like, in a taxi no less, like detached, which means pretensions of laughter trying to hide the choking just waiting to be let out in my throat)
there were places you gave me your love, lovely packaged and screaming.
perhaps holding my hand was always just the first shot to getting (a)head.
you know, right there
becoming y.I was brought up well.becoming y.9 years ago in Transgressive More Like This
My mother taught me to feel guilty about everything.
And of all the boys that ever flailed their cocks at me like I owed them that kind of therapy, you were the only one that made me feel like a fucking whore.
but i want to go back to there, to then, to that time. not now. not here. not this.
this is shit.
i am in read-only mode.
give me some hope for other people
i'll sleep when the room stops spinning, when the thoughts stop coming
got none left for me
i try to make as little noise as i can. in whatever i do.
i smile at little kids. they tend to smile back.
it's like infiltration, a pretty package, with a lot of bastards at the ready on the inside.
coax, lie, debilitate with kisses. be pliant when in first rhythms, then never change, then only ever force change
you lied first. you lied so many times, that there are whole periods that i can't reconcile
in my mind with reality. its all a bit incongruous.
then you, you say, stop dwelling on the pas
Girls in the Same BreathWe are a four to one ratio of rest.Girls in the Same Breath8 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She respires like she walks-
slowly noting patterns
and the taste of the air.
(i take it in
in a hurry.)
My heart and I
have an understanding.
We run the risk of too much
at the diaphragms expense,
at my limits expanse.
The danger of burying myself
underneath the air
Letter to be Sent by CometDear pilot of mine,Letter to be Sent by Comet9 years ago in General More Like This
It's not as if I'll ever send this, because it's merely self-indulgent crap written on a coffee break. The others don't know what I'm doing, and they won't look over my shoulder, either, because I'm an administrator and you don't do that to administrators. Not even those who have had so many cups of coffee (espresso, too) already that their hands are starting to shake.
It's a bit hard to type but this is for you, dear.
We both know by now that it was all lies that they told us. Not that they meant to lie to us, or anything, it just turned out that way – because we all really believed this was the future of humanity, didn't we? I suppose so. I certainly did. Fifteen when I came out here, young and naïve and full of my own petty problems, and I thought the stars would bring miracles. We all did. You could see it in each fresh load of students they brought in. And they'd sit in their classrooms for hours on end and pay impossibly good attention, charting their t
Significant nothingSignificant nothing12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
She had a tendency to take
The stars from her eyes and
Gingerly pin them too my chest.
I asked why she felt it so important
For me to wear a black shirt when
She adorned me with her sparkles.
She told me that it made her feel
Like she was sleeping in the sky.
I asked her if that was better then
Sleeping with me, yet she was already asleep.
Something WickedSomething Wicked13 years ago in General Fiction More Like This
The day was shitty. Such is the norm around here. Trees barely living and for some off reason, it seems that the people around here reflect that pretty well. Dreary people inhabit this burg. No love for anything and no reaction to what their own minds may be saying to them. I reflect all this, but I listen to that voice. It screams.
My room is dark with the white vinyl shades left drooping down. The faint tinge of old cigarettes seem sustained in every crevice, but since I'm no social butterfly, I don't much care. An old broken futon, a dingy yellow bed spread that I'm sure used to be white, a cheap leather chair listing to one side, a computer that was top of the line three years ago, and me, an over-weight malcontent with violent and suicidal tendencies, all share residence in this small first floor dorm room. Welcome to Haven.
My name is Christopher and this is my story. It's long winded at times, and at others it is far too fast paced to understand what the fuck just flew b
The ParadoxThe Paradox12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
The tears traverse her eyes
like worn travelers,
wandering desert-men quenched
in their own sweat;
mountains wrinkle her blue,
weary skin, pushing up sky
to rapid raindrops
that parachute onto the folds.
Her mouth curls, smiling,
raping me with dirty deja vu
of entangled love,
and my mind gasps,
twisting this paradox
around its digits
like a troublesome hair.
Non-FictionI live through my pen, through my keyboard. Writing lines down, lives down. Ideas spin through my mind and my fingers struggle to keep up. You are a reoccurring character, I wonder if you always knew that. What I can't tell you with my vocal chords, my fingers will lay down in strokes. Woven words and bits of truth, tell stories I live (if sometimes only in my head).Non-Fiction7 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
Sometimes I wonder how much of my life is purely fiction.
Cockroach ElegyI am lonely enough, now, andCockroach Elegy9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
drunk enough on my own demise
to appreciate their
their beauty is like mine, the
crashed and declining kind –
gifted only with an
at 1:45 in the morning
things blur and start to look grand
tragedy junkie, that's me,
I am my own
smiling crookedly at myself in the mirror,
mocking, bitter dead has-been
I wear too much lipstick now.
they are multitudes, marching in formation
to the kitchen
charting new terrain.
I feed them leftover amphetamines
and marvel at their glory.
they are brown, bronzed,
shining backs and scuttling little legs
heads of thought, insect thought, their wiry gold antennae
waving frantically in the possession
of a new idea.
I will never use insecticides.
they like to commit suicide
by jumping onto the ceiling fan,
finding refuge in the blissful
they fall, gracefully, in fragments,
paper-thin pieces of their golden-brown wings
spiraling down, translucent
theme two - lovei.theme two - love7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
you crackle with static energy that
shocks the nerves into kineticism
and makes him forget how to move
the tips of his fingers so they meet yours
you are popsicle skies and hazy
mouths that cloud his mind
and his wristwatch so that he loses
track of time when he looks in your eyes
you have molten hands that forge
through hills and valleys of good morning
smiles so that they wrap around his
heart and he melts in your hands
you bring butterflies and foolishness
like they are doggy bags of
necessary emotion and you want to
make sure he is well fed
there is something ringing in my ear
after he stretches out upon the grass
and cannot stop telling me that
your eyelashes whisper "home"
me the tortured writerme the tortured writer13 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Me, The Tortured Writer.
You and I
We're as pure as the day we started..
But with a few more sins under your belt,
Under my skirt
Inside my mind.
Under my eyes there are dark circles and you wish
You knew why...
I write about you every day.
But my rhymes are nonexistent and
my verses imperfect.
Spoken backwards, forwards, all different ways;
Abstract ideas and six syllable words;
"you never understood my misunderstanding..."
These words were meant
Just to confuse you, you're sure.
But I protest:
It's only to confuse myself.
(what a poetic thing for me to say...)
I proceed to play the role, the tortured soul
Contentment is my worst enemy, and this idea
Is a stranger.
It doesn't fit with my
Craftily structured image of
and literary genius.
Yet I will still sit,
verses in my journal
my brow furrowed
with violent strokes and torn pages.
But only when I know you're watching.
Introverted AffairShe was a sexual anorexicIntroverted Affair7 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
and he suffered from diffidence
They would meet in the middle (briefly)
but always continued in opposite directions
Their circles kept them from stranger status,
no one else knew how much they were like perfection
Your Fire on the SideYour Fire on the Side12 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Scorching: little pink ribbons
chest bearing and innocent;
you are a poetic device
Unmarked beauty, single blue
specks, the ocean floor.
Light bearing like grainy sunshine
caught in mid-flight
and sparkling dear,
in your eyes.
You tasted like
sweet syrup burning;
wet warmth like licked candle flame.
You are the
perfection of every little girl\'s
You are windy-blown
with my heart on your sleeve.
And I\'ll be that little wish
cuddled with the lint in your pocket,
and your home at your side.
Totem PolesTotem Poles13 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Polluted by our visions of fallen empires
Echoed through shattered glass
And the thought that flinging yourself from the top floor
Was a reasonable alternative.
And his yells are flustered by the highest decibel silence,
Her screams muffled by
The remaining desire to tell her kids she loves them
And the breakfast dishes she'd never clean.
Frenzy falls to tapestry
As the world paints assorted colours on the tips of flames
And watches the banner of the free world
Incandescent blood speckle
And the sudden realization that
today will be remembered
We watch on CNN
(they plummet in real time)
and in-between satellite relays
Ahh...fingertip to fingertipAhh...9 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
in essences of whispers
fingertip to fingertip
wrist to wrist
bound and bidden
fingertip to fingertip
surrender your sighs
i shall release mine
like ghosts of ever
mists of release
fingertip to fingertip
surrounded and ignored
these unseen forces
are your feet
are my feet
and opposite polarities
finger tip to fingertip
surrounded and ignored.
SelfI left my Self on the street outside my window, on the dirty sidewalk where one streetlamp burned orange in the night. For a moment it just stood there, being all Jungian; then it started walking, and the time changed. First just like Daylight Savings Time, then the day, then the year. It walked all the way to 1912, and there it stopped. It was only twilight there, instead of 3 a.m., and it was April. We could see the stars, millions of them in a deep blue sky. I was worried about my Self, being out alone at night, but immediately it went up the stairs of a nearby brownstone, took out a key, and went in. It had a mother there, who scolded it and fussed over it. Their silhouettes showed through the window.Self9 years ago in Biography & Memoir More Like This
I left my Self waiting in a line for gas in 1979. It seemed quite content to stay there. There were other people in the car with it. It has a home, and a family. It brought back a few LPs and some 8-track tapes, as a gift. A peace offering. It knows I like music. I smiled and ra
Obsession 1Obsession 19 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I've got guns for fingers
Pointing at you,
I've got thumbs that are triggers
Aching to move,
Cupid didn't give me arrows,
He gave me bullets instead-
And he whispered 'Don't aim for the heart,
But rather for the head...'
What is noi was looking for someone once,What is no9 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
it wasnt you,
but i found you instead.
i wasnt disappointed so much as surprised
but life takes different courses
as rivulets of tears and blood down my cheeks
you know. you do.
when realisation hits you like a knife in the guts
spewing forth your last meals,
and all the tubework you knew you had, but never have had the pleasure of viewing.
i remember the day i saw my first.
i remember the day i saw my first.
i remember the days of everythings
but i like to shut it out
i like to remember sunshine
even if the warmth i feel on my face in closed eyes
is the heat of anger
the rain i feel,
of points to shoot off from
sentinels bolting down,
canoeing across lands expanses.
to battlegrounds of fingermarks.
i could tell you all a story
whilst telling myself, for the first
i could say to her what i lied about
but it wouldnt make it better
and phone calls from nowhere are so lovely frightening
i hang up after the first hello