ReachingThe depression continues
As I continue to recognize
Yes, the fact.
That the hands are reaching for a bottle
Rather than me.
They reach for a dream in a cloud,
Which is indeed quite far away from me.
While the hands appear to be reaching
In my possibly generalized direction,
The wandering eyes steer me to their actual path.
And I wait.
I wait to see the silver rings on your fingers
And the golden clouds reflected in your brown irises.
And I wonder if I could ever
Wear enough gold to shadow the clouds.
Could I ever shine with so much silver
That your eyes flicker to mine, fleeting?
I pine for the days when my skin was clear
Until I remember that it was always a clouded, milky white
(which is forbidden).
Don't be offended when you realize
The hands are never reaching for you.
They are always reaching for love and hatred.
They are reaching for joy and suffering,
Life and death,
Destruction and creation,
For all the paradoxes you could imagine!
They're reaching for anything.
Plan of ActionI'll silence my cries with my silky-smooth knife,
In hopes that the blood will bring out my strife.
Because, without you, I can only wonder
For hours about my horrible blunder.
I lie on my back with tears in my eye,
Until they're all gone and I'm left to dry.
My body is limp without the matter to live,
Because you were the matter! I have no more to give.
Please leave me be! Dare not read a word.
You can't feel this guilt! It would be absurd.
For I take all the blame upon my shoulders deformed,
And to your desires I will have conformed.
I'll leave you alone, in hopes you'll be happy,
And try to refrain from being too sappy.
But when I see your limp hand with nails shortly cut,
My mind is a maze! I'll be stuck in this rut.
Because I thought it was mine - your hand to hold,
But now I can't; mine's white and stone cold.
Fret not about me! You've made your decision,
And, because of this, do not make a revision!
Stay quiet tonight, high up in your bed.
While alone on
Writer's BlockI have thought.
I have thought and I have thought until I cannot think anymore.
My brand new pen has hovered above blank paper
Until the crimson ink dripped from inside,
And yet the pages are still white.
You draw from me such a horrible writer's block
That, even when I'm suffering, I cannot scribble a metaphor.
The carvings in my legs are not artful enough
To sooth my inner cravings.
I need a tangibly painful poem
To cut the last cords from my chest.
But I can't have one.
Because, with you,
I can't not be happy.
Even when you chew me up and spit me out,
I can get past it.
Because I'm with you, and that's all that matters...
As long as I am with you?
As long as I am with you,
I have no right to complain.
Cutting RulesI can bring a knife
To the table
Only to graze
My skin charred sable.
I can dig tiny ridges
Into the crest of my thigh,
Letting go of this horrible tension
With a beautiful, deafening sigh.
Keep quiet, now!
Hide under loose clothing.
Hide the scratches
And the ever-empty hips!
Leave them all unknowing.
And keep your Cutting Office
Clear of any blood.
Because if ever a drop
Decides to flood
Upon the clean white flooring,
The entire world may tread on you,
All the while deploring.
Working Over a BodyIn most cases,
If you steal,
You should return the stolen item.
But you stole my heart,
And it's so damaged
That I don't want it back.
Keep it and tarnish it!
If you can find a place,
Please stain it!
In my blood!
I'd be luckier than a millionaire.
Or you could keep it
And try to nurse it
Back to health (unsuccessfully)
I honestly don't care
What you do with it,
But it's yours for good.
The only thing
I can't deal with
Is trying to patch it alone.
The ABC's of RealityIt is
An excruciating story to tell
Because the tale is factual.
Can I refrain?
Doubt recedes on my tongue
Enough to let one word into utterance.
Forgive me when I tell you,
Gracious for your welded understanding.
However much that
I do regret the slip, I am now
Juxtaposed! And compared to the others. I'm
Kept under surveillance! And, thusly, my
Life is no longer
Now, it merely serves to
Oppress those like me.
Prepare yourself! They may seem
Quiet, but that is only for
Resonance; video quality always
The presence of background noise.
Under surveillance, your
Veto power and
Will will be revoked.
'Xactly when you think
You possess your own identity, their
Zealous nature will remind you.
Are you a child?
But they still own you.
Puzzle PiecesI was purposefully carved
With some sharp
And some rounded edges
To fit together
And form a pretty picture.
But I'm dysfunctional.
I'm missing a piece.
So the picture can not be whole.
But you still put me together,
And take me apart,
And put me back in the box.
Why don't you go
And buy a new puzzle?
One with clean-cut edges
And all of it's pieces?
I don't buy puzzles,
Because they only show one stupid,
A pretty picture.
You never see the whole world;
One side is always shadowed.
So you only see
The lighted side -
The beautiful, pretty picture.
Puzzles are the same!
They focus on the light.
"Do the edges first!
They're most important."
Your father lies through his tobacco teeth.
Waking UpIf I had a nightmare,
I woke up in tears,
Down to my chapped lips.
If I had an amazing dream,
I woke up in tears
So upset because
But if I wake up and smile,
I've just remembered
That I have you.
Because, with you...
I'm happy I woke up.