Finding my silence

I did something right
I earned myself that coveted title
A word or two on a clipboard,
A disinfected white hallway- leading to nowhere.
I sat at the piano, didn't touch the food
Played the same songs again and again
in a room unworthy of music
Pills, blood and peaches in the metal sink, panic.
Old habits die hard.
Squeezing my reflection into a plastic mirror
Punishing my own inconsolable fury
with a heave, a slash, or a refusal.
Sealing my lips and finding my silence
Locked within a room, a body, a mind,
That is just too much, too often

Paper Planes

I'll never know how I found myself here
on my back, picking out cracks on the ceiling
I never asked for this,
to be sprawled, a glassy eyed rag doll
eye stinging as I watched the t.v screen
cast a florescent highlight over the strands of copper hair
dancing in the stream of my shallow breath.
Bees singing in my ears
a deafening hum numbing my panic
Time winding, spiraling,
a manic dancer spotting paper planes.
An artificial high, my serotonin angel
Sanding down the rough edges
turning shadows into monsters
and bleached skin into marble.
I lay there aching
white knuckles clutching a filthy sheet
a stone monstrosity, cradling the humming shards
and bitter remnants
of a childhood now stolen

What I have done

Black as the grave where dreams are laid
and sharper the the razors blade
yet sweet as songs, by lovers played,
missed as times where joy once stayed
Grey as paintings when colors fade
But valued more than gold or jade
and partly cloudy, as if in shade
Dear as the hardest price I've paid
and filled with faces I've betrayed
are all the memories I have made.

The last time I saw you

Brown black hair blown asunder
amidst the crimson pool
and patches of your memory
in black and bloody rivulets
running down the sofa
That tacky, funny sofa
that always made you laugh
Where we sat
and wrote our songs,
and drank coffee, black and hot.
The very funny sofa where you perched,
wrote those final words
Where you pulled a foolish trigger
and took your final breath
The prescribed medication
to remedy
your life

Well-Water Song

Well-Water song

Partially cold, partially stable
hold my hand as long your able
kisses blue on bitter faces
secret thoughts in hidden places
heavy lids and fragile lips
watch the glass, the water tips
worlds a' turning, child you know
hold on tight or off you'll go
wrap wings tight round little bones
cold like sea swept shoreline stones
Water in the well my dear
Is never coming up I fear
Dreams are nothing, till their dreamt
float on by, your time
is spent

Mianamia memories

I hide within my great disguises

Always shifting shapes and sizes

Shrinking when the hungers born

Bones and soul, my purest form

Always starving, telling lies

She hides within and never dies.

City Jazz

Under blue umbrellas
and the heavy honey of jazz guitar
The percussion of rain patter
Consumed an old cafe
Outside in glassy puddles
stood the children of the night
under the city glitter
and the chill of abandonment
in surplus boots and too-thin shirts,
with hallow eyes,
they listened to the old smooth blues
songs that old men sing
and orphans understand.
These broken hearted lullaby's
that keep pretty brunettes swaying
and the heavy raindrops falling
on my wet city at night.
I pulled my hood down slowly,
Stared into the brutal sky
to bathe in the tears of heaven
and inhale the scent of jazz
So slipping off my heels,
I found my way inside
a pale spirit warming slowly
in cigarettes and soul

Within the Fold

Wednesday night
I sat in a cafe with black haired boys
nicotine and lithium
coursing though our veins
Me and my Big Secret lay heavy in the smoke
as understanding tidal waves
broke the cliffs upon my shore.
We took turns at dark deceptions
trading scars withing the fold
and downward glances, flooded eyes,
spoke more than any words.
A little wind abandoned me
as we stepped into the night
A tiny band of vagrants becoming family in the dark
We wound our arms about us
a chain of wayward kids
embracing home again
and wondering where we find ourselves by morning

Ramblings on 450

It's rigid form unsettles- angles, razors, violent peaks
Yet pleases, in sinister demented shades, of bleached and pallid flesh.
Bones, my bones, these bones.

I hurt, I shake, the world spins to black,
A derailed train, a broken track,
and its all coming down to the final attack,
its hard to dance with the devil on your back


She was a wild girl
With freckled skin, an easy laugh
and the sort of spirit that comes with sunny days
and starry summer nights.
She punched, and yelled, and ran
Sat Indian-style in the shade
whistling through blades of grass
She wrestled her brothers, and often won
The smell of wisteria delighted her
drifting up the lattice work and catching,
ever so lightly in the breeze
She ran barefoot down the street at night
a fireball of energy, in pajamas and a ponytail
chasing away the final heat of summer
eager for the copper light of fall

But when the night came earlier
and the birds began to fly
Autumn came knocking upon the door
looking for her child
Who lay sobbing beneath the blankets
a tiny ivory puddle
not wild anymore