I cut into my veins,

My heart spills onto the page

And the words bleed out;

As everything I’ve ever known

Is echoed in my flesh and bones.

All the scars in my skin

Hold their stories within,

Through soft silence, they shout,

“All the thing I used to know

Left traces on my flesh and bone.”

I look into my face;

The maze of lines let me trace

All the worry and doubt...

And all this time I’ve barely known

What lies within my flesh and bones.

Whenever I give advice

I need to hear it myself 

I never see how lost I am

'til I try to direct someone else.

How do I end up so off course when I always know the right way?

I don't listen

I don't look

I don't notice I'm spinning until my eyes catch something still.

I don't notice I'm losing ground until my feet have nothing left to hold.

I pray one day I'll learn to save myself before the fall...

Maybe she's an angel--

the angel of the west.

High and bright at this hour

as she sets before my eyes,

she'll be here only a few more hours.

I count the minutes in Mississippi's--

maybe if I stopped counting she'd halt her descent and stay here forever. 

From her perch she's seen the true nature of life

for she looks over us ghouls who go bump in the night.

She's watched me do things I wouldn't tell my mother.

She's watched me dance with utter abandon.

She's watched me swing in empty parks.

She's watched me moan and scream.

She's watched me watching her while I count the stars on my fingers and toes.

There are secrets of mine that only she knows.

Perhaps she'll know more by morning...

But from that morning, until the sun relinquishes the sky, 

I'll wait for her, my angel, my guardian, my guide, my light.

I know you well, though not as well as you know me--

my pores, my doubts, the soft places you sneak through,

the backdoors and siege tunnels into my life.

Ever present, especially when I cannot see you,

though it's never because you're not there,

it's just that sometimes (usually when things are going well) I forget to look.

Those are the times you lay me out cold. 

I forget to be vigilant, let my armor crack, so you pour into me through the fissures.

For a moment, I want to take comfort in your familiar embrace...

Then I remember who you are and what you do.

You know me well but I know you too.

So I patch all my holes and my chinks and my hollows

until there is nowhere for you to reach me.

But it never stops.

I can never let down my guard.

You're always waiting in the wings.

                 Watching...

                         Whispering...

                                  Wondering when I'll waver...

Perhaps, this time, I won't. 

So-called odes,

lace secrets

desert rose,

cold soles, hot coals--

Does she care?

Hearts as eras

scar the core.

Loss or lost as cells erode,

'ere she rests here:

The deserted road.

We lied to each other as we lay together.

He lied and said he’d done this before, but in all fairness, so did I.

I lied and said I loved him, perhaps I believed it, but that didn’t make it so.

He lied and said he’d love me forever, but I harbor no grudge;

                                                                Forever was never what I wanted.

I lied and sighed “that was amazing”--I didn’t know better

                                                                but I knew enough to know it wasn’t so.

He lied as I looked into his eyes, deep pools of cosmic intensity that wrapped me up and transported me to a place where our lovers lies were the only truth.

Sweet, subtle lies of fading youth. 

It's not in my nature to stand and fight;

if given the choice, I'll always take flight. 

Like a shot from a gun, I run, I run, I run, I run--

but no matter how far or how fast,

they follow behind me, the ghosts of my past. 

When I look over my shoulder,

it seems they're always getting closer and the lot gets bigger as I get

                                                                                                              older. 

So I lay no roots--I'm on the move.

I find the groove and sing my truth.

And though I wander, I am not lost

because my feet remember every road they ever crossed. 

Like a shot from that gun I run, I run, I run, I run--

and no matter how far or how fast,

they're always behind me, the ghosts of my past.

When I look over my shoulder,

it seems they're always getting closer and the lot gets bigger as I get

                                                                                                            older.

And should I stop

to catch a breath,

I'd certainly meet my death;

so I run that much harder

                and when they get me

                                  I'll die a martyr.

But 'til that day comes,

I'll run, I'll run, I'll run, I'll run, run, I'll run...

He smiled but it didn't seem to touch his eyes. His mouth paid lip service for what his soul could not feel, for that kind of smile--the kind that cracks the paint on the frame around your soul's windows--has to be meant. That kind of smile is almost impossible to fake but no one's ever looking hard enough to notice. We see the curvature of the lips, get caught up in the facade, suspend our disbelief and continue with our regularly scheduled programming because we don't care if he means it or not. We're not looking for honesty when we ask "how are you?"