paint illusions with me -

that's where i'm happiest,

somewhere in-between. somewhere nothing is real.

it makes it dangerous, to drop back out of it.

hit the earth and

turn to dust,

and nothing is left.

im behind the mirror:

an x-ray with no body.

lips and limbs and little looks -

all you need.

paint illusions - slate white canvas.

im ready and willing and

wanna see something new (old)

different.

so long as this body

is able to walk this earth,

just one time more.

15

candlesticks fell on the mattress

and the room is on fire.

(watch the notebooks in the corner;

those stories are unfinished)

we can fall asleep here,

if you like.

you can watch the flames lick my skin.

(you used to)

different, different, different.

does the heat feel the same?

still catch just under our tongues,

still leave singed trails on the carpet?

how many ways

can you unburn a room?

if i beg,

will the flames eat me whole?

because

to stop playing with fire

is certainly out of the question.

14

i have these thoughts

like little flying bugs

that get all tangled up in

my spiderwebbed brain

and once there,

they're stuck.

and the light behind

my eyes kaleidoscopes them -

each one spinning into some

unpredictable image.

and you are one --

one little thought

spawning a thousand more,

infinitely, in every second -

it's all kind of beautiful

but the colors and shapes blind me,

terrify me, keep my eyes open

and my mouth closed.

in moments, the light bounces

itself into words and phrases

- inescapable -

written on the back of my skull

for my eyes when i blink or dream.

i want you more than i want the sun to rise in the morning.

and now that's caught in

the webs too, condemned

to twist around and make

patterns in my brain until,

likely, the day that i die.

13

12

somewhere under this skin is

blood, shushing away,

making its way to the heart.

where it begins.

and branching, curling through

the tissue, bones. all the way to the fingertips.

to the little forgotten places in the body.

(even those places haven't forgotten)

it's alive, still.

somehow.

somewhere under this mask is

hope, spiraling away,

making its way to the heart.

where it begins.

and crackling, vibrating through

the tissue, bones. all the way to the fingertips.

to the closed, dark places that don't remember.

(and then they start to remember)

it's alive, still.

somehow.

did i intend to write you goodbye

poems?

did i think i'd think about you

in every breath?

no.

and there's the blood spilled. did it to myself.

and there's the hope somehow. keeps me hurting. keeps me hunting. keeps me sane.

keeps me alive, still, somehow.

11

i miss you more than the stars and the moon

i remember it all in the inbetweens

moments between things, during

i miss the times we had under spring trees

i woke up with the memories of thursdays

in my head - foggy dreams - remembering

waking up in your bed, savoring every moment

while it lasted

i knew it would end, i just didnt think like this

i thought about you here, away from home

i thought about the times you made me cry

and i miss even that. maybe im just a masochist

i just miss you being you, ever irritating,

ever comforting. the love despite the hardship

you made everything feel so easy

until i broke, fell into a million pieces, and im picking them all back up,

im trying to

i just miss it

i miss you

the only future i ever had had you in it, you know?

you never believed me, but i know

it still feels like its real, like its just a love letter away

in the stories it is,

in the stories its easy because its true

but the only thing thats true

is whether or not we believe it

i wish i knew

the last time i picked up a pencil

i wish i knew

the view from my window in ten years

wouldn't a fool

forget the past and make a promise to the future

wrap a rope

around their neck and plunge into the Next

wouldn't you like

a clean and simple mind, devoid of noise and other things

wouldn't you like

another timeline, a path to fortune and a path to sin

if we could have it all

would we

i wish i knew

there is truth in not knowing

death in every breath of life

desire in depths of despair

darkness in memories of light

there are lifetimes in a heartbeat

worlds in every little word

futures behind every closed door

tragedy in the shape of love

an end for every beginning

a beginning for every end

a never-ending arrow of time

for every cyclical choice

we're borne out of what we're made out of

lose what we have burning inside

take what can't be given

lie to ourselves until it's fine

until it's not fine

you must know

that

i've been scraping off my skin

tearing it from the muscle

to make it work to make it work to make it

something

has been off

we know but is it

irreparable

when the future is

dissolving off my flesh

shifting under the skin

rebuilding bone loop bone loop

(stronger after a break)

i cant believe it

after all,

we were meant to have

a happily ever

fingers starved for the night.

softly, go down the path

towards the forest. and forget.

tap out your meaning,

breathe the blood of the trees.

twist the air into your lungs

and back out again.

slow, the sky shifts.

solitary pines, whispering needles.

what life lives beyond--

you have no comprehension.

it's a lonely walk, long.

splitting shadows as you go,

threading the wind through

and around your wrists.

holding on.

tonight it's yours. swap songs

with the birds, choke the life

out of them, let them turn to mist.

you are you are air and song.

nature is death and all death is nature.

hold. it is behind you, always has been.

you're not alone. gently, let go.

it is ancient, it does not know

how to be kind. quietly.

you are you are mist and soil.

sink through roots, older than

your species. older than

insects and dirt and sunlight.

threads of life. threads of universe.

woven roots to hold you.

softly, go down the path

towards the forest. and forget.

it's not special, she knows, to think there's something special about the moon. she looks up, looks in, swims with the star motes in the moon's beam.

in this tunnel of light there is privacy. secrecy, even. though they all share the same moon, she believes this space is sacred, undisturbed, and individual. her words, filtered but unfiltered, may float. may exist. may take up space that does not intrude, interfere, or permeate. thoughts may appear. thoughts may pass.