I'm tempted to walk inside a furnace,
and pull the door closed,
so all that would show to the rest of the world
is a thin, orange glow from the hole in the heavy bronze door.
I'd walk into the fartherst corner, and perch myself onto the gas,
letting the flames wrap themselves around me,
holding me like I've dreamt of him holding me--caressing
my hair, my ( Read more... )

"Untitled"

I held your hand as you pulled me between the trees--
fetuses left to grow alone--their anorexic trunks slashed
and bleeding.
Your fingernails were rugged and worn, and your hands
left years-old bloodstains on my rusted, cold palms.

I had hoped it was all a dream, but I recall too much to believe
that I didn't see Hell in that midnight hour on ( Read more... )

I stare bleakly into the night,
Watching as the droplets calmly fall from the heavens.
I dream of a time when all the pleasant things in life were there,
When all of life’s sweet pleasures were still waiting for me when I went home.
Yet, as I stare out into the cold obscurity,
I feel as though I’m alone here.
”Isn’t something missing in this life,”
I ask ( Read more... )

 My older brother walked across
a bridge to clear his numbing head.
Rage held his seething hand, wrenching
blood out of his pores. Pain brushed his hair down
with its wretched hand, and pulled the hood of his shirt
up to guard his hair from the freezing rain above. Confusion
sat in his pocket, handing him a cigarette once he threw a lit one
on the ground ( Read more... )

 Oh, Joan of Arc had her God,
but you’ve got the Devil.
What is it with you?

I’m here in your field of fire,
on my knees.
The permafrost is holding me,
and I smell gasoline.
What is it with you?

I’m here under a blood-stricken sky,
on hands and knees,
crawling through the icy sea,
and I hear screams for me.
What is it with you?

I’m here six-feet under you,
( Read more... )