a memory of you&me ( Read more... )

He comes home every night intoxicated, walks up the stairs to my bedroom and I feel nothing. I become the wall; let my soul lift out of my body and into my own world of solitude. I don't know what he is doing to me; he undresses me. And I can't describe it, there is no feeling left in me; I've gotten so used to it. I just feel so cold. So empty ( Read more... )

temer

I was afraid of myself, of letting go--letting myself feel. I sought after my independence for so long, I feared losing it. But, I know now, I know myself, and I want that dependency. I surpressed my thoughts and feelings, guarding them with lies, because I was afraid of wanting someone who would leave me.

tocarI allowed myself, for a mere ( Read more... )

I cannot write about what I do not know, what I have not felt. When I concoct these stories of love, I know that none will ever come true. Love is not so simple and pure. It runs with the river, slowly eroding away the earth, peeling back sediment, pulling it inside, tossing and turning, coiling around two rocks, two roots, two pebbles in the ( Read more... )

I remember cold nights in January when you held me close, brushed my hair back, and hummed me a ballad to sleep, as the snow danced down outside the window of our wooden cabin. The hot cocoa topped with whipped cream and cocoa powder would trickle down my throat and warm my cold pale fingers. But the coldness would be nothing in my mind, to the ( Read more... )

i ( Read more... )

i am the crystal vase
that sits on the varnished
mulberry wooden case,
the delicate glass flower
in for an inevitable shatter;

one word of news
turns upside-down
the world i once knew
into topsy-turvy land,
where what seems
false is true
and what seems
true is false;

a mirror into two worlds,
glass breaks at the slightest impact.

tobacco lit,
smoky clouds
shadow overhead,
nicorette patch
ingrained in skin;

an uneasy path
to the goal,
many cold nights
yearning for heat--
one light;

flesh burning
on new year's resolutions
and cigarette butts,
a final end
to torturous days.

splintered bones
tied tightly on
a black whip
   lash on His back

blood spilt down

every step
leads Him closer
to his ultimate death
   splinters on His back

blood spilt down

ridiculed and spat in the face
hanging from a cross
holding on to life
   thorns on His head

blood spilt downhammered through bone ( Read more... )

i want you in my arms tonight

and i would call a thousand times, and you would not dare come close once. you love her; like the obsession that i have for you, you have for her.

not me. never me.you will come running to me for advice and counsel. but it will not be about me or to love me. you will ask me how it is that you should dote upon her. ( Read more... )