the ballistics of my words,

give me away,

smoke rings

and scratches of hesitation,

check the markings,

they look like

the gashes made

by a man clawing

his way from beneath.

roots and mud and

blood spilt against

the stones.

I've heard the sun

can dry my skin,

turn it to dust,

and a good breeze

can wash it all away.

I wish it didn't

always depend

on the weather,

but it does and

she needs daylight

to grow.

I'd give anything

to die.

and come back

as a nightlight that

makes it less dark

when she sleeps.

These walls hear dreams.

As one goes, white noise follows

Into these rooms, and it reverberates

From ceiling to

Corner and corner and

Back again.

Louder, it grows

As notes add on.

In the bare brush of feet

Along this carpet,

In the faint strains

Of this song or another,

In the cracking of these

Sore knuckles,

In the pre-recorded applause

Of late night with

Insert name here,

In the rustle of weight

Shifting and sheets moving,

In the bangs of falling things

And muffled curses from

Hurting others,

In the clicking of a pen

And the jingle of

Keys,

In the rush of a door

Slam shaking the foundation,

In the scraping of a fork 

And drip of 

A leaky faucet,

In the riotous laughter

Outnumbered by the 

Soft pull of tissues

From a box,

Collectively it is the whole of

An existence.

Decipher the static and

All you will hear

Is a life, in these

Small sounds.

I.

We are caught.

We say we can't

let each other go,

so let's not.

II.

Cocooned,

we will watch

film noir,

and kiss and

kill and kiss

and bang bang.

III.

I am straight-edge

on making you

hell-bent.

IV.

You are a

four-lead clover

in a tree-leafed

existence.

V.

I get flighty, sometimes.

This skin is too tight for

the birds in my chest.

VI.

I been through

your cool social graces.

I am caught in the

whitest darkness.

VII.

Sometimes,

there is nothing

to forget and

everything to

remember.

VIII.

Thinking of us

vertically is enough

to give me vertigo.

IX.

A thousand thunderstorms later,

I am still your 2 am lullaby.

X.

For all I know,

I don't know.

And maybe,

I don't have to.