I've never been afraid of disaster,

nor folly, nor madness.

The spark that marks the Joker.

I'll cry tears of joy,

when there is no glee at all.

Just the nightlife of a thief.

Your death was not calculated.

It wasn't planned.

It wasn't fair.

But I am not the one

to designate,

to justify,

your personal right from wrong.

I am only here to steal.

The marble etched 

with the cold,

the neoteric,

letters of your name.

They tell me all I need to know; 

your arrival,

and your departure from this plane.

You are not lost yet, but give me time.

The earth is tenebrous and I'm scared.

That separated soil;

fresh with the tears of your father,

your mother,

your sister.

They laid a petal for each year they loved you.

Twelve.

I come out of hiding

when the sky is aphotic,

the streetlights sparkling.

When the cemetery is destitute and silent.

Your graveside is vibrant.

Your soul is quiet.

I dig.

My fingernails split and burn.

My hands make fast work of your soft dirt.

My pulse pounds.

My head aches.

My, my, my.

My, you were young...

and in a sense,

I am too.

But I am not,

the Peter Pan you thought you knew.

Your face is pale,

it's smooth,

it's still.

The laugh-lines are faint,

but still...I need you.

That animating principle.

That vivacity.

That soul.

I'm selfish in what I demand from you,

this I know.

From here, there is only one place to go.

Your skin is gelid and I feel the whimper,

the moan,

climb the back of my throat.

Your eyes open;

you stare.

I stare.

I see the panic rise behind your eyes,

and shush you before you dare.

With whispers sweet,

my voice a muted cadence,

I sing the words to take you with me,

along to your Neverland home.

"A dead sound shivers,

such a luminous heartache will end.

And all it takes,

is a little faith,

and a leap through time and space."

The hot water beats against your skin as you sigh, relaxing amidst the clouds of steam. 

The room smells of heat and lavender.

A thought slips across your mind;

"I should pull the shower curtain closed."

One eye peeks open through the shampoo suds, about to reach for the plastic.

A single skeletal hand, flesh taut and grey, nails like claws, grasps the fabric and slowly slides it shut. 

A few moments pass when you hear the hinge of the bathroom door squeak, the click of the lock resting in place. 

Then nothing else.

I resigned to teach myself a pragmatic end,

and learn to love to hate you.

Thereupon I wondered, what would be a better death?

To glimpse your face, sadly aghast, as you slowly slip away?

Or watch me slaughter, blade to bone, and the days I felt at all? 

I feared your inferno masked in subtle charm,

but those blazing nights are through. 

I took your broken nerve-gas bottle, the one you labeled "Love"

A tube you used for grown-up play-dates, 

and a cuspated needle new.

In that instant, delirium I feared, would take me all the way.

But instead I found that your muffled sounds,

helped me find,

the vein to end it all.

Chase me down a flight of stairs,

haunt me in the hall.

Carry me across your grave,

and press me to the wall.

Love me in your silent way,

jolt me with your touch,

Kiss me cold, you troubled soul,

and love me just as such.

I'm losing track of time, and these Irish waters bare their fangs while they spit in my face. I smell the salt in it's breath as it wails it's rage against my very presence. The deafening howls twirl my hair, and my skin is drenched, shining in the moon's light. 

Nature herself knows this is unnatural. She fights me. She needs me to leave, but I have nowhere else to go. Her rage is potent still, as if this transgression was solely my own. 

I'm sedentary in the sand, clutching at handfuls, but I can't catch hold. My head is pounding with the force of holding back mournful sobs, and even as a traitorous tear slips past, I don't feel it fall. 

In the distance the waters are restless. The feeling is mutual. Their deep indigo breaks own so many secrets; most of them my last moments. I can't remember how long it has been, but splinters of the wreckage are still lying along the shore. 

I haven't found the courage to see it up close. Not yet. 

My heart is lying somewhere in between sorrow and relief. Sorrow for what I have lost. Relief that the pain has ended. 

The crash was spectacular in the most horrific way. It was suppose to be fun and adventurous. My little girl and I, out on the open waters, a trained guide speeding us along the ocean's surface in a metal machine designed to go fast. We were laughing. Laughing so loud I almost didn't hear the hollow metallic sound of gears breaking beneath us. 

Laughing one moment, screaming the next. It was suppose to fun. 

Instead, I'm haunting this beach. I'm alone, and that should make me feel placated.

She made it then, right? 

My baby. 

I force my way over to what was left of the speed boat. Seeing footprints in the sand drove so much pressure into my chest I thought I'd explode. 

I was running. Just follow them...follow them. 

Flecks of red dappled the ground, and I felt so alive. I'm sure I couldn't possibly be flushed, but my face felt hot. Stagger-running up a grassy embankment, I could see flashing lights flickering against the black sky. Ambulance. This was it. I fell to my knees and crawled to the crowded parking lot. 

Men in dark blue uniforms waving flashlights. Women in firefighter jackets holding blankets and notepads. So many people, and no one I recognized. Except one. 

My little girl. 

There she sat, huddled under the arm of a man I didn't bother to look at. She was cold. She was scared. Her sweet face red and puffy. I ached to kiss the tiny scratch across her upper lip. I just wanted to make it all go away. 

"Everything will be alright, love. I'm here now." 

That voice...

Deep. Dreamy. I missed it. Spending months lying awake needing to hear it again. 

My daughter's father. He had been gone for so long. Hearing his sonorous tones, I was immediately reminded of all the nights my girl would stay up, asking where her daddy was. He was a good guy, and a marvelous father. I had been the one to push him away. My lies, my cheating. 

My drink.

It was too much for him. I drove him to leave, and hurt my angel in the process. 

I glanced over my shoulder to the beach below. The waters were calm now. Inviting. 

A hiccup and a cry brought me back to her shivering body. His arms held her tight, and I knew they wouldn't let her go again. 

I don't know if I smiled, but my baby did. It was a sad smile, but it was for her daddy. 

I turned to make my way towards the ocean, passing by a gurney carrying a white body bag, tufts of my red hair peeking out from under the zipper. 

Valiant hearts beating like flustered rabbits surround me, but I only hear one. 

The rational part of me refuses to harken to the liquor-laced melodies dripping from her copper lips. But oh my, how enticing they are...

The smiles glistening from across the dance floor mold perfectly with the drum beat pounding the walls. It's hypnotizing, and I'm swaying. 

She wears heavy boots, so inappropriate for her swift movements. Yet she spins and swirls like water in the wind, and my mouth goes dry. 

Another swig to calm my blood. 

I'm mesmerized by that floral fringe shawl twisting around her waist as she kicks her way towards me.

A painted hand extends, and over the music I can barely make out her words.

"Care to dance, mister?" Her white teeth sparkle in the pink and red pulsing light-show.

I don't recall saying anything at all. 

She pulled me to my feet, tipping over the bar stool I was perched on. 

We were off, and I was lost.

Her embrace was comforting and warm, as was the cocktail pooling in my belly.

My eyelids were laden. Her face was blurry. 

The soulful instrumental tunes flooding the room bled together with our labored breathing. The music cloaked us; it's just her and I. 

Chestnut hair wrapped around my throat. I felt her laughter vibrate against my chest.

She threw her head back, locking her arms behind my neck while she pressed her pelvis into my own. The heat was fierce, and I didn't know what was burning hotter; my alcohol soaked mind or my groin. 

"What's your name?" I yelled, desperate and lustful, holding onto her waist like a lifeline.

She doesn't hear my call. She spins me around, around, around. 

Her gleeful chuckles sound like static as my vision turns to fog. 

The haze becomes overbearing, clouding everything.

She sounds so far away.

I close my eyes tight, seeing stars in the dark. 

When I brave to open them again, I'm where I always knew I would be.

A grey, musky one room apartment stretched out before me, lying in my dirty boxers. Half a dozen empty bottles litter the floor as I, glassy-eyed, watch a drunk couple dance to an over-played song on my television.

Just another night.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a first draft and will be revised later. 

Cold as ice

Heart stitched with a rusty needle and cheap thread that keeps unwinding

Emotions gone-

Heart ripped from the confides of a ribcage

Blood spewing as the flesh and skin tear

As an emotionless hand holds a beating heart

Pumping and pumping

While the hand starts to squeeze the beating muscle

And the grip tightens

And penetrates the heart

Squeezing and squeezing

The suffocating organ starts to gasp for air and begs its torturer for mercy

No longer wanting to feel emotion or human touch

One final squeeze and time stops-ice forms on a once beating life

The blood freezes and muscle starts to rot

A frozen escape for a broken heart

Symmetric lines of faded black lace 

reflected back at me through a grimy mirror.

Steele myself

it's just an hour.

Pumped up velvet in shades of grey 

to tiptoe across the wet grass 

headed for the grave marker that has yet to read your name.

The clouds are white and wispy 

the sky is pure 

so unlike my thoughts of death and worms.

Macabre wonders 

if they'll let you keep your glasses. 

You don't need them.

Chalk and blanched powder that doesn't match

the way your cheeks were coral

when you laughed.

Motions of mourning 

in tacky floral wallpaper

surround the crowds

that hardly knew you.

They'll play the songs they think you'd like

but forget 

how you hated to see family cry.

What you truly were 

will be lost 

to what they needed you to be

tonight

and your cold body will sleep 

forever

in padding of fabrics 

you hated the color of. 

Analytical flippancy;

simper for me, prince.

Calculated taps of your keyboard;

sensory storms brew, darling.

Immeasurable wit;

whimsically you tease, sweetheart.

Augmented intonation;

whisper for me, I'll listen for days.

You multiplied your time,

for all that you love.

But you couldn't divide,

our improper affair,

in order to make it whole.