"I've got my bets on Fatty down low."

"You kidding? I was listening to these scoundrels talk down at Madison and they're bloody psychos! The leader wears a necklace made from bits of the spines of his victims!"

"Ah, shut up Feathers. You and your British mates haven't seen shit."

"Say what you want you wanker but I've had my fair share of gruesome sights. Being an imported farm pigeon isn't exactly a bloke's idea for the American dream!"

"Shut the hell up! All of you! The fight's about to begin!"

"You're all sick! Why do you guys consider this entertai-" Feathers was shot at 11:57 PM on December 7, 1994, as a result of his over-abundance of chirping. Gang leader Tito McDyess saw it as a distraction.

"Well, I guess Feathers was right. That guy is a 'bloody psycho.'"

is the smell of sea on a day wet, the clouds unfurling like a rug released. The air pushes against your cheeks and whispers little things to make you sad, to make you want to toss behind half-skinned dreams to fling across fingers of foam.

holds back the light; defuses it; forgets it; fucks it; mixing ash and stone and dripping cords with trees of lightning, pillars of sun. These are the clouds that haunt the dead poets; the brushstrokes of sorrows. The lost boat carries the half-drowned and their hasty poems. The house holds the hill while pensive breaths peer for storm-sign, or a mirror.

is sudden and still until even the waves grow silent.

Two minutes to six and I can't ignore the heavy drops of rain tapping my car like a full set of fingers on a keyboard or God beating out a tune in a rhythm I'd have to be God to understand. These are taps I find more distracting then the velvet snores of my wife two minutes to midnight. This morning I am sleepless in Stafford. Last night I was sleepless, too, maybe because grading and lesson planning has me taking caffeine pills at 7 pm. Or maybe it's an anxiety leftover from Hurricane Harvey. We all seem to be shivering these days at every storm-sign. Fall's coming. Fall's here? Difficult to tell away from the screen of my phone and the expedited flings of a google search (Google: the best way to bing). Nor can I look to the skies or stars. Man peers down at the glowing milk of phones while the Milky Way hides behind fog and musk and must and smog. Houston doesn't do Fall right. We don't have the crooning red leaves swirling in ancient tempos or the yellow-orange bracken littering the floor like tossed invitations to some garbageborn small town venue. Houston is slimy year-round, the glitter dulled by knees of moss and Jurassic greens. Maybe the sunsets are a little more red when you're stuck in traffic, but how do you find the beauty when avoiding the Wheels and Winds and Waters? Now Houston rain isn't fingers—it's gray cement pouring against windshields. You can never really escape it, nor the feeling you're slowly falling out of love.

School is terrible

It's boring and I hate it

The only good part of my day

Is over by 9:15am

Wish I only had 2 classes

So I could just run

And write lists

That that won't happen

Cause school is a bitch

Words trickle.

Words erupt.

Words cut like knives

And slice you up inside.

Words stitch.

Words cauterize.

Words mend the broken

With each hopeful phrase spoken.

Words teach.

Words enlighten.

And, words, they thrive and devour

With illimitable power.

#poetry #words #shitwrite

My memory of you is altered daily when we talk.

My dreams of you are more and more vivid.

The rain seems to fall slower now and when I'm lonely I remember how you waited for me.

I remember your smile.

And your changing eyes.

You've said before that you didn't understand romantic love so I want to explain it to you in a way you'll understand.

Well.

Romantic love is that rope I tied around your wrist that's connected to my heart

And the farther away you get, the more I feel that pull.

Your name is like a song stuck in my head.

I cannot help but fit you into every simile and metaphor.

Two days ago when we talked I was feeling okay until I looked over at you sitting so close literally two feet away

And I remembered the intensity with which I love you and we are so very close

If only the clock didn't move so fast

Then maybe I could catch you before you walked out the door.

Well.

Maybe you have not felt love.

Maybe you have, but not for me.

To the bestfriend I had-

I loved you more than anyone on this earth. Together we were one and let me tell you what a rush-of-a-feeling that was. We came in two's, rarely alone. We were the meaning of friendship; you felt my heart ache, my joy, my depression and my love for life. We were infinite. To the bestfriend I had- I adored you and everything you did, I looked up to you. When my life was in pieces yours was together and it gave me hope I'd have what you had one day. I'd see life the way you did.

& now I feel desperate for your friendship, I'm yearning to be apart of your life again. I'm envious of the people who reach out to you because I'm not one of them. I miss you more than ever and will continue to do so. With a heavy heart and tears in my eyes I'm rooting for you from the sidelines now with a glimmer of hope that some day I'll be rooting for you right next to you again.

To the almost lover-

Heart pounding, butterflies fluttering, the taste of copper on my tastebuds, everything coming to a quiet hum with your presence, my skin jumping when you touched me. You were a whirlwind of emotions and I felt it all- WE felt it all. Fiery red burn of anger but also desire. The cold desolate blue of loneliness. The aura of bright yellow for the light we brought out of each other. The connection that was indestructible, or so we thought. To the almost lover that wanted everything but a bad time with me. Envisioning the house and kids was a favorite past time. But one of us saw it clearer than the other. We took a turn for the worst. We tried to push our problems up the hill but it was just too heavy to hold. Now's the time to let it slide. I want you to experience good and I know you will. And one day the hate for me will leave your heart and I will be nothing but Veronica. I've taken a few losses, but this one is one for the books. I long for the day I can look at you and not feel at a loss.