Let Me In
His name was FIRE
kindling my soul
whimpering at my heart
Oh, let me in.
I need to carve him
into my very being
Oh, let me in!
vanish in smoke
Oh, let me in!
Oh, let me in!
Soot covers me
smolders and flares
I am reduced
he will not
let me in!
south of nowhere
Two miles south of nowhere there is a field of dying things,
silent save for the rasp of autumn grasses as they crash to the ground.
There is a girl here, too,
running a pink tongue along rusting guitar strings,
all ripped jeans and cloudy skies.
A man's name is tattooed across her clavicle,
blue ink pooling at the place her breath catches.
His name was Agony and he taught her to love,
to hold kitchen knives to heartstrings and pluck them like a symphony,
dancing barefoot on barnwood floors
until the splinters left scars.
His love was one of honey and shrapnel,
the kind of beauty that only comes with pain-
but the world is growing dimmer
and come dusk
she lies alone
in this place of dying things.
Call me Someone.
“He claims he doesn’t want a partner, but, never mind that. He’ll get used to you... eventually...” Commander McCox said, causing a weary smile to creep over Constance’s face.
“He...?” Constance half whined. She had her share of male partners before Sarah. Many of them seemed to have unreciprocated romantic feelings towards her, and that always made things quite awkward.
“Yes. He,” McCox nodded, “But, don’t worry. He’s not like the rest. Nothing like anybody I’ve ever known. For sure.”
Constance looked around and then back at McCox as if waiting for more, but the commander only raised his eyebrows in an ambiguous way that didn’t indicate whether his comment meant her new partner was good different, or bad different.
“What’s his name?” Constance asked skeptically, narrowing her eyes.
The commander emitted an unsettling laugh.
“He’s tall, slick black hair, fair skin, and dark green eyes,” McCox said after his fit, “Oh yeah, and he has one of those British accents.”
″....Not a name, but, okay...” Constance blinked in confusion, “Where is he?”
Suddenly, Commander McCox’s eyes shifted up to his office entrance causing the young woman to pivot in her seat. There was a gentleman standing there, but he quickly stepped back and continued walking down the hallway. Constance presumed it was because he saw that McCox had company.
“That was him,” McCox said, “You’d better go catch him.”
Very confused, Constance rose from her seat, smoothed out her black skirt, adjusted her blouse, and ran after the mysterious man. From behind, she observed his fine black suit and how it fit his tall stature. Her eyes wandered up to his medium-length, silky, black hair. She took a moment to stop, shut her eyes, and take a breath, before sprinting after him again. Even with her heels clicking against the floor as she gained on him, his strides were consistent. He didn’t speed up, pause, or even look back.
“Hi!” she called out cheerily as she nearly caught up to the man, “Hello. Hi!”
Constance aligned herself at his side and attempted to keep in step with him as she struggled to even out her breaths. The man did not look her way at all but proceeded forward at his normal pace.
“Excuse me. Hi,” she huffed, leaping in front of his path. At this action, he finally decided to stop. His deep, malachite eyes stared down into her bright browns, then traveled down and up again. He did not seem amused.
“Hello. My name is Constance Harbor,” she said, extending her hand, “I’m going to be your new partner.”
The man looked down at her caramel fingers and back into her eyes.
“Obligatory associate,” he scoffed, ignoring her hand to turn aside and continue his trek towards who knows where.
Constance’s brows furrowed as she turned to follow him.
“I am aware they are forcing me to bring you along to the Ambassador’s Summit,” he said, still not making eye contact.
“I suppose....” she replied, not knowing what else to say.
She followed him out of the building and into a sleek, black, luxury car. As he started the ignition and pulled off, she glanced around curiously at the cleanliness of the vehicle’s interior.
″...So....” she droned, awkwardly breaking the silence, “My name is Constance.”
“Already noted,” he answered.
Constance sat in silence for a moment expecting him to provide his own.
“And your name...?” she asked when he didn’t.
The man’s lips were drawn into a tight line as he concentrated on his driving.
“It isn’t important,” he said finally.
“Not important?” Constance breathed a laugh, “We’re partners!”
“OBLIGATORY ASSOCIATES,” he corrected, keeping his eyes on the road.
“Obligatory associates,” she repeated, “But, still. What am I supposed to call you?”
“Don’t,” he smirked, shooting a quick, sly look at her.
“Don’t call you...” Constance shook her head, “Well then, mister, what am I supposed to refer to you as?”
The man stayed silent for the rest of the ride. Constance reluctantly followed suit, fidgeting with her fingers on the dashboard until they arrived at the airport.
“Someone,” he finally said as he opened his door, “Call me Someone.”
Constance stared forward for a minute, analyzing the absurdity of what she had just been told before quickly exiting the vehicle herself and running to catch up with him.
The Name on My Lips
Her name was a bittersweet poison, one that I drank readily. I knew how destructive it was, but I didn't care. Every sip of her name like acid, slowly melting away my resolve. She was a forbidden fruit, the plucking of which was made than much sweeter because of it. I would never admit that to anyone, but its the truth. She was promised to another, and yet here she was, in my bed, not his.
Don't worry though. The universe has the final laugh, I can assure you. Because although she might occasionally stray from his bed to mine, ultimately, enfuriatingly, it is his bed that she returns to. Always.
The irony, of course, is that she doesn't want to be there, but has to be. By her own admission, it is my bed that she craves, the one she thinks about when she's alone in his.
Whatever it is we have, flawed as it is, works for us I suppose. In truth, it is the only arrangement that works. For anything else, it just doesn't. Outside of the tangled sheets and twisting, naked embraces, we are not good for each other. Opposite people with opposite needs and desires. But within the boundaries of that bed? It is the only time we, and our world, make any sense...
a nameless heartbreaker
he needs to know
why you took
and tore it up
when Satan himself
can't even justify
that level of hell
Her name was honesty,
she was rude, brutal
and didn't tolerate mediocracy.
But in the same breath she was beautiful,
comely, caring, smart,
and entirely irrifutable.
George And I Go For A Nightcap
His name was Luke. But I called him George.
I met him one late summer night at a popular bar where all the younger millennials went to buy pitchers of overpriced Palomas and take turns rubbing up against each other.
And my life would never be the same again.
He was young, probably too young for me if I’m honest, and walked around with a particular subset of confidence that could only be described as BDE* (see footnote).
His hair, longish and rakish and curled in golden ringlets, and eyes the color of a pair of jades, he was quite simply: divinely and beautifully formed.
He found me with his eyes and started toward me with long, purposeful strides.
A bloom formed over my cheeks and I stared into my glass, taking (what I hoped were) dainty sips of wine, but instead had the unfortunate appearance of nervous, unladylike slurps.
He took the glass from my trembling hands, and kissed the top of my head, smiling.
“Care for a nightcap, babygirl,” he said in my ear.
I looked up and felt a rush.
Without hesitation, I took his hand in mine and followed him out of the bar and into the dimly lit street.
*BDE, a commonly used acronym for Big Dick Energy
the name on my lips is
a clutteredhuman centipedecontortion of identity
a parent calling for their child, stringing together siblingsyllablesoup
a name no longer separate from me/you/him/her
-the whispers in the night
-hands (grasping) bodies
-voices jumbled chorus of confusion
She says your name,
the name on my lips,
and you burst forth
cleaved, cut into clear consciousness
I see you
A stranger walking past with her
You are what growing up is supposed to look like:
like the future just beyond my reach
like your name on my lips once more, at last.
Bittersweet in its reality.
his name was peter
i fell in love the first day i saw him
i don't know what it was
maybe it was the shy smile
he sent my way
maybe it was the way
he pronounced my name with his accent
i don't know what it was
but his name was peter
and i fell in love with him.
Her name was...Temper
Her name was Temper
Fast and furious
She took me to highs that were oh! so spurious
Dropped me from the heights
To desolation, bitter tears and fights
One day walked in Reason
Fought Temper with thought and logic
Alas! Reason lost
And relationships paid the cost