Rain falls gently, 

like a lover's touch. 

I envy the sound, 

although barely audible.

Pattering droplets of purity, 

on leaves erect.

Baptize me in the honesty, 

of nature's beauty.

The human condition, 

tears me apart. 

I want to paint,

in pastel watercolors.

But instead I reach only,

for thick acrylic browns.

Stepping into the light,

my hips are exposed.

My curves are crooked,

from the toll of life.

Femininity hidden, 

by my weathered soul.

My flesh cracks neglected, 

from my alienation.

Steadfast I stand,

embracing pain as my friend.

So I build a nest,

in a tangled Crown of Thorns.

And I rest my head, 

upon my desire for tranquility.

I wake up in yesterday's clothes and I do not recall how I got here. Groggy with the realization that another day awaits my presence, I reluctantly open my obstinate eyes and I see your vampire face.

Can we pretend that we are who we were? Even better, let me pretend for a little longer that we are who I had wished we would become.

The world taunts us. It orbits at hysterical speeds. We hang by a noose, suspended without a swing. Like Eurydice rescued, we are temporarily free.

My insides knot with warmth as I inhale the breath from your lips. You taste like the turn of the century, but it is stale. And I like it.

The blackbird on my windowsill catches my eye, and he stares at me with pity.

The grayness of the ice fog embraces, and, for once, I am understood. A toothless old man with too much skin stops me on this post-apocalyptic street. His bent fingers curl into my longing flesh and his cloudy eyes prophesize my narrowing probability. I believe him.

Hate surfaces

with thoughts

of you,

its webbed

mirror-image

tangled

with Love.

I need to paint but the canvas stares at me blankly with arrogance.

Pit me like a pumpkin, scraping my insides with a cold spoon. I need a good cry but I am but a thimble wound tightly in scratchy wool. Deep breaths invigorate me, but with my morose sigh escapes my hopeless soul.

Darkness hovering, I cannot shake the loyalty of my demons. We play poker with dogs, but I beat them with my manipulating charm. I am a mistress to a coffin and the feast leaves me insatiable.

Lick up my spine in slow motion and choke my throat from behind. Tell me you never loved me and whisper words of shame in my ear.

Poison spews from the clouds and the acid begs for forgiveness. Looking up I am limited, nearsighted to Faith. Sociopathic empathy grows in my belly and I wonder if I have ever recognized Genuine.

Sweet kisses and comfort come only in twos. My penance for breathing is the memory of you.

Her life was a shambles. How could she have made so many mistakes in her life? Why did she agree to marry him when she was dating someone else? He held the ring out to her with his winsome eyes and she couldn’t say no.  She knew she should have. She didn’t love him. When she thought back on this moment year later, she realized that she didn’t want to hurt him. He loved her so much. And sure, he was attractive and muscular and liked the excitement of new adventures.

Yes, he loved her. He loved her enough to throw her against the wall when she went outside to the garden to pick beans for dinner that night because her father was coming through town. He thought she hadn’t fixed him breakfast yet but his oatmeal was sitting in the pot, hot and ready for him. Her knee was so badly cut that she skipped work that day. He was so terribly sorry that he insisted she stay home but she knew the real reason was that he didn’t want anyone to notice her injury and he wanted her to calm down before her father arrived.

He loved her so much that he forgot to pick her up at work sometimes so that she had to walk home in her high heels in the rain. He loved her so much that when he backed up into a light pole, he blamed the entire thing on her, saying she distracted him.

He especially loved her when the green tinge of jealousy overwhelmed him when someone of the opposite sex spoke to her. She remembered well when he pulled the shotgun on one of his friends and threatened to kill him. Throwing a television set at her because her sister was coming to visit was another way he showed how much he cared. Telling her she was being a baby when she had kidney stones, grabbing her by the hair and pulling her across the room, was the way he showed his affection. Oh yes, he certainly loved her.

She finally got the opportunity to show him how much she loved him by knocking her plugged in hair dryer into the bathtub where he was soaking luxuriously in steaming hot water. It was a terrible accident, she told the police. He must have knocked it off the counter unwittingly.

And most of all, she soon began to notice how much she loved him being absent from her life.

I have wrong days -

days when there's a short

in my psychological circuit

and a stutter in my limbs,

days when satisfaction plays

racquetball in the asylum.

I've been told that

I am making excuses but

the dream factory closed down today.

The hopeful sensations kept

demanding higher wages

and my emotional economy

is stuck repeating the recesses

of a girl who used to practice

climbing horizontal ladders.

I've spent these last nights

trying to get higher

than the cost of living

now I'm speaking more in

syllables than sentences

and tipsy-toeing towards the

vacant corners of a happy place.

Dreams were only helium

in a red balloon that I released

into the sky to choke

the birds so they would stop

reminding me to fly.

I'm a spider with a needle

but my head is stacked with hay.

I'm running out of horses.

I dream in shadows of black & grey

tattooed with moments of fear & weeping.

My lips speak in white noise &

I tremble at the sound ...

Blind eyes color my heart

staying outside the lines,

I shouldn't be breathing but,

the inhale continues ...

Wishing I dreamed in High-Def

like all the other little girls ...