lunar cords

I feel so small, especially
when the Moon shines down
too many lines
too many sharps and flats
on my night
The problem with trying to
tie a string to someone is
when they leave you,
there is always either too much cords
or not enough, and
the emptiness is not puddles
but oceanic and
unrelenting.
The strands are thin tonight.
rejection
stings like the shallow cuts
in the strands that connects back to
my heart.
I keep giving pieces of myself
away and foolishly still
think I can stay whole.

The concrete graveyard

at 1:48 Am. was quiet.
             We the children of Kin & Kith, Night & Moon walked without worry of
             aggressive street dwellers; through the cemented playground of human-kind.
After 10, torn & dirty jeans replaced pressed slacks; our shoes scuffed while theirs clapped.
"we are all the same difference" you said which I replied "not really"
             I will never be invited in and I refused to drink the tea.
             After 2:30 Am, when the last of the lushes and mate-seekers have driven away
from the blinking red and yellow street lights to their suburbian loneliness, all that remained is the memory of us suspended in a standstill.
             Motionless in that splendor sandy, current. Like we were swimming in an unbreakable hour glass made of stainless steel hooks from which we were suspended in the moment, we Kin and Kith, children of Night and Moon kissed in the midst of an intersecting sea of concrete.

I climbed
A poet's
Tree last night
To wrap myself in it's
Leaves and pretended the branches
Were your arms.

I don't mind the splinters it gives
Me because unlike the ones you give me
I can
Pull them out.

And as much as I would have like to
Take a pocket knife and carve lines
Couplets, haiku's, limricks, sonnets...
lines into the brown bark and pretend it
Was your skin, or my skin.

I couldnt.

I can't do much of anything now a days
Maybe I am just a morning glory
lost withing a tangle
of vines.

Fragments

From your softly spoken words
I thought...
How can this feel, this wrong.
Knowing what was to become of us as we drove
Towards no where. Purposely making wrong turns.

unknown, destinations already forgotten.

At the moment I didnt care, but then again
I wasnt supposed to cry neither. I blame the hormones
hovering in the space around our mouths and noses.
Had to shield away from
your eyes...

Standing in the middle of the street.
Naked, waiting for useless comfort
that I didnt receive
I was relieved.
That I had night to cover my fright

I discover that
no one could see outside our eyes.
If we just close them. And turn away.
If anything that hurted more than the softly
spoken lie or truth?

naked

Appendages were bent over the back of the couch, allowing the lamp to illuminate brown smooth skin. The walls were quiet without their giggles tonight. Probably because of the raging storm outside knocking out the lights.

Smooth legs bounced in rhythm to music only she and the carpet could hear. Everyone else was had gone home. all was silent. She felt chilled air brush under where her bra wire should be, cooling her warm breast. Humidity was thick near the ceiling. Making the floor cold to her nose, hands, and feet. It felt nice.

Nice enough for her to remain there till morning.

1:11 am

Tonight is going to be long. I cant sleep even though I am in a medicated state of drowsiness. My thoughts wont stay quiet long enough for me to drift off.

I wonder what happened to the time where sleep would hold me all night and most of mornings. Dreams used to be so tender with me, I would long desperately for them throughout the day.

What changed?

Why is it that every time I close my eyes, I see nothing but the blackness of darkness.

Its frustrating. That relief and comfort isnt there anymore. Leaving me to face my isolation without the comforting anticipation of dreams at the end of each day.

This room is too silent and I can hear the taunting of each tick of the clock just as loudly as my own mocking thoughts. The numbers on the digital wink at me out my peripheral vision. Giving red glowing butterfly kisses against my cheeks that burns my temples.

yawn.

The day was chilly so the night is freezing. But I dont move to close the window. I will leave it open. I like to think of it as my looking glass to the outside world that shows me nothing but everything. The big picture of suburbia and minor details of perfectly manicured lawns. Each blade of grass poisoned to be luscious green. When all it probably really wants to do is turn into brittle yellow hay and die.

Its not even that late. sigh.

2:29 am

All day gray clouds swarms in the sky,
bringing rain past sunset.

During nightfall a blanket,
vast and thick, is sprawled over every star.

No twinkling
diamonds for the children to wish upon,
tonight the moon is being kept where she cant be found.

All there is,
All there is to see
Is poignant beauty of the darkness instead of nostalgic light
As it rains and rains and keep raining

Deep!
Deep into the late night.

2:54 am

Its comforting
to look up into
the face of the
night sky.

Peering with
nocturnal eyes
at and with

each untouchable star
I open myself little more
And pray
during each sight

to see the dippers
elegant tilt.
Anticipating the pour,
steadly poised

to wash away
the lingering mud
of troubled days
and lonely nights

3 days of haze

Light fingers weep into her skin as she sleep. The world stopped its revolution and stood at a standstill. She woke and it was 3 days into the future, the unconscience rebel. When did she fall asleep again? Its hard to tell.

No regrets and she feels better for the time being. Smiling no longer takes up too much effort. Enjoying the moments when she is not sleeping. Body so heavy falling in to the mattresses. Secure arms wrapped and graze her back. Soothing and luring her to rest more. But wasnt she just awake?

Hush, just close your eyes.

Did she really want to? Its hard to tell once again. What time was it? The night feels like morning and the afternoons feel like in between. Deny the war, it too shall pass.

3 days of dejvu.

Amaze Frail and Sacred

The stairwell to the stars was missing steps and frail cracks of twilight luminated the darkening night. But I still tried to find a way through the darkness. With eyes wide in frightening amaze I watched as my star shattered into a million pieces. Ive cried long and hard crystal dusts in my halted sacred plight.

Dancing lies

The fragile cup was ready to break in her hands. But she couldnt stop drinking, too far gone to taste the alcohol anymore, so she didnt notice her hands were bleeding still. This was not part of the plans...far from it.

Couldnt deny the tempting lure of a chille night though. With no regrets and night sweats if only a while. Trying so hard to forget.

Feeling fine. She grabs the bottle and likes the way it feels on her lips. So fine. She knows. As the sway of hips against hips, she convinces herself not to acknowledge the lies.

Today was not a good day.

Red ink,

From the maddness of passing hours looking in between blank pages. She must wait alittle more, but that is okay. The paper cuts were amusing to sooth the rages. Now their story has begun. Beautiful girl. With ink in her heart, ready to fill the blank sheets. From the hands of the witching hour she hang and sleep.

a picture thought moment

Nobody whispers her name better than sinned stained lips. But her secrets are only for night ears. She flees before morning with a fond smile. Remembering how lust was very pretty last night with lovely eyes, dark sense of humor, and soft laugh.

Time

She died last night. Or was it this morning? The headache knocking at her skull says it was yesterday evening. With an inhale and a swallow she knew she was dreaming.

Her head is in mourning because of it. Every second was ticking a minute faster than it should. She tried to hang on to the praying hands when they came together at midnight up high and six thirty below. By this time the slurring made it hard for her to be understood.

What was the point of waiting when all she had to do was blink. Patterns of the drifting leaves looked that same as they did last fall. Blink. The wind smell the same. Like dead grass.

Was she asleep?

Sapphic

The bedspread said obscenities as I watched it from across the room. Standing naked for my audience. Flirting with night. Many have seen the show before, so they all know what to assume.

This one was different. During our promiscuous nights she had bit a little too hard. Leaving on me pretty little slut marks.

Clothing tossed all around. I stared at impassively not moving to dress. Light snores of another lay in another world. I wanted to join her but I cant stand the smell and loved look at how beautiful her skin looked unmarred. So I watch and let her rest for a bit.

But making sure to split before the sun unfurled.

Women of the Streets

The night burns her tongue making her gag but she force down its compliance. The poisen was strong but she wanted to feel the tingling sensation of cuming without a conscience.

Loneliness is one hell of a drug, says the lush to the lust in the mirror. She will never be able to see straight, ironically she thank fucking God for that. Her panties was wet from the first glance, watching tonights harlot cum nearer.

She need something to kill the pain of all that nothing inside. Wanting herself die a little bit, she takes one more hit from her questionable cigarette. She strips out of her skin just for a while. Letting the chaser smooth the ride, to making the night less bumpy of a journey.

Constant buzzing, right behind the left eye. She was melting into the sheets as the night progressed. It would be nice to sleep but this headache does not cease. Sighing as its been 4 days. A sign maybe?

She didnt want to talk anymore. Barely able to hold a smile. After a while the ability to redirect conversations away from her becomes painfully too easy. Trying to ignore that there is something deeply wrong with her.

She knows this. But maybe if repeating 'Im fine' enough times she could fool herself into believing, like she does with everyone else.

Drowning an Angel

One day at a time she tells the mirror. It's not good to tell lies it says. I know she replies. Grey clouds her vision, and tears rain down out on the floor. She didnt know how she can face to the horror of another fucking day.

When did life become such a chore?

self hatred

Closing eyes to stare at her insides. Searching for the happiness life decides not to bring. Too sober to look in the mirror and see herself as pretty. Definitely not drunk enough to believe that lie. Not yet at least.

3 bottles later.

She wrote sins all across her face until it was unrecognizable. Easier to disguise gazes of pity for envy. Such a fucking mess. And yet so very beautiful.

Blackness crowds around the edges of her sight and she is anxious by the display. A few more sips and slurs and staying conscience getting harder to fight.

Maybe tomorrow will be different than today....
Always were her last thoughts before she passed out into the night.

Nightmare

No sound escapes. Stitches aligning the lips, does a well job in keeping the peace. Rapid stirring between closed eyes. The terror climaxes and spills over from the mind and into the soul. Ripping the mouth open to scream.

Naught be the effort taken to imbue with the darkness. Wanted to be comforted by nothingness. But nothing goes down harsher such as the bitter taste the betrayal of ones strength. Failing to open your eyes.

So with the organ of sight stapled shut, nose that smell too much fear, thin wiry dread skulking through the veins and pieces of skin under dirty fingernails. One must endure the images beyond closed eyes.

Praying the sun will rise soon