Saturday, December 22, 2007

Untitled

the kiss was tender, and nothing more. not assuming, not asking, not wanting or desiring. it was just a kiss.

their arms held me tenderly. they didn't need me, or strangle me. they didn't hold me distastefully. they just did.

i held their body against mine, our breaths echoing together, our hearts resounding together, our melodies entwined.

this was what i had been waiting for, and time was nothing.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

The Black Winter Ninja

black pants cover all
but the tips of my white shoes,
black gloves, black hat,
black earbuds and earbags too.

a black cheater scarf
wrapped around my neck,
and black sunglasses
to keep the sun in check.

a black polartech coat
over a black hoodie fleece.
I'm the Black Winter Ninja--
glasses are all anyone sees.

Sunday, October 7, 2007

Inscription


i watch you through this claw-shaped hole,
wondering where you've taken my soul,
transported it to this beautiful pace,
ever caught in your pure grace.

i watch you through this metal trap,
watch passing butterfly wings clap,
watch birds as they float and soar,
wishing I could widen it a bit more.

i pull at the edges, try to get through.

i watch you behind this hard wall,
afraid you might falter, and fall.

i watch you and wonder, wish for what i lack,
except that my wings are inscribed on my back.
i want them to sprout, leaves from my spine.
to fly to you, you always be mine.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

Sweet Tooth


pump the sound straight to my ear:
there's nothing else I want to hear.
just endless sweet-tooth melody,
to pull me from the world's rough gears.

spin away from what I normally see
and give the music back to me,
make my sight flawlessly clear--
spit me out and give me back the key.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007

All My Nightmares

grant me all my wishes,
though my nightmares may come true.
i'm waiting, watching, hoping, still:
the Atlantis dream for you.

grant me all my wishes,
as i wait with arms opened wide.
i'll take the razors with the hope
for Atlantia at my side.

grant me all my wishes,
down to the very last.
grant me all my wishes,
then let me take them back.

Tuesday, August 14, 2007

The Window

I looked out the floor-to-ceiling window of my apartment onto a wonderful, mystical dreamland. It was not accessible to me, unfortunately, for the window would not open, and my apartment door opened to a different, cheerless reality.

Somedays it rained, and the water dripped down my window. Occasionally, the window would leak, and drips would be delightfully refreshing, as opposed to the tasteless gruel that came in through the door. There was often, but not always, rainbows in the sky afterward.

Somenights the moon would be full and bright. Strange creatures would come and dance in its glow, others changing as the moon rose to its apex. Even on nights when it wasn't whole, but the sky still brightened and filled with unknown stars in unfamiliar constellations, I would sit and watch through my window.
Somedays a sun, or two, or more, would shine in my window, and I would lay on my floor and sleep in the kind warmth.

Sometimes it might snow, and the world would be all grey and white, regardless of the cycle of day and night. I had awoken in the mornings--according to the world behind my door--and found unidentifiable tracks passing by my window, the only scars on the flawless sheet of white. Once, I caught a deer-like creature--but with a thicker, longer neck, and small vampirish fangs--staring in at me, no doubt wondering about the world on my side of the window as much as I did its own.

I would sit and gaze out that window--or bang on in my more spirited or desperate moments--until sleep took me, then lie there until I awoke, every day and night of my stay in the cell. At first, the passing guards would joke, later gossip, still later muse and contemplate, as they looked in through the barred and padded window in the door.They watched and laughed as this poor soul--so they saw me--interacted with one of the padded walls of his cell--my cell, my apartment--for they could see no window.

The psychologists were patient at first, but soon they too saw no hope for me.

Monday, July 9, 2007

Holding Out


look up past the clouds
and into the sky,
the blueness and brightness,
but don't wonder why
      why is the city
      and I want the sky.

I want to climb upwards,
'til forever comes my way.
want to wait 'til it comes
and lets me stay.
      fly past the cloud
      and always feel day.

should I wait here forever;
but if forever doesn't come,
Then I'll just lay here forever
until day at last is done.
      I'll wish for it forever
      or until my day is done.

Saturday, June 30, 2007

Beside Me

beside me. a flutter of orange and a flutter of black,
keeping my pedal strokes in tune with each flap.

even out my pace to keep it in line,
for this stretch of pace the pleasure's all mine.

give it an inner smile, gaze until it's gone,
keeping up with the beat that I knew all along.

Saturday, June 9, 2007

When Everything Made Sense

She stood behind me on the stairwell, not putting her hand on my shoulder, not whispering in my ear, not touching me or saying anything at all. But I heard her carefully padded feet pound mercilessly on the carpeted stairs.

I had paused, momentarily indefinitely, waiting for her. I wanted to turn but did not. I wanted to embrace her but would not. I wanted to tell her everything was going to be alright, but could not. For it wasn't going to be alright for anyone, except for those few billions lucky enough to exist outside my head.

I was doomed.

I continued down those stairs flawlessly, out the door, planning to return only after a very long eternity. I had seen a ghost in her eyes as we stood on the stairwell, and that ghost reminded me of things I could not remember, a year ago when everything made sense.

At Sixflags in DC and Southern Europe, or, Both A Very Good Trip and a Very Bad Trip (Mature)

Mature Content
--

I woke up with my head touching the floor. I sat up, and realized I had been lying on the floor, my legs in the air, entangled in my bedsheets. I pulled them out easily, now that I was awake and could do it logically, rather than thrashing out in my sleep and making it worse.

I stood and groaned, then headed downstairs when the room had stopped spinning. I started grabbing breakfast before I looked at the time, then shook my head again and mistakenly set myself on the tilt-a-whirl again.

Not breakfast. Lunch. And I was going to have to be more careful about disagreeing with myself: it was dangerous work.

"Where's my hazard pay for all this?"

"It's over here."

I turned quickly, still not having learned my lesson, and forgetting that I hadn't realized that I'd spoken aloud.
When the room stopped spinning for the third time, and undoubtedly it wouldn't be the last before the day was done judging by my learning curve, I noticed her. At first, I thought she was naked, but as my balance and some minute sense of reason returned, I remembered there was more to a girl than her chest.

She was wearing my pants.

Momentarily confused (or momentarily experiencing an increased sense of confusion, as I was already quite confused to begin with), I looked down. She was indeed wearing my pants. And I wasn't.

Her legs in my pants started growing bigger, and out of the blurriness and slowly decreasing levels of confusion I realized three things: my black pants didn't have silver threading, but heavy chains; I'd left my glasses behind somewhere, probably upstairs with the rest of my clothes and all of hers; and she wasn't getting any bigger, but really walking towards me. As I remembered there was more to a sexy girl than great pants, I noticed the waistline was hanging precariously low around her hips. I thought very quickly and briefly about how heavy the chains seemed when I first got the pants, and how many hours it had taken me to get used to them and adjust the waistband so they didn't drop to an unsightly obscene height regardless of whether the waistband-string was tied or not. Either she hadn't had the time or hadn't bothered, and the waistband-string dangled and swayed between her legs as she walked.

My gaze journeyed upward again as I realized that her trek across the room had come to an end, and was barely standing a foot away from the summit. Me. I regretfully quickly traversed her beauteous mountains, and up to her glowing, seductive eyes.

She smiled, and I moaned as she led me to my own peak, before the world started spinning again. I blacked out just as my mind exploded and the last I saw, it had started snowing on the Alps.

~

I woke with my head touching the floor. I tried to move, but my hips were caught in some sort of vice. The Washington Monument was flooded, and then it exploded.

~

I woke up with my head touching the floor. I sat up, and realized I had been lying on the floor, my legs entangled in my goth pants and their chains. I pulled them out easily, now that I was awake and could do it logically, rather than thrashing out in my sleep and making it worse. For some reason I was very tired, and my hands were sticky, but I couldn't remember why.

I stood and groaned, then headed downstairs when the room had stopped spinning. I started grabbing breakfast before I looked at the time, then shook my head again and mistakenly set myself on the tilt-a-whirl again.

Not breakfast. Dinner. And I had a feeling it was going to be a very long day.

Wednesday, May 23, 2007

Ways To Kill 2

Doors. Choices. Conspiracy theories. I'm still counting.

It doesn't matter how many I can find, how many I can count. It only matters that the numbers keep rising, and I need to know why. There is something out there, something that is being counted and someone that is counting. I must find it and them. I must know why.

Fourteen thousand and counting. It is still growing. Time is falling away from us, and yet I cannot find it.

Tomorrow is coming and yesterday is slipping through my fingers. There was never enough time to begin with and now there is even less.

The longer it takes me to find it, the harder it will be to stop. And if I cannot stop it, it will be the end of us all.

What are you counting?

Tuesday, May 15, 2007

Fly



find the words on my tongue and the rhythm in my head,
forget all the stupid things i should have left unsaid.
remember all the times I said I loved you the most,
and the days one of us played guest and the other played host.

find the words in my footsteps and the rhythm in my soul,
mull over all those recipes we mixed to help us feel whole,
when we frowned at the sunlight and bright cloudless days,
and cheered when the clouds came to block those burning rays.

find the words in the air and the rhythm in the ground,
watch you spinning, keep on spinning, watch you twirl around.
find the music in your hope, find the beat in your heart,
find our world, show the world they can't tear you apart.

find your hands on my shoulders and your breath in my hair,
spin around, miss the ground, try to catch you standing there.
find your wings, find your light, let you soar into the sky,
feel your joy and your dreams, know you finally got to fly.

Friday, May 4, 2007

Cocoon

wrap my bed in silk,
that for now is soft.
climb within, seal it up,
so wishes may set me aloft.

Wednesday, May 2, 2007

The Auctioneer

Adam was an auctioneer. He sold stuff on the internet. Ebay, Amazon, Abebooks, he had accounts at all of them. He bought useless stuff from people. Books, broken down cars, furniture, everything. If it was in poor condition, he bought it. He held onto it for a few days, weeks months years, just keeping the merchandise by his side, and by the time he sold it, it was in mint condition.

To people who didn't know him, he was a quirky, eccentric buyer who always managed to bank in on worthless deals. To friends, he was an inspiring example of the best luck, dealt a good hand by the fates. To his innermost circle, he was know by two titles: The Auctioneer and The Appreciator.

Adam had a special gift. Some might be so forward, if they knew of it, to call it a mutation, a gift, a superpower. Items appreciated around him. Cars, houses, books, everything in his reach grew in value instead of decreasing like normal things did. A broken-down jalopy laid in his garage for five years. The only part of it he had paid for was towing it from the junkyard. When he sold it, it looked and worked almost brand new. When these items left his presence, they did not suddenly revert back to their old value, but merely began depreciating at their normal rate once more.

Thursday, April 26, 2007

My Dream

caught up in dreams today,
lying, knotted, on the floor.

tramped on through Mabon,
I don't wanna go home no more.

hair tousled by my love,
as I met them in my dream.

I know it truth, for it my own,
my love, my city, my dream.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Untitled


cluttered floor and cluttered bed,
words implied but left unsaid;
coloured christmas-tree lights hung from the wall;
unconsciousness coming though sleep was called.

laying on bed with light hanging near,
laying on her lap, feeling her fear,
offering warmth in last hours of life,
a hand strokes my back. the most subtle knife

is one that holds back to drain it away:
they promised to help her, but could not stay.
the light shines downward on body in black,
I cease to purr as the hand turns to slack.

the book lays forgotten, page folded inside,
I stand and stretch, not seeing her eyes,
jump off the bed, tiptoe down the hall,
the world is so cold, and frightfully small.

Saturday, April 7, 2007

Morning (Mature)

Mature Content
--

a still, warm body in my bed,
arm around my body, head against my head,
a smile on her lips, joy in her heart,
not even clothing holding us apart.

I look at her sleeping, storm raging outside
the lightning illuminating her skin.
before we met I thought I was a loser,
but now I knew I could win.

she sighs in her sleep beside me,
legs kicking the blanket away,
too warm with two bodies so close,
but wants my warmth to stay.

a still, warm body in my bed,
arm around my body, head against my head,
a smile on her lips, love in her heart,
not even lying an inch apart.

she turns onto her back, lying by my side,
warmth shines in the window from the sun.
one hand strokes my body, one holds my head,
wondering if I am the one.

I sigh in my sleep beside her,
despite the rising morn.
I moan and rise against her touch,
inside and outside happy and warm.

a still, warm body in her bed,
arm strokes my body, head against my head,
smiles on our lips, promise in our heart,
letting nothing pull us apart.

Tuesday, March 27, 2007

Ink Stains

ink dribbles from my pen,
hanging above my paper road.
staining the parchment with every stroke,
leaving letters where it flows.

whether I write to my love,
to myself, or of my pain,
ink still sinks into the page,
keeping my words to be treasured again.

Thursday, March 22, 2007

Infinite Polyhedron

a kaleidoscope of faces,
not just the two of a coin,
to allot for so many more spaces
for more people to own.

too many points to pass around,
too many views to share,
so difficult to leave your plot of ground
and give another perspective a stare.

A Chance Healing

a poem can help to heal your soul
even when you feel perfectly whole:
hearts will blister before they break,
and 'tis easier to fix a minor ache.

even just knowing that someone's there,
if there's anything you need to share,
if you just like to be reminded someone's around,
just in case your wings tire, and you start plummeting down.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Stars

too many stars in the sky,
each seeing their own day.
too many stars in the sky,
seeing the universe their own way.

looking up are so many eyes,
imagining hope in the stars.
for godly mysteries they pry,
secrets near, dear, and far.

looking down are so many eyes,
questioning and hoping for life.
yet no non-Terrans grace our skies
to distract from self-made strife.

Tuesday, March 20, 2007

Strangewood

there's less of a difference
between the fantastic and real
than just what you can see
and just what you can feel.

there's less of a difference
between what you see and what you don't,
all dependent upon
what you will believe and what you won't.

Root Canal

the worst are the sound effects
unfailing in their design,
the endless-seeming whirring
and the fairly steady grind.

the worst are the sound effects
vibrating through my head,
I try to focus on remembered verse,
which I'd rather hear instead.

Monday, March 19, 2007

Untitled

I'm not the same as you saw me last,
too much has since come and past.
the world on its path still spins around,
wobbling a bit, not yet run aground.

the winds blow sand across the plain,
reshaping the dunes that once knew my name;
the waves pound the cliffs back into salt,
and they'll rise again from their fault.

Friday, March 16, 2007

Random (Mature)

Mature Content
--

reaching out is the hardest part,
needing to break out of this pain.
every footfall through deeper mud,
despite not knowing the way.

I don't even know if this path
is the one I should be on.
I picked this one at random,
having lost my guiding song.

I need a hand to pull me up,
but I'm already tired of your words;
I need a shoulder to lean on,
to help me with this hurt.

I need some guiding knowledge
but I'm unable to cry out;
I had some breath a while back
but I didn't know what to shout.

The Next Train (Mature)

Mature Content
--

the cliff wall is falling away from me,
gravity is coming back,
falling into a hole so dark
the sun dodges it on its track.

running through the tunnel,
yet pummled by the rain...
the lgiht I see approaching
is just another train.

I can feel you all around me,
though I reach out you pull away.
my heart is slowly dying,
my soul a bitter grey.

the colours fade from me.
til there's only black and white;
the light of the next train,
and the omnipresent night.

I don't know how I'm lost,
I tried calling out your name,
but the tunnel stole my breath,
and I'm tiring of this game.

I know the next train is approaching
though I cannot yet feel its stare.
I can feel all the warnings,
trapped so long inside there.

the next I may not dodge,
just let it breeze right through.
my body's no resistance
to such a persistent doom.

the next I may stand my ground,
not press against the wall.
the nest time I may let my fingers slip
and let my body fall.

Monday, March 12, 2007

Change (Isn't Coming Back)

why can't you let her rest,
you signed in with her name again.
it's obvious she's not coming back,
can't you let her have her peace!

you signed in with her name again!
so now I must go in and change it
so you will let her have her peace,
let everlasting silence come again.

I went in and changed the password,
so you stop pretending you can have her name,
let the name sink into silence again,
and finally let her rest.

~

don't you ever wonder.
she begged me for that tablet.
an overly expensive gift
for that christmas.

she wanted that tablet,
begged me for it,
spread it between birthday and christmas.
she never saw that christmas.

she begged me for
what you now own,
receive for a holiday she couldn't reach.
or was it a pity gift?

you now own that tablet,
the overly expensive goft.
don't you ever wonder?

*~*~*~*

the thoughts burn me inside.
I never hated you,
hope you could forgive,
I gave her up for you.

when I see what you might enjoy
I send it over, though I get spite back,
I gave the same to her;
reminders I still think of you.

I'm not asking you to replace
the joy I found in her,
the memories are reminders enough
...

I'm not asking even for friendship.
(hope you could forgive)
just civil acquaintanceships.
...you burn me inside.

Hasty Friends Are Hasty Enemies

believe what you wish,
I did not cause her death.
I did what I had to
no more and no less.

only I was there,
so don't doubt my reasons why.
I loved her very dearly--
did not force her to lose her life.

I will not tell the story--
those who need to know already do.
is it not enough to lose my gf,
so I must lose hasty friends too?

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

The Thirteen Rule

thirteen days from tomorrow
was twelve days ago.
and as days do pass,
they faded much too slow.

but now that they were over,
I brushed them to the side;
tomorrow was my worry:
for the Thirteen Rule applied.

the Thirteen Rule was simple,
a superstitious fact:
if something could go wrong,
that error would enact.

we sat Thirteen 'round the table,
paying the homage due,
a Thirteen course offering,
such that errs would not ensue.

we were fairly normal folk
and though Thirteen was our curse,
we'd prefer this inconvenience
to riding in a hearse.

there was nothing that would kill us
'cept for the Thirteen Rule,
thus the best food went to Thirteen
while we sat and ate our gruel.

Zombification

slowly being pulled in two:
a love for her and a love for you.
trying to hold, trying to slow,
trying to avoid letting either of you go.

in the end I must make my heart
choose one or split apart,
between life's warmth and death's release,
I might progress or I might cease.

for now, I wander around half-dead,
half-filled with love, half-filled with dread.
(perhaps a zombie, poor circumstance,
least I don't eat brains with limbs askance.)

Monday, February 12, 2007

not enough

you never know what's left behind
before you turn around,
nor know how hard I fall
until I hit the ground.
you never know how much it hurts
before you feel the pain,
nor discover how much I've lost
until I try to gain.

you never know how much I loved,
we had no trials to test.
we never broke apart until
they laid you down to rest.
I can still hear the melody,
I still try to hum the tune;
I still feel you in my dreams at night--
you push away my doom.

but since I could not die for you,
now I need to live.
I have the love you found in me,
I need somewhere else to give.
I feel I need to ask you
if it would be alright,
if I lent it to someone else
pierced their darkness with my light.

I ask you for your answer
when I see you in my dreams.
I hope she'll work out like we did,
with less invasive seams.
I never will forget you--
still flowing is our love.
but you're not here to hold me--
my dreams are not enough.

not enough

you never know what's left behind
before you turn around,
nor know how hard I fall
until I hit the ground.
you never know how much it hurts
before you feel the pain,
nor discover how much I've lost
until I try to gain.

you never know how much I loved,
we had no trials to test.
we never broke apart until
they laid you down to rest.
I can still hear the melody,
I still try to hum the tune;
I still feel you in my dreams at night--
you push away my doom.

but since I could not die for you,
now I need to live.
I have the love you found in me,
I need somewhere else to give.
I feel I need to ask you
if it would be alright,
if I lent it to someone else
pierced their darkness with my light.

I ask you for your answer
when I see you in my dreams.
I hope she'll work out like we did,
with less invasive seams.
I never will forget you--
still flowing is our love.
but you're not here to hold me--
my dreams are not enough.

Monday, February 5, 2007

The Other Half Too

the ghost of fingertips on my chest,
the memory of her kiss,
the thought of her holding me tight,
lost in our self-made bliss.

the dance of your words across the screen
sends shivers down my spine;
your actions transmitted over the web
keeps me wishing you were mine.

p'haps i want more
than just a free ride,
i have tokens-gifts-to share,
and want to feel it inside.

i want to feel my heart's at home,
and your gaze drowning me.
i want to have the other half too,
your touch real, not dreamed.

i wish for your fingertips on my chest,
your lips against my own,
your warm arms holding me tight,
and ecstasy to the bone.

Cheat Sheet

"You sure you want this done?"

"Yes. I've gone over the formulas and equations for months, and had others review them as well. I'm certain they're correct."

"And you want it--"

"On my arms, small, but still readable. All the trig functions--"

"The what?"

"This page." The customer shuffles through the pile and pulls out one sheet, writing in black letters at the top: LEFT FOREARM. "--On my left forearm. But I want them correct, exactly as they're written here. If not, well... I was told you were the man for the job. If you're not up to it, I'll thank you for your time and go somewhere else. If you mess one equation up, copy it incorrectly, you'll hear from my lawyer."

The tattoo artist opens his mouth, but the customer continues:

"I understand it's a strange request, and I'll willing to do it over the course of several visits--as many as you need. I see no reason to rush you."

He scratches the goatee on his chin, looking across the desk at the clean cut customer. "Alright, I'll take it, but I have one question."

"I imagine you'll have more before this is over, but go ahead."

"Why?"

"Why the trig functions on my forearm?"

"Why any of this? Wes, 'why' that page in a specific spot, but I can tell you've put a lot of time and effort into this. Why all of it for some equations?"

"The trig on my arm because that's what I have the most trouble with. As for the rest of it, the meaning behind this all," he thumbs through the sheaf of papers between them, "is to get ahead. I love mathematics. I plan on using it for the rest of my life. It's my major and will be my occupation. Some people have great memory for these things, some people need a cheat sheet."

"But you can't use a cheat sheet on exams."

The customer grins. "Exactly." He jumps up and shakes the tattoo artist's hand.

Sunday, January 28, 2007

Forbidden

am i forbidden from happiness,
the long journey continues,
there's nothing you want more than
a personal retinue.
yet as you quest onward,
you end up pushing them away,
perhaps you're better off alone:
they'll just get in your way.

perhaps the last thing you need
is someone close by your side.
the process is hard and heavy,
and they'll just shorten your stride.
perhaps just what you need
is that long journey alone.
feel the power in your mind
to re-enter the zone.

the zone is where your power lies,
where you can run--no fear to tire.
take up your quarrel with your foes,
and then you will acquire
the love that you sought this long,
not through promise, word, or deed,
but when your power stands so tall,
and the parasites come to feed.

they want to stand on shoulders
but have no strength of their own:
so they come to leech from yours
the reap all that you have sown.
there is no ridding yourself of them:
it's fame on which they feed.
until you yourself do fall so low,
and they'll seek elsewhere to sate their greed.

Tuesday, January 16, 2007

Dance

fingertips dance on the keyboard;
ideas dance in the mind;
everything follows the melody,
everything follows in kind.

i can see a few bars,
few can see some more,
but i can feel the rhythm
seeping through my pores.

i have found a tune
of the melody of my flow;
but is hard to shape,
to bend and twist and grow.

still the beat thumps inside me,
the tempo moves my heart,
i simply must learn to hold it,
before it tears me apart.

Sunday, January 14, 2007

Please Say I'm Dreaming (This Is Not My Crazy)

scatter the pills like words
disjointed 'round my head;
toss them, mix them, flutter
like dollar bills instead.

straighten out the margins,
as they try to curve away,
i cannot fill the pages,
though i have far too much to say.

i see you standing there,
like i've dreamt of you before,
when you stood inside the mirror,
when you leaned against the door.

take off your hooded sweatshirt,
take the patch off of your eye,
take despair out of my heart,
take me back to the sky.

i try to draw a spiral--
all that comes is a straight line;
i see you looking back at me--
all you are is mine.