i am sick.
my heart, my mind, my soul are infected.
just keep as far away as possible, or i shall infect you, too. 


if i had the guts, i would cut out my tongue today, and file away my fingers... 
you go ahead and live, leave me to my sickness, leave me to my sickness, leave me to my sickness.

bedtime stories: clashing memories

He remembers her silent clapping each time they met and the final goodbye on the intercom as he left the building.  He remembers the bubbles and booze and the sound of her voice when she was amused.

She remembers the expensive perfumes in his hair -one on each strand, fighting for absolute possession... she remembers breaking up with him, refusing to be the girlfriend he fooled, and breaking pieces of her heart as she remained one of his buffoons.

She used to love him. Or so she thought. She was not young, yet she still got confused when her existence wanted to fill another soul. Keeping someone company was safe grounds, yet passion lost her senses, her definitions, her boundaries. Passion shook her up until she imploded into herself, sticky and wet and useless.

She used to love him. Or so she thought. Never asked him where he was going, never asked him where he has been.  She was alive when he wasn’t there, and she wanted to die with each smile that escaped for him.  She would have liked reading him in a novel or hearing a song about him but at arm’s length he was the thing she despised.  He was Narcissus forever deaf, and the echoes of her heart only pierced her own flesh.

He would call and she would shrink. He would come and she would diffuse. He would laugh and she would hate.  “We are a match made in heaven” he would say, “Do sharks come from heaven?” she would growl. He thought it was sexy, her growl. He thought he loved her. He thought she didn’t have a jealous bone in her body. He thought many things that weren’t true. He was a wishing well in which cold, dark souls grew.

He remembers the sweet wishes right before sleep, the smell of shampoo on her hair. She remembers counting the kisses he stole, counting the bitter bugs on her tongue that crawled. She remembers sneaking away to the couch after he fell asleep, for sleeping next to him was lonelier than a glacier, and the couch had the arms of a mother.  He remembers waking up next to her, and reaching for her morning smile.  

She used to love him. Or so she thought. She was always too quick with her expressions; she couldn’t contain the words when she loved. She was slow to love actually, but passion made her spin uncontrollably. She had read it somewhere, love was the collision of two worlds; and she had ached to collide with him. Alas!  He was nothing more than a wall and she couldn’t stop. He was her punishment; he was the due she had to pay to the Troll. She collided into him, again and again, full force, full body, full soul.

He remembers her humming in the kitchen fetching his drink. She remembers waiting for her love to die, blink by blink. 

ageless, sexless, limitless
(playing hopscotch with the winos one minute
then up on a roof among literate mannequins
who feed dom perignon to house plants)

hello world

When in doubt, look up

i have a month. i have watched my reality break and diffuse in a matter of seconds before. in a month i can build a ship, a ship to carry me away from playthings and weaklings and ambiguity. in a month i can rebuild the hull i have broken down over the years. the sails are hidden in my palms; and my eyes hold on to steady winds. i have a month. a month to change history and future. aren't they mere reflections of one another? if i see myself weak in the stories past, i shall always remain a cripple. 

the time has come to wear my mane with pride once more. 
i am done killing for fun, i shall have my glory.

in dreams i am a lover
in reality i am a loner

(it is more fun to write in multitudes)

can i borrow your hands today,
your eyes, your lips, your smiles?
i lost mine through dreaming,
and without them i can't find anything.

the sheets are wet, my face is red, my knees are bruised.
dreamland was mean, in kind i paid mr sandman. 

i cursed the summer back into its hole.
i screamed the sun back to the blues.
fairy tales are nightmares today, words are bloody;
i feel crushed, i feel tiny, i feel heavy.  

i'll fly there for a minute,
and have a cigarette by your side,
there i shall breathe properly;
see, i don't know where to hide.

it can't be this hard to live,
it can't be this hard to be lived.

bedtime stories: the sun was gone

 i still have your wine glass in my pocket, is mine in your bag; do you still get drunk with wine and bliss every full moon; i heard you moved, is your new room green, too; are you happy without the memories and mirrors; are you peaceful in your new life; do you still crawl under the blankets and read; do you doze off with a smile on your face; do you have a boyfriend, does he love you, does he hold you? i am sorry i never really held you...

dumbfounded she looks at his face. she knows this face. she had memorized it once upon a time, hadn't she? she knows the sea on this face, she knows the sun in that hair. they are gone now. where have they gone? without them he looks just empty.

are you mad at me; can you forgive; i know i hurt you a lot, but i never lied about who i am; can i sit down; can we talk; would you smile for me once; even if it's for the last time; do you hum your nonesongs and dance as you please; what do you write about now; do you still hide them from other eyes; do you walk around with your camera; do you walk around with that endless heart of yours; do you have a lover; does your heart hold him and protect him; does he know? i am sorry i never really knew you...

the girl looks around. the girl holds her right hand with the left. the girl looks around. the sentences aimed at her bounce off her soul. the girl looks around. does anyone else see what is happening? is this really happening? she looks at his face. his lips move, and silly little words come out galloping. she can feel her lips forming a joker smile, she can't take the chance. she drinks the last shot on the table. tequila numbs her face. there she sits motionless, mimickless, mute.

am i bothering you, shall i go; won't you say anything; i deserve this silence but i want your words back, i want your laughs back, i want your eyes back; maybe you can't love me again, and i have a girlfriend now, but i want your mind back; i love you, i miss you, let me hold your hand; don't walk away from me; don't you dare turn your back; so you love someone else now, is that it; does he come running to you; i always made you wait; is he a better friend, is he your soul mate; do you tell him about your nightmares; do you let him calm you down; please, don't go, i beg of you; i am sorry i never really heard you... 

the girl keeps walking, her lips blowing out steam:
"i am sorry i never really held you...
i am sorry i never really knew you...
i am sorry i never really heard you..."