We scream danger and use our hands to hide our face but we dare not turn away because we’re so afraid but equally addicted to this dreadful place and all things that strangers say.

Constantly rewriting our lives, so scared of what we’ve hidden between the lines or what’s to be found on the next page; visual stimulation, a portrait and an expression left for guessing on our face. The question that’s left is what it’s meant to portray?

Keeping our mouths shut only because we’re meant to sit quiet and offer no say, instead we let our demons set the price we can be bought at and how it’s paid.

Pushing these semantics aside before our mind becomes at risk for flight as we ride shotgun sitting beside the monster that controls our lives, the ones created in dreams and nightmares alike.

And just then as I put one foot in front of the other, I felt fear compounded, a year’s worth in just a second; there was every reason to be afraid, the sky was no longer under mother’s control; the sun rescinded behind the horizon and clouds like dying embers in their own retreat; it was the dark condescending the light which left a melody in which we lacked the motion to move too.

A voice casually said it’s this or the apocalypse but the only thing on my mind was her scent as she walked away scantily clad with a swagger in her hips; the morning before normal waking in a new reality trying to commit it all to paper and here I was amidst trying to find the grips to lift this thought process before it turns and floats away as a vapor.

Nary a place in my head of which I could make it my destination or a hand to the voice for which I can wait to sweep me up and just then that’s when I saw the girl in the red summer dress standing at the edge of my bitter end; the last scenes filmed in a room all alone, her head down for sakes of discernment over the waiting unknown.

She was the catwalk wonder and the whispers of judgmental eyes pushed her through the clouds clinging onto a determination; she carried a camera everywhere she went to capture the hesitation burning through your eyes when you feel her apprehension of her decision to function on the underlying subjective of capturing the perfect mixture of beauty descending, hitting the bottom and it’s collision.

When all was said and done and the moment now gone when time stopped and there she stood like a vision, sunlight through the rain; checked, I was all wet and she went down; the camera makes the same sound even with the lens cap left on.

I’ve gained little to no control and I’ve decided to take life’s corners faster rather than slow; all the people in this situation that I know barely live and live to only exist; walking through life without a glow and no matter how hard I try, I can’t find a persuasion that I can be into but I’m beginning to make sense of why people like me persist.

Living for the second the prey goes on display in the reflection of the hunter’s eye; we lie on fault lines and pretend they’re safe foundation; we couldn’t have picked a worse location but now I’m feeling well. I’ve gained control and then lost my soul.

the finished stuff, its about 2.5 inches of stacked paper.

#1.5

I went to Fedex Office today and made it double sided,

wire bound it with a black back and clear front,

its only about .75 of an inch thick now.

I ask was I; I was not ready to deal will all the distant things stuck in time like a painting of sickly trees each with one green leaf sorely out of place simply craving to be.

Secretly wishing to make an amends with all the spirits that too soon found their ends, I stand; I demand ghosts half there and half aware to let go of living infatuations with having elations attributed by a special who, what and where.

I become just like a lonely dog lost in the streets with a home in its heart that seems so far apart from where it is now and where it needs to be.

In our heads we see a group of friends holding hands singing campfire hymns in hopes we can erase our sins or at least find resolution as the water rushes in, fills to the brim whilst we decide if we should sink or swim.

I try to break my own heart, I try to wear myself thin, and I try to start all over just do it all over again. I do realize these analogies are truly, truly all of me; I am of a blind congregation playing my part.

We shovel with red hands filling the holes in our souls with the holes in our soles from running in circles instead toward far away goals.

My predictions are the only things I have and the only soil I can grow in; it might take one hundred years before I see the first budding seed but at least I know that it did come from me.

Soothing the fires raging inside with word play; twisting and bending, breaking and fixing, contorting images in my head to fit to the words on paper; the warmness of her words like a blanket.

I’m holding what I know about this woman close to home and when I try to forget, I’m just faking it. Every thought that falls from her lips was spoken to raise my spirit. This just might be true love and possibly the first time I can feel as if I’m part of, no longer on the sidelines as the world plays the part of the juxtaposed passerby, no longer will I have to stand idly by.

Escaping confines as a figment of my memory, no logic or reason can define this muse to any extent or tell me what she represents. My head is spinning and my thoughts are caving in and now I’m having problems forming sentences about this woman.

25-may-2008

Fingers following the sweat that trails down your hips; I fell in, forgot original intent or why I write of you in past or future tense.

It’s an idea of happiness, a perspective on all your actions, relief discovered with the comfort found through sharp objection and even sharper objects held up against our skin; even then everything falls apart.

This is a modern day reverie with every kiss being a love lorn memory and every touch is intimacy without the intricacy, our hiding idiosyncrasies in the back of our minds.

Move through me like a ghost and share feelings unbeknownst, every glance stolen from the side to find salvation for these tired, empty searching eyes.

-may 13, 2009

So in these circles step softly and recite not the things you said, make them secrets and take them to your grave instead; let no one know that God hasn’t any friends and if wilderness is found laid out across your heart then child I do understand that you haven’t a clue where to start.

-30Apr10

And then the pen slows and the ink stops flowing.

And did she ever really exist to begin with; what will her friends think of our parity? Some day I’m gonna meet her, we’re going to talk about the things we have in common like breathing and bleeding; contain our lives in a single paragraph just like those books we enjoy reading.

And then the pen slows and the ink stops flowing.

Until then I’ll just lay here until I lose feeling; white tiles with water stained dreaming, lying on the floor staring at the ceiling; I don’t ever want to realize this situation isn’t exactly appealing.

And then the pen slows and the ink stops flowing.

Skipping over crosswalks like when we we’re little girls playing hopscotch whilst juggling juxtaposed feelings and an attention span in deficit; twelve years later we changed our minds when our lips met tasting each other’s spit.

And then the pen slows and the ink stops flowing.

————

We would talk about the things we have in common like breathing and bleeding; contain our lives in a single paragraph just like those books we enjoy reading and then the pen slows and the ink stops flowing and until then I’ll just lay here until I lose feeling; white tiles with water stained dreaming, lying on the floor staring at the ceiling; I don’t ever want to realize this situation isn’t exactly appealing.

We walk on the edges of fences, keeping balance carefully of our precarious ways, keeping careful attention to approaching warning signs that pass by literally right in front of our face, the gist caught in peripheral vision that gave a faulty foundation based on a hastily made decision.

Speed is a number one killer in life or maybe we’re just up in arms over another Hollywood thriller, we saw none of it clearly due to speed of this race or this sickly sweet haze hanging in the air suffocating this place, this fallen kingdom and these walls that surround it to hide our discomfort, our disgrace with anything travelling at a slower pace.

We came seeking answers only find them in twice as many questions, each every one providing examples of the outcomes we knew all along. We took our sorrow and threw it back at a myriad of confused faces; we only want to find that secret place where we belong.

In the end we were handed a pair of shoes not our own and a choking gloom that however pervasive must belong to another wayward stranger, they didn’t come with directions on how to pick from the so many paths to choose or tell which ones will lead to danger but we always knew the only thing we can learn at this speed is how to make a noose from the laces.