The Cold March

A shameful stagnation,
for someone so Love focused
to be entangled
with the angst and self-deprication
of insecurity and youth.

A selfish decision
became a selfless act,
and keeps it so.
Keeps it heavy.

A small and priceless smile
for whom he hasn't learned to disrespect
outweighs the unapproving
shaking heads.

And besides
no one made her Queen,
and it's not her place to pass judgement
on what or who is worthy.

So she moves,
but not on.
She provides what she is able
and fuels her soul
with caffiene and paper,
and under cloud dreams.

Rx

I Love her like a twin,
her wild eyes,
her postcard casual ways.

She is unbridled strength,
she is deafening silence,
she's insanely intelligent.

I admire her the way
a child admires a carnival freak,
the freedom mixed with pathetic shame,
she is everything I'm not.

Blindfolded and spun,
I don't know if I'm running
to her or away.

I want her.
I want her gone.

I bury her and she digs up the grave.
She smiles at me
through dirt and worms
and tells me
the only way to Heaven
is to follow her to hell.

Rewind

A stiff sheet in my death-grip,
blue, red, blue, red,
strobing me awake.

The too-clean taste of pure oxygen
burning over my tongue,
exploding through my toes.

I've felt most alive
close to the grave.

Stretcher bruises and accusing eyes,
the judgemental glares of strangers and family
in response to my stark confession.

Go ahead,
go away.
I've done without you before.

No one's out-crueled me
to me
more than me.