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.

Snowed In

A smokey cave of gratitude,
a noose of obligation.
Stairs and stares,
this is my winter.

My rusty pen struggling
under months of apathy
but I cannot be condemned,
being newly resurrected.

Hints and insinuations
heavy the air
between perceptions and personalities.
Eggshells are walked upon,
tongues are bitten,
and the ownness lands in my lap
and purrs in the shape of a cat.

I've never been so free and stuck.
I cannot win and cannot fail,
mercifully mired.

To Thine

Your ravenous hunger
for my candidly sensual folly
entertains us both
and fuels suspicion and insecurity
that cuts through the vapor of innocence
like sulfer through new snow.

If it were any more than fantasy,
the violation of the last
of my intact self-morals
would open a crimson river
from both of my wrists
and wash me new
for God.

Fertile Insomnia

I woke up stark
naked and raving,
choking on words
that have begged to be born.

I have been fooled by your humor,
by your attentiveness,
and am more a slave to your mistress
than you...
She with two names
and countless functions,
who weaves a smokey false halo
around your polluted head.

I am sobered and saddened
by the addictions encircling me.

Pregnant with delusion
and contradictory hope.

Fallow to Fertile

In the clarity of hindsight,
everything beautiful that I have seen dissolve
has done so as a result
of my own self-undoing.

I am like a garden once unnurtured.
Everything with potential withered unwatered.
Today I bloom
under and above ground.
Lush and lavish green,
a rainbow of fragerance,
plump and pollenated.

I am the provider of the sun and rain
which offers this bountiful harvest before you.

Oneism

My soul admits I am guilty
of that which is forgiven.
My mind swallows the confession
and my body digests it into truth
and I am once again
without hate,
without fear.

Each moment I awaken
into a lighter shade of understanding.
A softer compassion.
A quieter voice.
A simpler existence.

I glow in this illusion.
I infect those immune
to the knowledge of their nature.
I embrace my vastly small
individual many,
and guide them to one.