not quite finished...

putting on makeup just for the mirror
washing it off again with heart-broken tears

waiting all day for god knows what
impossibly stuck in a bottomless rut

bittersweet dreams of times now past
they began so slowly and ended too fast

god of death

i drowned in the pool of immortality
and i thought i heard a laugh
a sanctified chuckle from far away
“fool! now you are god of death!”
i felt the irony as it burned away
my final watery breath…

and so i ceased to live
and yet i could not die
he was right—that mocking voice…
what kind of god am i?

-hmCm

knowing everything

I remember the day you knew everything

while driving through the wrong side of town

you laughed as you told us all,

“if you hear a gun go off, GET DOWN!”

then you flicked off that guy on the corner

and I told you I thought you were full of shit

you kept on laughing, the gun went off,

we all got down but you—

you dodged into the bullet…

I’ll never forget that day

the day you knew everything

at night, that gunshot echoes

and when I wake up, my ears still ring…

encounter

hi.

oh. hello. how are you?

i'm good. and you?

i'm alright...

[actually, no. i'm not.

i'm dying.

dying to tell you how much it hurts

how i greeted the rising sun with a curse

how i realized that morning doesn't give a damn

and i was forced to see how vulnerable i am.

dying to tell you that i'm not alright

wish you could have seen me break last night.]

that's nice.

[ha! well that is nice.

at least someone's doing okay...

i wonder if i should tell her about my day

how i've fought back my frustrated screams

how meaningless my existence seems.

how the night loves to rub it in.

when i'm left alone, holding my insanity in.

but how can i expect her to understand?

when even i have tried, but can't...]

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

how different the things we say

from that which we think or feel

how different our lives could be

if only we swore to be real…

apology to my blue-blooded love

i see you waiting in front of that mirror

gazing bleakly at your self

past the cracked glass

you’re taking down your hair

pulling at the knots

—wincing at the pain

wondering what there is to gain

things can’t ever be the same

your shirt (full of holes) is lifted up

revealing more of your emaciated body

for a moment you are gone

just another someone i didn’t know

and then your face emerges

your shirt couldn’t soak up the tears, my dear,

look, there’s some more

you feel like a whore

don’t you…

you look at yourself

barely recognizing your only friend

is this the end?

you are alone (too soon) at last

trying frantically to forget the past

break the glass

bloody your hands on the nearest piece

open the blue-green veins too

but that’s what you’d expect, wouldn’t you…

too predictable

why can’t blood stay blue?

instead the redness you call life

plasmic fluid comes oozing out

recoloring your impromptu knife

recall those happy times that you once knew

it shouldn’t take too long

was i wrong?

maybe i shouldn’t have loved you

maybe i shouldn’t have died

maybe they shouldn’t have told you

but you can’t say i didn’t try…

i’m sorry.

almost never a child

it began the night she watched her mother die

no matter what her father said, she knew it was suicide

sometimes at night, she still cries

she’ll never forget the sorrow in her mother’s eyes

she’ll start wearing makeup at the age of seven

she’ll lose her innocence the day she turns eleven

she’ll never really play with stuffed animals or dolls

she’ll just sit in her room, thinking, and staring at the walls

she’s learning that some things are better left unsaid

she’s finding out that the pain is less when her emotions are dead

people who talk to her always leave perturbed

such a young sweet face harboring eyes so disturbed

by the time she turns sixteen she’ll have nothing and no one left

she’ll take her mother’s path—pop the pills—

take her first last breath…

she waits there so calmly

even gives a crooked smile

when she imagines what they might say:

“..and she was almost never a child…”

frigid

maelstrom of coldness rages within

chilling my heart, my soul, my skin

not marrow of bone is left untouched

nor the fingers in which hope is clutched

but you take my numb fingers into your own hands

flooded with the warmth my body demands

you pull me closer against your chest

‘til my heart is thawed within my breast

your warmth has spread from heart to skin

but a maelstrom of coldness still rages within

once more, you pull me in a sweet embrace

and tilt my chin to look full in your face

then slowly in a trance, your lips meet mine

and I know what I’ve waited for all this time

i’m burning with a sweet serenity

just as I’m drowning in your love for me

i awaken to the light of dawn

filtering through the shades i’ve drawn

and you are gone…

but breathing the air, it tastes of you

and licking my lips, they taste of you too

my own little hell

here i am in my own little hell:
burning, suffering, in despair.
you, and you alone are to blame
for this intolerable burden i bear.
why must you torment me?
do i truly deserve all this pain?
well, yes or no, the truth still burns
at the hope that yet remains.
in my own little hell,
your words are like knives
stabbing at my soul.
only the freezing fires of guilt
could ever be so cold...

i hate you.
i curse you.
but mostly, i fear.

because i know that in spite of it all,
i'm still speaking to a mirror.

resurrected memories

reminisces of dead emotions

forgotten thoughts of you

in that place at that time

seeing ghosts of another day

remember me not

for twas but a dream

reality’s reflection

in a bottomless pool

a vague wisp of feeling

like the scent of my attic

relics, antiquities

that were once my life

consumed me then

haunt me now

and all because of a

dream…

dreamt

the songs, they are my own

i know them well

they know me infinitely

i can almost see them, touch them

their palpable textures

laying on the one before

creating some impressionistic whirl

thicker and thicker

almost suffocating

but still lovely beyond life

it takes me away

from my mundane routines

like a lover’s kiss or touch

the melody interprets all dreams

translates them plainly before your eyes

just barely you hear them

and you cannot help but know them

for they are yours…

listen.