i am going to crawl through the old & i think it will help.

i dont have it. i just dont.

as it is already, there is an echo in my head.
& now this?

because i am too polite & you are too alone.

when He pulls the inside & the outside into a music box i leave it on my dresser to watch it spin & let the tune soak into my skin becoming more & more transparent i guess i wake up or at least stop cowering in the corner like a scared little girl.

i am hoping to experience instead of expect this time.

wings & blood & pasted spine
the story pulls me word by word
into a sort of unearthly being
not walking & certainly not flying
hovering in hope against hope
if i kissed him i would see through him
so i wait until i solidify
i fit into corners & press my back flat against the wall
would i could spin a cocoon
slipping into rest until i hear the voice that slices through my bones
'wake up o sleeper'
the light will shine upon my skin
veins visible to show what has been pumping in circuits
across my brittle body
when i am caught at last
inside an unplanned hand or two
my mouth will move again
words now long forgotten
but lacing their fingers around the edges of my dreams
it's all very nice but tonight i am only perched on a chair in a house on a street like any other

i have been coming to all of these conclusions but i dont really have a place to put them. i think for now they just need to stay inside of my mind. maybe when i am older, wise enough to write a book.

we laugh at death;
but it is because we are afraid.

i told you already,
i am not a goddamn statistician.

& the mood swings must be located at a pleasant park
because i just keep coming back & keep coming back &...

you love like a knobby-kneed schoolgirl.

you move & i guess i am too slow in following
well, can you really blame me?
this new form of vertigo
this new form of rest

cant you see that i am desperately afraid of anything that is beautiful?

i am ashamed to admit that i am the only person who seems to be able to break my heart.

my beautiful friend
with your love & with your liquor
you havent felt a need for anything further
the season is changing
look through the windowpane
we have fogged with the curses
coming out of our loose mouths
i have seen a miracle or two
and whenever i am rummaging through my drawers
i look at the lists i have made
& wish they were written in language
you hadnt already memorized & forgotten
but then again you always were a rather lovely linguist

the proud will not remain in peace
get this out get this out of me

THE PROBLEM ARISES WHEN SO MUCH TRUTH CAN SURFACE FROM WHAT IS ESSENTIALLY A LIE.

give my regards, yes, give my regards
i will not speak up this time around
all of this killing of my flesh has left me uneasy about the options that remain
so i look to the simple pleasures
driving home from work in a fog
seeing two men in a canoe on a river
& hoping for their happiness
things like that make me laugh out loud
taking hold of a strange sort of joy
in knowing that there is a standing offer of peace
it's just a matter of taking someone up on it
all of this fear of failure
keeping me alive, i suppose
but there are better things than just alive

regardless, it's still murder.

my fingers curl as i try to amend
things ive done & things ive left undone
yet the peace beyond my understanding
is filling in the cracks
& softening me
i will be silent before You

pale & beautiful,
on the way to the subway
you cut your finger to see if your blood is still warm.

and it is.

"well i'm staring straight into the face of hell
i'm so close & i cant even tell
& i'm so wrapped up inside
i dont have much to love"

peeling off like old wallpaper
& revealing what i wouldnt have touched in a million years
(but that was months ago
by now it has taken a life of its own)
sometimes i want it back
but now it is shredded & bits fall off everytime the ceiling fan whirrs
and pushes dust around the room
that held the mattress where you kissed me for the first time
one hundred pennies in a jar
i have been saving up for something
but for now i feel like the wallpaper
attached but not really a part of anything
you picked me out
what did you want?
my colors fade a little but i think now they are more becoming
(or maybe it's only the light of summer)

the only really heartbreaking thing of it all was the way you stayed to watch me get ready for bed...it probably wont ever happen again. & i am still in love with the way you have been in love with me, but that is a selfish sort of love & we both must be freed...i dont know what anything has really meant just yet...i am welcoming quiet corners & the silence of the loud music in my car. i still sleep with the teddy bear you gave me. he only has one arm & i guess that can mean whatever anyone wants it to mean.

i am building upwards like a pyramid
& with every new level i reach
parts of me have to fall down
to keep me balanced
so i am losing while i gain
but in that i must recognise
the finished product
& the final creation

we are pushing for a holiness we cannot understand.
we are afraid of the markings on the insides of our palms,
behind our ears,
on our lips.
we dont have to erase ourselves.
we need only to use the freedom we've been given,
within these rusting temples.

i am home but still driving away
& God throws the orange moon down in front of my face
as some sort of reminder
(i have forgotten, i have forgotten)
i would have given my very soul for something once
but now i am running from all of it
& wishing for a new home
i mean a place where i am held
(but held in an uncommon way -
to wake me & open me up)
after nights like this
we could sing each other to sleep
it's worth a risk
but it's never worth foolishness
tell me what i want
it's not that i dont want to think for myself
it's that ive done it over & again
& somehow always come up with the wrong answers

letters chain themselves together and fall off the tips of sandy tongues
to the spectator it's only nonsense
but all at once i am tripping over my own feet
and being glad for doing so
porcelain, ivory, plastic
no, no we are constructing roads
(& still i cling to the way that some people feel like home
regardless of the scenery)

there is a genius asleep in the back of a quiet car
angels only whisper
but take it as a sign that you're alive

elevators good lord i did not think there were going to be any elevators

i imagined myself as only skin & bones
not clutching any sort of earthly case
lifted up to God somehow

"do something pretty while you can
don't be a fool
reading the gospel to yourself
is fine"

we will color ourselves in with crayons
spending enough time in the sun
for the colors to melt and bleed
their definition of lovely won't stand a chance

i am so afraid of growing up
i want to be the little child you take by the hand
singing & walking
like nothing will ever cut anyone into pieces
and there is no such thing as a lesser evil

if it isn't now, then it never was.

the sky was so pretty, i opened the window to be that much nearer.

so i hope and wait and i hope and wait and i hope
that the mess i have grown and cared for
tended like a garden
cried alongside of (you were there, too, i remember)
will decide to cave in on itself
or, better yet
flowers will grow from underneath
pushing the soil until it sprays into my face
making me a mess
even worse when i cry
turning it to mud
on my eyes
i will see again
he has promised me that i would see

You are the only living person who has ever, without saying a word, caused me to wish desperately to change and become beautiful on the inside. Is that what love is?

and then there were two.

Ryster1878: but i don't think ideals are a good thing to base your relationship on
Ryster1878: perhaps goals and where you want to grow as a person

what it means to be lovely
is not necessarily what it means to grow up
peter pan and wendy
write book after book
but we are wrapped up in the beginnings
and not the current movements

the inconsistencies
are what make it worthwhile
anyway.

alive is something
rain twenty days
so i wont forget
that speck of sunshine
arms other than mine
are what matter the most
cuts and scrapes
to mark my presence
(i havent fled the scene)

hush and help.

we are alone, certainly
i cannot create words or pictures to erase what is attempting to eat us alive
but somehow we are granted the option of stepping together
i will dance with you tonight
the end is coming.
'what do you mean, what do you mean, my dear?'
we are unlucky fools who have been given a taste of grace
i am ready to go back for more
i am ready to go back
and forth into something we have both been writing
you are gorgeous in ways i cannot always decipher
one moment i am growing, stretching higher
and the next i am rotting away.

x is fallible
y is fallible
can something be done or undone?

i wish for a stronger grip
but i know that even then it could all pour through my fingers
dropping into water - a splash and that's that
eloquence is missing, i agree
but this is all that writes itself tonight

we don't make a living,
we are living.

i have realised that i want things to be my fault...
if they are my fault, then i should have control over them.
if they are my fault, i should have the power to fix them.
and when i am not at fault, i must be still & quiet.
(something i am only just learning to do.)

you leave markers & milestones where you stand
altars of heavy stone
i wait to see if they will only tip over
but they do not
not this time
they are steady
you are steady
it makes me hope i can do the same
it gives me strength
you give me strength