She always kept her nudity
close to an ashtray.

Her nakedness was never smothered,
simply enjoyed until it burned out.

Sun Born

Baseball games and barbecues 
have a way of burning you 
well beyond the sun, 
more into the fantasies 
of everlasting daylight 
and fondness, 
without your misplaced home 
or early pregnancy 
or abandoning father 
or drug-laced mother 
or itchy, scratchy sunburn. 

A burn so deep that it  
passes the pool parties 
and overjoyed summer loving, 
past the radio pop 
and the amnesia-inducing cook, 
to the cheeseburger-less nights 
and the cleansing experience 
of not getting a bath but on a monthly basis 
or having to wake a family member on their reclined deathbed. 

The image burned into your eyes like 
a photograph of your little league team 
winning it all 
days before your brother or sister 
drank too much 
and dared to move their car across space, 
space that was never meant to be traversed. 
Summer scents that are less sweet 
that the ice cream dripping down your palm,
sicker than the illness of too much sunshine. 

Burial from this season 
protects your sense that life is perfect, 
agony can hide in the toasting bulb 
in short enough waves to be unseen,
summer sentiments.

Light Show

Maybe it’s my skin, maybe it is the room, but something is making my skin swelter. I lift my gray shirt from my skin and reach my hands to my back. I feel sticky and tight. I toss my shirt to the floor and lift my legs off the bed. I turn my body and make my way to the door. Steam, compressed air, seems to escape with me into the hallway. It’s a quick few steps to the ajar bathroom door. I flip the switch and flick the door shut. The bathroom feels just as warm as my room. The faucet turns with little effort and cool water rushes from the source, splashing droplets of water onto my exposed stomach. Creating a boat with my hands, I capture a tidal wave of chilled liquid. I quickly raise the water to my face and splash the space between my hairline and my neck, slowly dripping down my entire body. I keep my eyes closed as I grab a towel from behind me, my fingers barely reach.

The room feels just as hot as before- hellish. slowly pressing my eyes open, the bathroom lights gather intensity. The mirror opens up to me. I see my eyes; I see the blackness. The hazel ring around the dead zone disappears. All you can see is a contrast of black and white.

I used to think that the darkness in your eyes was a way to see your future, that if you looked close enough you could see what you would become. All I can see is the blackness expanding and the white of my eye turning red. I close my eyes.

I see visions of light dancing, methodically at first, then into long strands of vibrations. I see long lines of words forming and reorganizing. I forget about randomness, and I see the truth in order. I can see how long it takes for these strands to form. I can see how beauty it all turns out. My eyes open.

My hand grasps the top of my head and releases my nails to my scalp, instant relaxation. The darkness slowly relaxes. The heat seems to dissolve into the flooring. Taking a deep breath, I break my concentration with the mirror. I hit the light. I lift my feet quickly and feel the softness of the carpeting in my bedroom. Flipping the light switch, my hand shuts the door in the same second my body hits the bed. I toss my shirt to the floor. I position my head on two of the softer pillows. My blanket twists around my body snugly. My eyes are soft, closing.

Lights continue to dance behind them, making melodies of monster, making methods of the madness.

No Room For Rumors

Words that echo off the walls,
he said, she said, the faintest call.
Where were you when these words rang?
There isn’t enough room for the rumors you’ve sung.
It does sting to have words surround you
without the slightest touch of knowledge.
I bury my head into your conversation,
your life, my life, seem to intertwine
with the he said, she said all the time.
I said this and so on and so on…
A simple game of telephone,
things go wrong and words are misspoke.
These words that echo off the wall
speak to me in a way that disguises it all.

Bus

Bus stop blues,
gum to shoes,
cranked up tunes.

Distance, earth to moon,
get there soon,
child and her red balloon,
hour struck close to noon.

Flowers bloom,
tragedies gloom,
all goes away with the janitor’s broom,
until the next day’s doom
on the bus route.

Bloody

Frothy, dyed liquor Pouring from my vein.

Almost too much

Empties, leaving me drained.

Poisoned and spiked, It shall never grace a glass.

It bubbles and coagulates.

Vampiric tendencies will be

Easily avoided.

I’m rotten all the way to the

Drink inside me.

It pours on the floor and pools,

Creating a figure jumping from its surface.

Mop and bucket for you, living dead.

The liquid is too erosive.

Maybe we should find another way to gather a part of me.

Acid Wash

Tasteless powders,

acidic benevolence on my ridged, moist Tongue.

Seeping and diving into the bloodstream,

The mountains meet the ocean.

Mountains draw down in size from the salts, slowly becoming pebbles.

The ridges and crevices hide the acid wash. I swallow.

The salty waters wash my pallet clean as I slide into purification,

Born into a bodily death moments after my extensive rush of pleasure.

Bury me naked,

Full of natural fossil fuels.

Such a small dose of truth wipes the Weary world away.

I dream with my eyes open,

Seeing one thousand bloodied fairies engaging in folly.

I blind for a moment and lose sight of any reality.

Comatose shields me from existing.

Acid wash wears away.

Tie My Eyes Closed

Attached at needle point, my eyes are slowly and painfully drawn together.

Once they are sealed, the seamstress ties the remaining string into a bow.

Such a wonderfully little present it is to be blinded.

I no longer see the world, instead I jump from my skin and explore it.

My imagination turns virtue into lilacs, pain into astonishing fireworks.

I use my skin as a parachute, cascading down the never-ending slopes of the street.

I burrow into a restaurant’s booth and eat the air for nourishment.

No longer will I waste my time or lose a moment with a blink.

When one turns out the light, the world really can be vibrant. 

Rainy days turn into small galaxies grazing my skin and pavement.

Long outstretched nights turn into a great foreign film that I can play over and over.

The only present I really ever owned is just behind my eye lids.

The string doesn’t play with me like the outside world play with me.

I am their toy.

In my own eyes, I can reside forever is a fruitful and decadent valley.

Sleep use to be my eight hours of joy; Now, I get to live in imagination every single moment.

Come to repair me when these strings do snap.

I want to enjoy my lifelong nap.

Flame Bearer, Word Keeper

Burnt whispers were once free flowing words. Unfolding music quieted by kerosene instruments.

I need donations to help get my ebook published

LINK TO PAYPAL!

I would really appreciate any help!

Wear it around your neck

Trials of charm

wrap around her neck.

Tapered, small things

blame themselves

for being too simple.

Her beauty was a part

of the attire.

Elegance comes at a price.

Sickness

Feeble boy

trapped.

Small room

in a small corner.

Sickness, unknown.

wellness, unknown.

Young boy sits in corner.

Heart beats slower as

times moves.

He could disappear, you know,

somewhere in time.

A small sliver of time

can create a big enough pitfall.

He is weakened and vulnerable to any fall.

He needs his regimented dose.