Chronic Whip Cream

Most of the time I order things that come with 

whip cream just for the whip cream.

I think you might be catching onto me. 

That I am always casting my eyes around, 

trying to peer inside of things that don't have insides.

I think I've misplaced a piece of me on the streetcar 

and I am hoping that when it returns to me, 

it will tell me all it has seen.

I am emotionally invested in all the wrong stocks. 

I've fallen in love with tangible items that will

never love me back, this might be the easiest kind of love.

I cannot see the MTV moon man from my balcony, 

but I squint and try real hard.

The notifications that come to my phone, 

notify me others are dancing and making 

funny faces no where near me.

I am a chronic snacker, 

large meals are daunting and demand attention. 

My focus is fleeting and I can't love the macaroni the way you do.

Milkshake Quake

please eat this cheeseburger

i feel sorry for your bones

they do not feel the weight

of life upon them

they rattle in the wind

a sordid song

please drink this milkshake

to make the bones

quit their quaking

and leave specks of
your nail polish under
my pillow so i know you'll keep coming back

The Shore of Myself

seashells crumple

like loose sheets of paper

under the pressuring

swollen mind

down they float

out of my skull

into my stomach

corroding all that i love

the shore of myself

beats along the current

that you've provided

my ultimate demise

you've electrocuted me

Be Cool Unto Me

This thoughtlessness envelops me when I am with you and I can't help but think of it as... It's reckless and fast and fleeting and absolutely perfect. I spent a while trying to figure out it's mechanics. I've made up useless math to add and subtract the immense feelings I have, but there is no logic to my… It is irrational and toxic but entirely beautiful. We manage to create and destroy each other every time, without fail, and as much as I need to be comforted I want to be seduced and dismantled. Love's blade has decided to fall across me and I am in no way fearless as I am triumph against its coolness.

Be cool unto me, so that I in return can make you hot.

Hot Licorice Pieces

His lips changed into a deep red and flushed with heat and while I kissed him I couldn't help but think of hot licorice pieces. I wanted to keep him at the tip of my tongue for as long as I could, I liked the way we seemed almost attached with our faces so close. We created our own kind of heartbeat with movements and touching and synced breathing as if we were one human unit. I liked his hot whisper on my skin, the wetness writing a scripture on my hips, the climax heightening towards the final word. My body silently begging for more and him responding as if we had in fact practiced this dance. There was a certain kind of serenity that formed in the act of shedding our clothes and morphing. I liked the nakedness and now it's not the same and the licorice pieces have all gone cold and I am waiting for you to come home and write another chapter under our sheets.

Half in the Bag, Aerial View

the aerial view of my bedroom shows the stack of books beside my bed that i am meaning to read. there is a pile of clothes on the floor, close enough to the hamper and close enough to the closet that from this angle you won't be able to make out if they are clean or dirty. i often wish this was a pile of your clothes instead of mine. my desk, cluttered with paper and pencils, is a canvas of it's own accord. it draws you in like a game of 'I Spy' and you'll try to make out the names of the crayons, if you squint you might make out the 'blue-green'. My sheets from up here look as if there is a current to them, as if a rushing of slumber and passion engulfed the shore, lapping up close to the pillow cases. an oasis of thought and sleep, a half in the bag day dream of all that makes me.

Building's Heaving Guts

the building slightly heaves with all of the people living inside of it's belly. the walls absorb the chaos of those who fight and those who love inside of it. the creaking of the beds signal both passion and aggression and the muffled sighs are always left open ended. the walls stretch their ears in the night for a glimpse of nightmare. the building shelters people from the weather and each other. people stay put, waiting for things to settle. dust flakes from the interior of the structure and falls into glasses of water, on to tops of heads, and into boots left discarded by locked doors. the building is full, feeling queasy. the people rush to and fro, eagerly trying to escape all the while coming back. the building heaves with all of it's residents inside it's guts. 

Encouraging the Burn

Disconnected pieces,

from the same fragile things,

trying to erase the madness

but these kind of stings

linger and stay, they seem

to leave a stain and when the

flood gates open there is

surely no reasoning...

For the tide is high and always

changing, for the elements

are forever deceiving. And

there is no means to an end

while we're here, patrons in a

deathly scare, an audience begging

to look a different way,

we're circulating in this tailspin.

And while the mayhem continues

to unfold we try to harbor

mixed emotions in the centerfolds

of old photo albums we're

encouraging ourselves to burn.

Airborne

words sit perched on the tip of my tongue, 

and into the cold world. lifted by a slight exhale, 
we see these words flutter to a spark
that rests within the lining of your coat. 
i pray for my words to linger there long enough 
to ignite and send the exact meaning of what i am trying 
to confess throughout your body. 
my words, airborne and alive, 
search within your warmth for a spot to untangle 
it's punctuation and truly come alive.

Artist and Tenant

i'd like to trace a map

on your skin with the

tip of my finger. it sounds

like this has been done before

but not with your skin, and

not with my finger. we ought

to create this picture.

i'd like to etch a canvas

of vast wonders and rolling

hills on the curve of your

shoulder blade and create this

every lasting river that would work

it's way through the buckles

of your spine. i want to draw

these feverish trees 

that would outstretch to grasp your own

arms, a companionship. i want to

live in the picture, be warmed

by your warmth. i want to be the

artist and the tenant. i'd

like for you to carry this picture

around under your clothes and bring

it back to me to further explore.

i want to find pieces of you

finding pieces of me and

then our fingertips could create

a different kind of picture,

a mix matched image of each other.

Painfully Passionate

i fled my own train of thought becuase i knew the rails were leading to a brick wall that looked a lot like your calloused hands. i feared your video game tactics and the way you could manipulate my body to forget what my heart and brain were screaming. my pulse lied, quickened in rapid succession, blurring my mind to reel in what could've possibly been pain or passion. i've always been painfully passionate about you. the idea caused a rubber necking affect, and i surely had put my neck on the line one too many times for you. a tell tale sign of masochistic tendencies did brew like a pot of burnt coffee on my countertop nexted to my stale depiction of us.

You Look As If You Don't Believe in the Beach

You look as if you don't believe in the beach. 
You've got an indicative tone with the way 
you consult the sky and how you try to define 
it's line where it may or may not meet the edges of the world. 
There is a constant shifting being applied to everything
 you hear as if the world is out to get you.

An overcautious prowl with a quick whip attitude

you go looking for trouble, get into trouble, stay in trouble.

There is a pocket full of questions, the right side of your jeans.

You debate the jean vs. gene theory with yourself.

You tell me all of your concerns.

There are a lot of concerns.

You doubt your existence.

And mine.

The forced attention on the beauty

within yourself is fading quickly.

Your attention is demanded elsewhere.

You demand to be elsewhere.

Where beaches don't exist.

And you can play in the concrete. 

Shaker Full of Mixed Emotions

A thunderous feeling rolls in just behind the temples and as if its an expert in Morse code it sends tiny vibes throughout the mind telling the body to react. A wave of indifference shocks the system causing an instant recoil. Contemplation creeps up the spine and forces the shoulder to edge forward. Knees shake, a personal quake, and bring the body down to a slump. The angel and devil combo, that once rested on the perch of shoulders, now battles in the gut and costs the body an arms worth of mental anguish. The body strives for a certain company, longs for rain without an umbrella, but the mind and it's logic beg for shelter. A constant dog pile of thought and feeling. A shaker full of mixed emotions and not a single cocktail glass in sight. 

Froth From Your Words

The manipulation is stronger than salt here but burning the wounds just the same. There is pain in the words as they froth from your mouth and into my direction. I can feel the weight of that froth on my skin and soon it'll cool and stain and I will be reminded of such malice every time I look in the mirror. I've been avoiding my reflection because of the place you have decided to settle behind my eyes. I can't help but see little flecks of you in my complexion. You've become a sort of virus, attaching yourself to the likes of me. I am trying to become unlikeable in spite of you so that I can carry myself, alone, and you in a brief case. A case, that I can see myself so clearly, taking to the overpass and letting it fly like a fourth of July rocket and you will no longer be artificially noble to me. 

Covered in Pent Up Static

a dark cloud rolls in and your presents is italicized by the way my entire body revolts our must-have interaction. i recoil into myself, keeping all ill-mannered words at bay because the ruining of you would in fact ruin me, i'm trying to be a bigger person. the veil of immense discomfort envelopes me and i'm pleading with a morbid mailman to send me on my way because i can't be here without getting myself into trouble over you. i'm secretly sending daggers in your direction with my mind but the contours of my cranium are covered in static of pent up anger that i think by the time they land on your awful hair style they are no sharper then a toothpick. my mind is as powerful as a cupcake when inflamed in an energy so toxic, i am probably causing myself internal bleeding.  i am bartering with any super natural force that will hear me out and help you vanish from my life, however i think they might been a little too keen on the entertainment my self loathing is providing them while you continue to linger in the spotlight of my day. sometimes i wish my days were like a Shakespearean play and we could all just die with great creativity, and i would have a soliloquy telling the audience just how much pain you are causing me.

Unconcerned Concerns, Concerning You

i am beginning to be unconcerned with the concerns that once concerned me, and this in itself can be awfully concerning. i am not considering the weight of such entanglements to be daunting as a bear trap that everyone seems to make them out to be. i understand the pros and cons of life and that every up in fact has a down, but that's gravity, i am beginning to be unconcerned with gravity as well, i guess. the concerns that concern us don't consider us in the matter, they create blunders and pressure when we cannot demand to be left alone. i am disregarding the concerns that weigh me down, that keep me up at night, that create the sort of lurking feeling. i am beginning to be unconcerned with the concerns that once concerned me and this doesn't concern me whatsoever.

Won't You Snack on Me

sometimes i think our life is like a bowl of popcorn and the only thing keeping us together is the lightness of it's structure. other times we're like a bag of chips and everything is crumbling and we're all full of air but then we deflate and the lightness returns. i prefer when we're like a bowl of pretzels, all twisted up in each other. sometimes we feel half full and i realize that one of us is more involved in the other and devouring everything we've created, there is a lightness in this as well, but unlike the fluff i feel suffocated in the uncertainty of a refill. your mouth is like a soft drink and can make me pop and fizz. food for thought, won't you snack on me?

Mermaids for Adidas, Mermen for Wrist Watches

Acidic mermaids day dreamed 

about wearing Adidas while polishing

their scaly tales on a hunk of rock,

shaped like a nipple, just above the

water. While mermen sloshed about

just below the rock's crust under the water, 

waiting to maul their accomplishments with 

their Triton tongues. For mermen day dreamed

of wearing watches, but the fancy kind with a date

stamp and compass, not the all inclusive waterproof

brand that would further entrap them within their

watery existences. Acidic mermaids dreamed of

layups and mermen wanted so badly to splash them

with court side puddles.  Mermen wanted the opening

and closing of legs while mermaids were willing to

split their tails in no time. Everyone with different agendas

while wearing shoes and watches. 

Highlighting The Human Condition

streaks of light come through the window and i'm not sure why they chose to be here. if i was light i would frolic where the colours are waiting for me to stroke them alive. these streaks of light coming through the window are only heating my depression and i'm not sure i could get any more uncomfortable. i want to ask them, what is your purpose? are they in fact tiny particles on a class trip, highlighting the human condition and lightly laughing at the words: fetal position. streaks of light come through the window and i don't have the will power to roll over to the other side of the bed where your shadow lies.