Tell Me

with shivers I dodge your eyes
withdraw’s cold grip squeezes
you ask the one million dollar question

why?

I cannot begin to fathom the manifestation of my illness
what brings me to make such decisions
a sickness no possession
phantom with no face

I’ve had this gun in my mouth for quite some time
my finger hovers over the trigger
if that mockingbird don’t sing
momma’s going to buy you a diamond ring
but I prefer little rocks

alone even in a crowd
they know my name and they just repeat it
I feel love no longer
my sponge has sprung a leak
incapable of soaking it up it seems

I’ve had this noose around my neck for quite some time
my balance wavers
I lit the flamethrower
aiming it at my field of dreams
I catch the ashes upon my tongue
acquired a taste for soot
my bridges casualties

phantom with no face
crowded rooms
I do not stand
I do not speak
they know my name and they just repeat it

I’ve had this knife in my hand for quite some time
pulse pounding
tell me it will all be alright
I’m afraid to die
I do not need to debate wrong or right

you are my everything
with a lover’s resurrection
you brought me back to life

I throw down the gun
the noose
the knife
I throw down the pills
the bottle
the needle
the pipe

restore me with your faith
rejuvenate me with your praise
look upon me with all your hope
do not give up on me
I’m not dead yet

In the darkest of nights
when all seems lost
remember I am an extension of you
recall me as I used to be
remind me that I am good
convince me that I can change

but most of all
always let me know that I am loved

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Makeup

I’ve started donning my armor again
you proclaimed me a vision without it
but now you’ve fled and I feel exposed
face laid bare as a flower 
plucked of all its petals

he loves me
he loves me not

swollen eyes dip into murky lakes
I wore your memory long enough 
with a few strokes of my brush
I blot away the erosion of heartbreak

maybe I’ll find another 
to stand before naked
maybe he too will see a vision

Tea Leaves

kisses on the breath
tastes of tea leaves left behind
unbearable it seems
to gaze upon your face
beautiful arrangements traced by eager fingers

unbearable I say
used to dim and dank
blinded taking in such a sight
eyes look away when there’s too much light

hunger blooms while tea steeps
you prepare eggs over easy
I prefer coffee with cream
my eggs scrambled yes we differ
palates collide when we’re together

too much
forfeited was my deserving
no light to give in exchange
further questions of your earning

I’ll find my answers in the tea leaves
each sip you take a premonition
another cup an invitation

leaves promenade on your breath
sometimes chai sometimes mint
tea leaves becoming my favorite scent

The Oar


I was born in a cave
the light at the end of it’s womb
an invitation
beyond it a sea of uncertainty

mouth wets with visions of thirst quenched 
reluctant feet stilled 
as toes sink in the sand
slowly she pulls me closer

calling me to her
the ocean undresses 
foaming with a desire
to be sailed upon

I build a rickety boat
detach my arm from my body 
to use as an oar
freedom bringer

my cave now out of sight
I am surrounded
endless

above there is blue
below there is blue
It’s my favorite color
everything begins and ends in it
maybe I will too

thirsty

The Door

I’m held in a room no door
only way out
a needle
the exit sign flickers
as red hues fade

shadow people sing
a siren’s psalm
lulling me to capsize 
my will upon their rocks

all I wanted was a door
all I have are walls

Son Flower

an empty canvas
with melancholy on the tip
she begins to brush
deepest well of black needed
grief her only technique
smeared are his eyes
drawn open by fear

his beautiful coarse hair
so many strokes to achieve
passed down by her
no such thing as a vibrant brown

could have painted him on the slab
instead settled on his room
she’d tuck him in one last time

mother paints son
as he lay on cold steel
gowned in the ugliest of greens
she always thought he looked handsome
in yellow

she’d give him a sun flower
to go behind his ear
adding a hue of light
to the not so vibrant

no more I love you’s
parted lips with departed breath
his mouth demanded more blue
coolness hangs on his spout
no more words to be spoken
a cave of nothingness
in place of a mouth

mother paints her son
longing to paint herself
beside him

Our Place

my funeral is being held
at my favorite coffee shop
somewhere among
the fresh grounds
you’ll find me

suspected there’d be casualties
upon my return
prophecies are served with tea
but I prefer coffee

with cold shoulders led
and thoughts of earthy notes
being ravaged
by keenly attuned buds

I pressed on
with courage frothing
I crossed the plexiglass threshold
just in time to be shot down
by old familiars

with hands possessed by habit
pulled out cash for two cups
how swift to don the cape
of illusion

two cups?

I clutched my reopened wounds
with panic ridden haste
I’d pay and retreat

friendly uninvited banter
with cashier stalled
and a miss deflected
inquiry of you
finished the job

gone now is my reason
for a second serving
rapt by my lack of foresight
it hits me hard in the throat
only single cups from now on

little deaths everyday
pieces of me buried
all over town

Asphalt

do not liken
your hell to mine
apples and razor blades
balance inequitable
the journey to said hell    intimate

separate roads we travel
even if side by side
hazardous to stray    stay in your path
thresholds and tolerance    build
should we exchange shoes
or traverse the hot asphalts
hand in hand

loneliness
the universal fork in the road
alone we suffer    turn right
together we heal    turn left
hotter is the asphalt when standing still

 

Published By Tuck Magazine

http://tuckmagazine.com/2019/01/09/poetry-1910/?fbclid=IwAR1xT7Y35f181areDt-fDLbcgVFFSThsc-pkAkaaJIS2pAjCIiqmf6_ae5U

Couch

eyes become sunken
little bags carrying big emotions
my bed the betrayer
it whispers as I sleep
sugar plumb fairies impaled
on the tiniest of memories

yet to wash the sheets
I let his scent linger
always a mascot for masochism
nostrils fill as eyes swell

dark clouds transfixed
I lose whole moments in the downpour
pillow clutched tightly where his head lay
as though it was the last life jacket
on a sinking ship

so un-plausibly afraid
I’ll soak up the last drop
of a time when he was mine

I find solace upon the couch
only to recall

we were happy there also

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