Still of Night

In the still of the morning 

When the the world is bright a new

Beer glass through window pane 

Is when I think of you 

Tan, yellow, bluish red

Blood sucking vampires when I’m alone in your bed 

A factual impulse

You know it all too well to be true

Where knights and pirates dance a freely 

With hurting knives to few

I know the sun has brought you up 

But so has still of night

Copping cop cars

Fucking models 

If I can ever get that right

Pushing further

Continuum Pandemonium 

Let’s think of you in air 

My fingers shake 

And shake for you 

When I run them through your hair 

Hold me tightly, slowly

Save me from abyss

Further proof that nothing perfect starts without a kiss 

Magnetic magnets

Green to green 

But also there in twos 

Feel it coming

Stop at nothing 

All of this is out of youth 

But time won’t age us

Try it might 

Fuck the bitch who missed her flight

To purposely hurt her 

And the the world sold her

In the still of night

In Color

One but a pained love,

through the night time’s hysteria 

and the day time waves waving us in the right direction 

Please god let him be there 

When I awake in the red light 

Kissed by another 

Lips taken by another 

But you were there and you weren’t mine and you were what I wanted 

In the red light 

Feet elevated on mountain tops and city blocks and neon streets beneath us 

What’s that for I love you? 

Head bending in the sound of cars rushing in the mud of rocks graveling in the lost of day 

I am green for you 

Bloom fuller and greener for you 

Am yellow and bolder for you 

Sink deeper to catch your blue for you 

For you 

I’m me 

Interlude

I’m from Philadelphia; not the city, but close enough, and now I live in Los Angeles. I like the way the heat cooks down on my nearly colorless skin and how ocean waves are only a short brief rapid pace away. I’ll miss the cold and the leaves and the rain from time to time, but I’m largely okay here. It’s different and I’m different and those objects sing well together. I woke up this morning to a similar singing but this time of birds which was the encouragement I needed to have a day existing in positivity. I’ve existed in love for time time time and time again, but now I can kiss the sun instead and that excites me. I’m excited but I’m sullen and I’m sad but I’m sure that will pass like the tree’s shadows. I smoke now and I eat less and milk is in my sphere of avoidance too. But I know I’ll get better because the nausea that comes as a result of those things always passes.

I hate when people don’t tap their cigarettes, especially people who I love and who claim to love me because it makes me feel like they’re not listening. When people don’t listen, how can they really love you? Leaning against a wall painted in caution tape as my granite pitch white pounding furniture, I’ll tell you my story. 

Boom

The nature of the world clocks and ticks in one twos and three fours and fives sixes, but I’m still reluctant to feel the pulse. Dedicated to the craft of my feeling, I’ll lie that I feel just to fit in. But I’m in this space, this headspace outside of my head, and I’m experiencing and there’s smiling and laughing but I’m not really here and I’m not really seeing that. I’m easy at convincing myself. There aren’t patterns to this behavior, so I’ve been told, so beating on is all one can do. There are explosions and those explosions try to inform my truths but always end up warping in a lie. Lies. All over again and beating down lies. Cue the happiness as a light at the end of a seemingly endless tunnel. It’s got no end, there’s no end to this. This is living. This is coping. This is dead people hanging, this is snakes crawling, this is lamps pounding. This is all in my head. And I’m welcoming you there. 

For You

Someone’s eyes can be yellow but not really in color, more in the intimate detail of a hazy memory induced feeling. Like the touch of the small of your back or when you pick me up even though that makes me feel heaven weight and in the inner-workings of my thoughts. I appreciate you and I love you and I wish I knew more clearly when I knew that. That I paid more attention or read you in the ways you read me. You make me feel seen when I can’t really see myself. I find comfort in the way you hold and make the pain become a lone figure on a sunken desert beach. Water reminds me of you sometimes too because of the way it dances even though we don’t dance as much as we should. I want to dance through everything I want to tell you and share with you until our feet hurt and we’re tired and there’s no more room for a suitcase encasement of the unknown. Let me share with you what hasn’t come to be yet. Help me be because the things you know about yourself and about the world make me envious sometimes. I want to be with you in fields and fields of poppies that make us remember instead of forget.

Straight Teeth

She danced about the room like a feather in dry air and her features beamed with liberation and youth. The gray walls became painted pale blues and violets at her expense. Her movements molded the room around her, and it then was hers. Such power she had to make things her own. White sheets draped to the floor solemnly as she sunk into the bed.

The screen falls black and she is somewhere mediocre. Left to right; graffiti done by pens and imbeciles, and a steady yellow flicker of light. The people around her tapped their pencils with angst, but the rhythmic patterns didn’t bother her. Instead, she let them transport her. She didn’t want to be here. And her longing for change was like God’s hand to Adam’s.

Friends picked her up at 4 a.m just to drive. They talk so much without saying anything and make others feel small. The sky is dark and clouds texture the blackness, but to her, the streetlights dance purple. And she says it looks purple.

“It looks purple.” And she is made small. She surrounded herself with people who weren’t as fascinating, and she was compromised.

Marbled and distorted colors danced above her head as a record played; something trashy. She took a sip and it burned going down. The room overflowed with chaos and commotion, but she remained completely still. The noise was splintering and loud, yet she heard only smooth, steady pulses. Nothing more than soft whispers.

“Get up, girl. You’re missing the party.” Her green eyes gave him a velvety smile.

“You know I’d rather be here.”

“You’re mad.”

Days later he was looking into those green velvet eyes and caressing the small of her back. It’s funny how Picasso's paintings sold for nothing at the beginning of his career. He didn’t understand that his art was worth so much more than a price named by a white man with straight teeth and big money.

Large snakes in glass cages made a good backdrop for rebellion. You’re at a zoo, you can monkey around. Hand in hand they ran and he had devils liquor in him and her eyes were bloodshot and glossy. Snakes slithered and dirty sneakers skid to closets and soon enough they were lost together until they were found.

But she was still alone. No one knew what or who she had gotten into, but here she was. In her bathroom. Thick red. Thick and black and blue and red and in pain. White stained red. Red light on green eyes and pale skin, but always and utmost red.

The world beat down on her like she beat down on herself. Pounding down on the glass figurine that they were used to seeing right through; pounding down until she shattered. They told her late at night when all she needed was some love, some hope, some reassurance, that she was made up of her poor decisions and nothing more. But she had ideas. She had ideas that flowered into bigger ideas and built up and up into a tall, tall tower that eventually came crashing and crumbling and baning down. But the paint of her artificial smile stayed intact.

So she carried on with her ways. Her room was lit dim now and the air was hot and dense. And she remembered kissing at a party.  She remembered crowds of white kids with straight teeth and big money yelping desperately, “the youth will always win”. And it hurt. And it was painful, but she always felt that pain; it had always been there. She looked at herself in her mirror with heavy heart and loss of breath.

She traced her silhouette on that mirror to try to decide who she was. And she saw herself but she didn’t understand what she was seeing. And she didn’t know what to do so she took light and took it fast and burned a hole in the skin that was touched by too many.

She asked herself, “What is it you plan to do with your wild and precious life?”

And she realized she wouldn't have to feel anymore if she ended it.

The room was spinning as she reached that snow white hand into the cabinet to take a bottle. Tears mangled her vision and she felt herself becoming weak. She let herself break down. She had cracked, and this time, she was too fragile, too tired, to0 lost to put her own pieces back together.

She took something for herself; something she would never give back. And the world grew to miss her light and they acknowledged it was there for a change and realized how they’d done her wrong.

A grey hand draped to the floor solemnly as her corpse sank into the bed.