chicago

Distance seems to be a pleasant torture-

the kind that we endure with a constant

sharp 

and cruel 

pain.

For the sake of desire.

Changing my perception is only enough to keep me

from seeing you at the borderline.

Never enough to stop the knife in my gut from twisting

But if i tuck my head under the weight of the truth

i can barely even see you-

until I come back up for a breathe of air

Then the welling in my stomach moves up to my chest and I still cannot breathe-

because the realization that I am not with you

is more toxic than holding my breath waiting for you to return.

Detoxification spews from my eyes

and it rolls down my face but I am still silent

For loving you- and you loving me

is just enough to get me by

I find solace that I have you

at a distance

rather than not have you

at all.

Alley

It starts as the feeling of mourning,
Or better yet, the feeling of loss.
Loss of freedom
Independence
Safety
Innocence

Then it forms a conscious
And it tells you it's all your fault.
A
Sense of guilt.
A
Sense of hate.

Inward and onward bound,
The wrath of the shame has no boundaries.
Infinite
in the cycle of fault

Stitching yourself together
Day after day
Because the things that used to be ok are no longer alright
And every action feels like its pulling at your seams
Sometimes, it feels like blood is gushing from the wounds
And your skin feels swollen and sore from the stitches
But they aren't really there
And you know that
But it doesnt make them any less real

So
you start to cover the stitches with neosporin
So that they won't itch you during the day
And sometimes you almost forget they are there
Until someone gets too close and rips one open with a simple hug or touch on the arm...

The feeling of loss resurfaces
And the need to blame someone for this-
Returns.
It burns like a fire. And you can feel it right below the surface of the skin-
It's hot and it begins to bubble.

I hate that you feel this,
Because I feel it, too.

Quote Me

Beauty lies in only the most evil of eyes.

Shaken, not Stirred

Why can't you feel it, too?
Don't you see that there is danger here?
There are people everywhere, people pretending to be people, but they aren't people.
I'm not bothered
I'm alert
I'm afraid
I'm shaken

I'm not stirred

I see these faces, and they aren't smiling faces
They aren't real faces either.

One foot in front of the other, keep it moving-
There isn't much further to go- I know that because I can hear the feedback from the mic-
check check check from the artist who thinks he's an artist because he imitates an artist-
flattery, right?

I hold onto the sleeve of my shirt because I feel like the wind that is blowing may rip me out of my own skin. I can hear that I am breathing, but am I really breathing if it sounds like I'm screaming and not breathing?

Everyone pushes forward in a line that isn't moving and my personal space becomes their personal space and I wish I could be in space... where nobody else is.

Here comes the guilt- the guilt that I should be smiling- grinning ear to ear- even though that's how close we are now- standing EAR TO EAR- because we're suppose to be enjoying this moment- together.

I have to go- I say- I have to go home- and so you hand me the key. The key to happiness is that you can't take your key to leave- the key is to forget your key so you stay.

My fingers are numb now but it isn't cold. My fingers are numb, because I can't loosen my grip on this key or my shirt sleeve, and I think how I wish I could be numb myself. I grow jealous of my fingers, but only for a moment because-

Now you're mad. You're mad at me because I'm a freak and I can't stop being jealous or scared or whatever it is that you think I am- and I'm mad that you're mad because I'm not a mad man- I

I just want to be protected from this place- this place and these people who are pretending to be people but aren't really people-

You're the only one who knows me- really knows how fucked up this place in between my ears really is- the only one who knows me because I don't see a friendly or familiar face- the only one who knows me because you can see this turmoil building up even though it's silent-

but you can't protect me, because you don't want to protect me- you want to protect yourself from having to protect me


because I'm always shaken
Something is always wrong
and the weary grow weary of the those who are weary
and the only thing I can say is I'm sorry

wounded

a few words escape from the hole in your face

and my brain forgets the track that it was racing on

i had a list for you

a list of things i had told myself i didn't deserve

i had organized them and labeled them in my mind 

rated by importance

i had a strong argument and

i knew this time you would hear me

and you would understand 

the liquidation of my broken soul that was pouring

out of my mouth

i just knew you would

but you didn't

and i think i'm addicted to the dissapointment

i wonder if i'll ever know what it would feel like if---

no time for that kind of thought.

it'll only lead to more hoping

and more dissapointment

yet i hold onto you

like you're covered in gorilla glue

i hold onto the thought that

maybe one day you'll hear me

because the voice in my head has been screaming

for so many years

screaming to tell you that you're mean

that you're not welcome here because you know how to wound me

and that voice- it knows why you do it

the voice understands why you're so mean

so when those words spill out of the hole in your mouth

she sits back and says "he cant help it, he just cant hear you"

and she withdrawls

she surrenders

and i do too