stuck in this box with
no windows, just
dusty vents and these
fluorescent lights are making me weak.
cant pay attention to
portugese dialects when that boy
with curly hair and a heart that reads
i love kansas city kitty
keeps sniffling.
talks of Tuskegee and syphilis
gibberish
white walls are drab
I want to paint like Dali
this clock with century old ticks and
tocks that spread for miles
thinking of jumping bones
and tearing you apart
i like my men a little bit older
anything for danger and
sense of adventure
lets wreak havoc because
i really like your hands
want to have them on me
I wont tell if
I wont tell if
I wont tell if im not asked.

waiting in line for
a bleeding light to heal
turning signals slice silences
while fingering a hole in my jeans
and listening to your steady breathing
is proving to be more dangerous than
i had anticipated.
you steering that wheel bothers me
while i like to fly you,
you drive so incredibly slow
with bitching about the mundane
fighting off a bad case of laughter
and you are just ridiculous and i,
i just cant stand you anymore.

inhale, slowly exhale
dialated pupils then
dimming lights and
locking doors for
swallowing whole
tranquilizers the size
of Washington.
colors shifting shapes
and sounds tickling my face,
I am being touched
with foreign fingers and
sweaty palms.
rhythmic movements and
finger prints etched in flesh,
tracing continents
manifested in dreams, so sweet,
over hills of shoulder blades
flexing, keeping time,
to the beat ive grown to hate.
sorrows washed down
with a hande, the handle
on my life. its not that im alone,
just lonely
Im okay, always have been.

I want to be what people write about in songs
I want to be someone fun
I want to be famous for something i did really well
I want to love deeply and be deeply loved
I want to be vivacious
I want to be happy to get up in the morning
I want to see everything there is to see
I want to experience everything there is to experience
I want to meet the people that are really worth meeting
I want to go on a life changing adventure
I want to be witty and smart
I want to be beautiful; inside and out
I want to accomplish something BIG
I want to be passionate about something, no anything
I want to feel like i belong somewhere, anywhere
I want to meet YOU.

I asked you not to leave
got down on my knees
i begged you, you waited
said you were my only hope
and slowly sank as you retreated.

i woke up in a bed that wasnt mine, in a house i couldnt recognize, in a city foreign to me. What is this place? i feel a pressure, unlike anything ive ever experienced and a fleeting thought; am i dead? or is this living?

I left my stomach on the floor as i climbed up the stairs. this isnt right. where have i gone? i can hear noises; laughter and screams all at the same time. there is nobody else in this house. the noise is inside of me.

at this point, i am convinced that i have finally lost my mind, but can it be? i remember this couch. this couch that you and i layed on for so many sleepless nights. I remember this painting. i worked on this for days, trying to put feelings into paint. Looking at this emotionless piece of work is intolerable. i remember wondering if i could express emotion at all. These things are familiar, yet so foreign.

I walk down the hall, fingertips grazing plaster and eyes searching for something to make me understand. the light at the end of the hall is on, and i hear a ticking. a clock maybe? yes, it is the old grandfather clock i once owned. but it was lost in the fire, this cant be the same one.

At the end of the hall is a room, with a closed wooden door, painted red. I try to open it, but its stuck. I recognize this. this is a childhood home. The door finally gives in to the weight of my shoulder and i am falling down into darkness.

falling
falling
falling

im not sure when i closed my eyes, because when you are surrounded by so much dark it is hard to know whether or not your eyes are open, but when i finally opened my eyes there was so much light i couldnt even stand to open my eyelids all the way. I was laying down, and more comfortable than i have ever been.

something soft, and moist enveloped my body, but i still couldnt see because it was so damn bright. my eyes finally adjust and i can see that it is tall tall tall grass all around me. I try to sit up but i am so comfortable. i can hear birds chirping and a stream. I can feel the warmth of the sun on my skin and i realize that i am naked. I am not embarassed because i am beautiful and this place is beautiful and everything feels so right. i can feel it; this is what ive been waiting for, this is where i belong.

when i finally get to my feet, i recognize this beautiful magical place as MY meadow. I am suddenly sad because now i understand that this is only a dream, and i will surely wake at any moment.


i didnt want to get out of bed this morning. i only wanted to sleep, maybe if i keep sleeping i can make my way back to my own personal paradise. maybe in death i will end up there. maybe only in life can we dream of such things. all i know is that i want to be there, in my meadow; feeling and being beautiful forever.

Friends Within The Darkness


I can remember starving in a
small room in a strange city
shades pulled down, listening to
classical music
I was young I was so young it hurt like a knife
inside
because there was no alternative except to hide as long
as possible--
not in self-pity but with dismay at my limited chance:
trying to connect.

the old composers -- Mozart, Bach, Beethoven,
Brahms were the only ones who spoke to me and
they were dead.

finally, starved and beaten, I had to go into
the streets to be interviewed for low-paying and
monotonous
jobs
by strange men behind desks
men without eyes men without faces
who would take away my hours
break them
piss on them.

now I work for the editors the readers the
critics

but still hang around and drink with
Mozart, Bach, Brahms and the
Bee
some buddies
some men
sometimes all we need to be able to continue alone
are the dead
rattling the walls
that close us in.

Charles Bukowski

sing to me hymns of disdain
sweet morning star
hold me close and rip away at my flesh
uneasy whispers of gratitude
uttering promises unkempt
breathe your lies into me
tell me what you need
and tear me apart while you're here.

the moon is my lover
where she goes, i follow
she strokes my face
tendrils wrapped around my heart
when she is near
i inhale and swell
she is robust tonight
reaching down to me
she longs to walk side by side
with me down the street
i extend my arm
aching to touch
she is just out of reach
the moon is my lover
and tonight she is so close.

i draw these lines in the sand, lines i watch crossed daily. hoping that maybe one day i will meet someone that finds me worth the wait on the other side. im waiting for that day to come, the day i look up and smile, the day that i can reach across, pull someone over the line. when i can truly say, thank you for saying no.

how is it that a person who is living can feel so dead? days like today used to make me smile. they used to give me that 'everything is going to be okay' feeling. is it bad that i know i should be happy, but i just cant seem to smile? i feel so inhuman. i find myself sitting perfectly still for hours at a time and i have to remind myself to do things that make myself seem normal to the people around me.

shift your body weight to the other foot.
move the hair out of your face.
move your head every few minutes.
redirect your gaze every so often.
scratch your arm.
do anything that makes you look alive.

am i dead on the inside? why cant i function?

you know when you are just so happy you think you might burst? like sunshine is just about to explode out of your fucking chest and illuminate the darkness all around you? Like you cant stop smiling so wide that your cheeks ache? and when you just feel like laughing because everything is so hilarious and wonderful? and when you feel so light you might fly away if the wind blows at you from the right direction?

that feeling doesnt live here anymore.

i remember the faint sound
of ice clinking on glass.
i remember the bitter taste
of vodka tonic; sliding down,
coating my insides.

oh blissful black out,
how i enjoy your company.

it doesnt matter,
it is always the same.
you were probably lousy anyways,
my less than mediocre lover.

the humidity is so bad i feel like i am drowning.
watching clouds move so fast they seem angry,
and people shuffling past
and eating a cheesburger with no taste
and watching the planes take off,
wishing i could replace a passenger
off to a foreign land
start fresh.
Its getting hard to breathe
and im choking on this air
this water thick air that
sags around me
and this pressure
that pushes me so far down
i cant move or breathe,
this hell of mine.


"Do you think there's such a thing as a ghost who masquerades as a person? Do you believe that there are people whose bodies are still alive here on earth but whose souls are already in hell?"