Fingers

his hands still stained red
as he ran south
looking for the sky to open up
or the ground to suck him in.

her last words,
"I've missed you,"
could have never been enough
to hold back any pure jealousy.

he held her with the hand that read HATE
and hit her with LOVE
he hit her with love
he hit her
he held her
and he hit her.

Loveless and lifeless
she fell to the floor
as the blood ran down his hands
along the knuckles on his fingers
to his fingertips and off
dripping to the floor
with her.

there was just no beauty
left in her face
and he wasn't sorry for making it worse.

he didn't realize he had carried her this far,
all the way south,
until he noticed his fingernails still stained.
she tried to hide underneath
but he scraped her out
or what was left
and swallowed her down.

ran down and brought in
days later
his only excuse,
"Love and hate can be tied too closely for a simple man."
as he bit at his fingernails.

The Base of Your Neck

Your blood spills into rain
in a small form of pure destruction
your own,
you're on your own
single seed which I wrote about planting
and filled with love
we see so pure
but destroyed by the media you read
or just your small mind which understands it

In time we live
and this time has passed from missing
to wishing for an end
maybe to what was
maybe to you all together
or maybe to the awful thoughts which come less frequently
now, if at all
or when I held your hand through your last breath
as if a future can be held

Now is the future I was promised
many months ago and I am glad to be breathing
without your life support.
Now there is not loneliness,
because that can be solved by other "lovers,"
more of regret and bits of hate
for myself
for being unknowing, unthoughtful, unwilling
to realize the truth
ignorant to fall
for something so young and sad

I'm sure we could make a painful list of many things
I hate about who I was, or you were
but I've narrowed it down to
crying
and
honesty,
as a man
I have learned to live without both


In this life now
I learn
I have tattooed your life
and I am deeper than your skin
silently I can still creep up inside you
like a wanting for those drugs you take
but hardly speak of
and I am sorry if these words are rude
or if you were expecting more,
there is no human more than me
yes,
I am the boy all those singers sing of
so keep listening to my song

Hands

This is where they built the trees
inside
and growing roots through your feet
You told me they don't need watering
and my hands shook them dry
dusty
cracked
hard

My hands can't shake out
all your roots
in their need
to be planted
in the firmest soil
to turn you in
and still make you beautiful

My hands covered
in dirt
can't dig this hole
so deep to keep you stable
from blowing in the storm
but they bleed to try

Your roots have been exposed
to the air
without water
or soil
for so long
spilling from your body
and now these hands were forced
to build
a city
around you
with tall walls
and skyscrapers
A place for you to live
but never leave

or at least not without
the destruction of what
my hands have built
an awful city
to hide the truth
just because we know
you'd prefer it
to stay hidden
and rotting
refusing
the help of my hands
to plant you again
and let you grow

My hands have built what grows from your feet
to your mouth
and now they bleed again
in anticipation
to plant you deep
in a far corner of the woods
away from your polluted city
where we'll pray to hear you whisper again
in hope
and happiness
and love
and nothing else.

Or Because

There is evil inside you
and death
not forward or obvious
but creeping
through cheated lips
wanting
or waiting
to hurt someone
hurt him
or
rather me

Trapped and wishing
for discontinued voices
pseudo strong
and never letting on
because you
or
I
could eat the meat of her heart
if only to stay alive
for a few more
seconds
like when
a head is severed
to feel the pain

You are not here to save me
I am not so sweet
You are not here to save me
I am not so safe

Not healthy
or so destructive
to start
hating
before the injury
or assume
without direction
as the sun sets south
you are lost

Cliche and under appreciated
as a boy speaks
the words of a genius
or
once again
I speak
how I am not me
or drowning
in your scent
during
sweaty sex
with a ghost
or a drug
I haven't mentioned
your name to

I have not let you save me
assuming I might need it
because I am
a monster
man made in fear
due to other monsters

or because

You are not so sweet
You are not so safe
or
should I say I?

Lies like Pangaea

There is a back to everything
like what you sleep on
after attempts at disappearing
sick of hauls.

I've been sick for weeks
wishing you were
coughing up blood stained with my name.
But
forgotten and dead.

I don't want to hate
when I am never there
or
however
when you can't believe
the direction of the wind
blowing out the fire
and building walls
for
I think you are a liar.

New and used
in each night
like dark skin
impressed with foreign lips
and big eyes.

Sick sick sick
of pretending
to be an island
but I am
an island more like
Pangaea
wanting to be connected
together and whole.
No distance I can't run to
no oceans in between.

U.S.A. and Australia
parted and distant
at least not at war with each other
however far
so I cannot run
and I will not travel
because I am sick.

Two More

I was cleaning my room yesterday, preparing to move out and I found some old stuff I wrote. I think these two work well together. These were both probably written somewhere around 6 months to a year ago. It's late, I'm tired, but this is still happening. I'm keeping these in my back pocket to maybe look over and edit later but this is them right now. They didn't have titles until just now.


The Ground

I know I will keep
coming back to you
but I could never be the one
to pick you up and force a take off.
Because you've loved too many
before me.
And your heart's
all rusted and mine's all cracked.
Like plow trucks and pavement
always scrapping against each other.
It might be another six months
but I always know I'll see you
again.
Again when it gets cold.
Like the snow returning to the ground.
I'll be the snow
returning to the ground.
We both know I'll melt
away and leave you alone.
Just the sun to keep you warm.
I am not the sun. No, I am not the sun.







Crucified Couples

Everyone's always asking how we're doing
when they're passing out drinks.
But my girl spends her time in the bathroom
and on the ride home
she says the lights are too bright.

Everyone hates what shes become
but we can't stand everyone's expectations
and we won't pick them up,
like dog shit.

I got a degree but work for free.
I show respect for garbage men and construction workers.
Making something outta nothing.
My girl only likes me
because I pay her for the drinks
she brings me.
My friend's girls are having babies
they can't afford, because they always
gotta fuck when they're drunk.

Life's not a sitcom, it's an after school special.
It's so special because everyone dies.
Crucifixion, lies, addiction, highs, masked intention.

Advice

Everyone seems to have their own opinion about what I should do with my life. I haven't heard a solid one yet.