Not Breathing
  it's deaf here underwater. and it's crushing my ears. but this sea of abandoned things has kept me for so long, and keeps me warm, a little, and churns me into aloneness; a familiar bed that consoles the panic, and makes me believe that i'm closer to myself with nothing between deafness. and if i'm not breathing, then i can't hear myself. and that's the only thing that's still real to me. as long as i can float within each sigh, i'll still stay alive in the life of my aloneness.
  You'll Tear Me Away From You
  cup your precious hands together once again and dip them into the shimmering waters of my soul. and bring my liquid heart to your mouth once again. i feel the effects of unstable content. you making a fist. remember what's in your hands. but how can i feel better, when despair and delight share the same lips. and how can i feel better again? how can i feel better ever again? you will tear me away from you again.
  these days hope rides an empty shell. and i know this feeling only too well. if a word could have changed where i am now, then i'd wish if it were. dreams hang in frailty, and glimmer out of reach. the threads of imagination - thinner than air. i'll be happy when i am. and i'll be sad when i am.
  my room as still as an eye, like the candlelit mind i keep it in, has soaked up so much of me. burning like a familiar flame. memory after memory. the floor's molded over with wax from endless thoughts dripping down from me. tiled walls as empty as they are, and as wet as they've been, stare flush against me. seeing the same naked prayer. seeing the same naked hope. memory after memory.
  I Dream We Are Blind
  when i remember my eyes turn inside and back. sightless me not a clue how to see anything ahead but when you told me that i was living a mistake, you nailed my eyes shut with thorns. see? nothing here.
  the cold hands i used to know are gone. and the tingling uncomfort i used to savor was lost a long time ago. all the innocence of inexperience and discovery has flattened out into stale familiarity. sometimes, when i remember the beauty of newness, the face then unmarred by bitterness and instability, i sink into the pool of blissful sighs and choke myself to death, knowing that, sometimes, strangeness can never be recaptured.
  finger lifted to the rim of my eye. "i know i'll never..." and i had said the few things that i wanted; that, we all agree, frees our soul. because no one ever wanted a memory to chain them to a word left unfulfilled. and all sentences said, the images collect in my head of spirit parting from lips. did they ever land? did they ever land? could you ever hear what i said? did they ever land? did my heart ever break the bounds of this stupid body and soar for what it was meant? did they ever land?
  Swimmer In A Well
  little grey things hung weakly within trust and understanding have let me down again. surrendered, "oh, you blackness, i'll unfold my arms, and then you can take all of this." the ocean of love is salted with misfortune. the quilt of content, sewn with humanness. i'd say this air were empty, and that'd sound so sad, but this air is huge and wide, and filled with engravings. floating like ash. sad reminders spread far and wide, so i can never breathe again with out remembering. little grey things lapping jerkily down at me divide trust and understanding. God, let there be something some where.