This Passion

I've always adored
glistening morning caresses
bathed in waves of
sun soaked smiles.

We embrace champagne
moon whispers
remembering the gentle
pink evening dreams.

Opening your soul
to the pleasure of naked kisses...

Craving for a passion....
electric shocks....

I've felt it once or twice
the passion you speak of
and I embrace it with every ounce
of my being.

This passion.

In case anyone cares....

In case anyone cares,
I'm very angry.

Check out my case file number 54678
Drugs.
Abuse.
Assault.
Torture.
Death.
Kraft Dinner.

It's all right there....
"talk about what you're feeling"
a man in a brown suit with an
obvious eating disorder.
Like he's in any position.

Put him in a chair with a notebook,
slap a price tag on it
and call it therapy.

"I feel much better now"

Time to face the world.

Pain killers

P a i n k i l l e r s

pain killers

PAIN KILLERS

Pain Killers.

Pain.

Killers.

Will work for food.

A sign, written with a borrowed pen.

She didn't see,
she walked on, head down,
as if making eye contact
would engulf her in flames.

Black shadows and dark stains
in every alley, on every corner.

So accustomed to the pain,
we close our ears, minds and hearts.
Just don't make eye contact.

Change the channel.

I've got no time for this,
I'm going to have a walk with my dog....

I would rather throw it in the garbage.
I would rather be ignorant.

I have chosen to be silent,
sparing you the responsibility and me the pain,
of seeing another person
turn to stone.

Blue Embrace....

In Honour of Your Soul

I didn't cry at your funeral.

I think I was the only one.

I walked in the front doors of the parlour, everyone looking at me - silent, expecting.
The air was heavy and damp.

"Would you like a tissue darling," asks my aunt's cousin's mother's sister.

The absence of tears making everyone uncomfortable.....
"why isn't she crying?"

I told myself to be strong. Be strong for those who could not be strong for themselves.
Be strong like you would want me to be....

Hold their hands,
Pat their backs,
Tell them everything will be okay even though I know that's a lie.

I held your hand that day, and lay my head on your shoulder for comfort.
Nobody knew you were there but me.....I could smell you in the air.

I wore white that day....to honour your soul - my soul, my heart. It rained all the way home.

I didn't cry at your funeral.

A Brick

A brick moved into my apartment last week.

The doorbell rang and when I answered it there it was. It got inside before I could close the door.

It sat with me while I watched "Jerry Springer" and shouted insults at the screen.
"Can you believe those white trash bitches?", it asked with a smirk.

I got up and got it a drink. It sat on my lap, cold and heavy.

That night in bed it lay on the pillow beside me and gashed open my head at 3am when I rolled over. Still, I embraced it, like a proverbial lover. It lay beside me, cold and heavy.

When I woke up in the morning it was hungry. I made bacon and eggs and it vomited the food onto the floor.

"You can't come with me today", I said, "I have plans."

It jumped in my bag, cold and heavy and rattled around with my keys.

I threatened to smash it to pieces with my 6 inch platforms. It only laughed.

I was too tired....so cold and so heavy.....so I let it sign a lease.

Death and Spinach Dip

"Is your mother here?", she asks.

I almost choke on my spinach dip.

I had a similar conversation just last week while sitting in a hard bottomed chair in a sterile office looking at a man who could have been George Clinton (except he didn't resemble him at all).

Everyone has mother issues. It's a universal ailment these days. An epidemic.

The truth is....she's never been here...not really anyway. But I don't want to tell her that....she'll lose her appetite and I'll end up having to find her a box of kleenex.

"Is your mother here?", she asks again.

I snap back to reality.

"No she's dead", I reply.

"I'm so sorry", she looks at me with pity in her eyes.

"Oh don't be....I'm over it".

I have nothing left to say
a knot inside my chest
I have been bound...bound
by my irrelevance.

Farewell to the blood spattered sheets
and the taste of it all still
hanging on the tip
of my tongue.

Such a pity.

If you could have only seen me
cut you
like you
cut me

with no regard.....
for the young girl peeking through
the window
and the tear stained pillow.

I have been bound.

My tattoos are honest....

They tell a story.

I am brave and thoughtful and intelligent. Elegant, tasteful.

I have faith.

The ink under my skin satisfies the need in me to describe who I am....to myself and the world. There is nothing more sincere and pure than a tattoo.....it opens you up to the world and bares your soul for everyone to see:

I am hurt, angry, beautiful. I have been poked with a needle and my body has cried red tears in mourning for the things I have been through.

Judge me.

Stone

She called me today.
Though it wasn't really her.

An imposter speaking from the other
end of the phone...it's taken over the
body like a cancer and poisoned it.
Leaving nothing behind but an empty shell.

So cold....there is no warmth there.
Eternal winter where she lies.

I am doing just fine.
A volcano erupted in my living room
last night and I have a suspicion the
cat has been skipping school.

Oh isn't that nice.

And they wonder why I turn to stone.

All the sayings and doings
"a man young lady, such a man"

He's been searching....
such a state of panic...
you are all sheep

rye and coke
smoking your dream through a glass pipe....
watching as the smoke filters out the crack...

there goes my daughter a young girl with such potential...
smiling through transparent tears
wishing all the scars inside
were visible on her face....

Go fuck yourself....
and call me in the morning.

Sorrow,

How Can I write of love now?

I have destroyed.

Taken.

Used...and spit out the bile that was corroding our streets.

Love always,

Vanity

He strengthens that which

is narrow

Your confession is my world.

We are foreign birds...yes sir

but quiet and stuffed.

I Am

I am tattooed.

Broken and oozing disgust.
I hate everyone...stitch me up
it's pouring out.
The hatred, the sickness.

I am a desert rose.

Black, parched.
So beautiful you can taste it.

I am silently screaming.

In the rain.
And it keeps coming, drenching, drowning,cleansing me.
Washing away the dirt,
revealing the vulnerable child underneath.

I Looked

I looked for your eyes in the sunrise
as if the long night
has turned into listlessness
and now slowly
and sadly
was burning on...

Let me patch up your reveries,
lover ,to sew onto your jacket
this little part of the soul
which...I will never be able to grant you in
other ways.

The day will gulp us both in a minute
and the tender silence of the embrace
will remain drowned in the past,
like yesterday,
never again.

Come on, you'll be late, the whole world
today is expecting you.

You'll find me again some day
on the inseam of your clothes
patched together....pieces of myself
now a part of you.