Green Eyes (August 30, 2011)

Green eyes, care to show me what those hide?
What scars, what stories, what lurks behind.
Mind reading’s easy, I do it all the time.
Body reading even easier, I see how you respond to mine.
But your soul, your dirty, fragmented, charming soul
That remains a mystery no matter how long I stare.
Funny to think I just met you, and here I am
Watching the waves crash emerald and linger on me
Watching you tilt your head and see chestnut curtain obscure your face
Testing me, testing if I can take the absence of your eyes
I push your hair back, giving in, and you smile
You smile as I gaze into the deepest of greens.

Untitled (August 23, 2011)

And the music speaks to me
and it says “you will exist beyond this”
and I want to believe.
You are far away, miles and wires from me, and it would be so easy to ignore it all.
There is always that voice though
that tiny chirp of “he’s gonna lose his mind”
and it’ll be all my fault.
I am shuddering, bathed in light, in a room where I am not alone
and I cannot shake myself like I need.
I am not living louder or stronger
I am wasting into dust.
Brevity is the soul of wit and I am going on and on and on and on and-
until someone tells me to shut up and I subside.
Silence.
Silence says “stupid stupid stupid girl to think you meant the world.”
And now we are strangers.
And you become what you hate
….no, you just hated it because I did. Because it got you close and cornered me.
And as I sit, scarlet blushes on my face, afraid of saying a thing
knowing that she’ll get where I was sooner than later
knowing that it didn’t amount to the cost of what I gave for you
(I thought it was because of love.)
So I stay here
and you may never speak to me again
hating me for sticking to something
instead of sliding down into the gutters
where the rats and girls left behind can crawl all over you
and I can sit in a porcelain coffin
and hope someone dares to break it down.

Camden to Tremont (August 1, 2011)

Footsteps carefully creeping up behind
Fade into the wall; they cannot be seen.
As the room spins into pleasant fog
A tap on the shoulder is faint.

The hours turn with large brass hands
With a tick tock too soft to hear.
Twinkling stars through the city lights
Shine out; but hard to see.

The odometer zooms higher and the clock
On the dashboard seems fixed at late.
Winds whip, lips slip, and doors swing shut
But hands do not unclasp.

Uncommon collections of kids with souls
Filled with the effervescence of the evening.
They never feel a stronger tie to life
Than now; when asphalt's calling.