The dead parts of me still ache.

The red starts to spill from me and I’m sick of losing everything you take.
I think you enjoy watching me break.

But life is a series of stumbles, obstacles like you I tripped over, and fell face-first into the concrete. All I do is wash the blood out of my mouth with whisky and carry on walking.

If I take the ashes of our burned up memories, and mix it with my tears, I can create a cement to strengthen the wall around my heart.

The dead parts of me still ache.
Maybe they’re not dead, but resting, just waiting for a reason to wake.

—  giraffevader - Sharp tongues and smooth skin
Forever Until the End

seashells glisten under the sand and beckon her curious hands
to dig deep into the moist sand.
dusk’s slow arival to the throne contours her soft skin:
she is the queen of the sky, the queen of life.
I can see it in her sparkling eyes
as the water pets our feet.

her laughter
is my first step into an ocean
that I’ve gazed at from afar,
never wishing to conquer it out of respect,
out of fear,
but with you, tiny fingers and beautiful smile,
the vast ocean seems welcoming
and the blue tides are tempting.

we must travel together to the other side
so we may see a different world:
one where the sun lays its head to sleep,
one where the trees whisper stories.
one were I can hold your hand
forever until the end,
and not be afraid of myself anymore.

You pretend you’re a bird
          spreading your wings—
     you take flight
and I am alone again, with dust

     in my hair and the faint
scent of rain
          permeating my skin. Did you
                    see me from up
there? With limbs spanning whole

               continents you shroud
my loss; my tears pouring,
     flooding the vista before me, the sand
          turns to mud and
I am sinking again.


I watch the smoke
curl from
your lips -
the trail
of fire, red
glow in the

It twists in the air;
a dancer in
Silk Cut.
The ash
falls like
so many
grey petals
at her wispy feet.

Your eyes cut
straight through
her - into me.
You pull
my mouth to
yours, hand
cupping my chin.

The kiss is all
smoke and
spit and
the scent of
cheap cologne.
I become ash;
falling at your feet -
falling for you.

The Absence of a Beginning

we look for a beginning in the sun
or any other sky-object or king or humbleman

maybe it is in the electronic signals
as they retract from reporters’ mouths and TV eyes

maybe it is in poems spoken in stange tongues
and written backwards in ancient books

maybe it is in the numbers of pi,
in random intervals of fate or faith

humans shrink,
we become carefree babies in warm caves

then in an instant we are savages in cold, stone caves in the wild,
the fire extinguishes in the heavy rain and we disappear

maybe we are looking in the wrong place
and it is the momentary vacuums between
thoughts and coinciding births and deaths
that we realize there has never
been a beginning to begin with


My foot caught a torn thread
In the burnt orange carpet.
I tripped.

The floral wall paper spiraled
Red, yellow, green.
Green, red, yellow.

The loose fabric
Kept coming.
Unraveled our whole home.

Thunder snap clap and
The walls cracked.
The sound blocked my ears.

Rushing wind filled me.
Flushed Face Panic Attacks
Always sound like your voice
Telling me to leave.

I broke our home
With one missed step,
And a stupid torn thread.