AfraidI sit here, watching the smoke from an abandoned Camel drift up in the air, watching the way it mixes with the steam from my semi-hot Tim Hortons'.Not knowing where to go, but dreading going home.Afraid of the darkness in my room, afraid of the emptiness in my bed... Afraid of the hopefullness in my dreams.(why is that the hardest part?)I flip through the pictures on my phone, they're all of you.I can't help but smile as Black Francis repeats the words to track 10 of the cd left in my car.(La La Love You...)Don't mean maybe...neither did I.Smiling through tears is such a strange thing... like sunshine when it's raining.
Smoking In the DrivewayI could see my breath forming words--sounds-- You pulled me closerand closer tight against your taughtlips.I don't remember if I dropped my cigaretteor just let it burn holesin my hand. Grayish yellow carpet;littered with down feathers, hiddenin a corner.lingering smoke, hugging empty bottles, stickycounters and cups overturned.We live in a woods of rum bottles and plastic cupsand I can't wait to start fires…
"Just Be Friends"mascara running down my cheek, my stomach is dissolving, I can't move my hand, everything is tense, it's silent, I can't hear anyway I have blood in my earsBreath in Breath out10….9….8….I look like Rudolf, my cheeks are puffy like marshmallows in a microwave, 5 more seconds and they will explode, watch out you don't want goo all over you.Breath inBreath out7....6….5….Everything is blurry, I can't stop coughing, there are no more tissues, but my skin is rough from being rubbed over and over, I'm too rawBreath inBreath out4….3….2....My heart beat is drumming in my ears, I can feel it beat behind my eyes, My body aches, my muscles are twisted thin, sleep for me make me stop shivering, I'm cold and sweaty.I can't breath anymore Fuck counting…
Debi At The Drive-InYears before she thoughtshe might want a daughter.Standing on the side of the roadleaning against an abused mustardcharger. A Purple drive-in sign, lingeringin the upper corner, listing The Exorcistas its must see.Her eyes hidden behind circular sunglasses,mouth in a straight line, head cocked,arms crossed in front.Sun-kissed brown hair in thickstraight lines reaching the wide buckled beltthat cinched tight bell bottom jeans.A version of me trapped in the 70s.With the pin straight hair I was never blessedenough to receive.Did she know then?That in thirty years her face wouldyellow with jaundice and liver spotswould decorate her wrinkled skin.That this version of her would visitblue veined legs, bloated stomach,and failing kidneys.Until slowly her blood, poisonedthe liver into submission, leavingthis hated photograph and sunglasses.
Batman Was No HeroHe's an average joewith a black cape and a tool belt.I never wished you were batman.You still savedbuttons,pop can tabs,Sunkist stickers.Sitting in cupslined against your bathroom mirror.Kiss me quick while my lips are still protectedby jelly bean lip gloss with moisture shine.Touch my fingers before Iforget that you collect statisticsand let them free at all the right moments.polar bears have translucent hair like minefried/dyed into submission.Only, theirs is naturalcamouflage.
Telltale MarkTelltale MarksYour bedsheets left wrinkles in my skinThat I trace slowly with the tip of my finger(it feels so early, being up before noon.)I watch you sleep, golden lashes brushing round cheeksThe morning sun filters through the curtains(it looks like a halo around your head.)A brief flash of my closet romanticI unplug the alarm clock(no need for reality to interrupt.)I know you're not really asleepThat half smile, faintly dancing on your lips gives you away(i know you too well.)I let you pretend anyway,It's all part of the game we play.(like children we make believe.)Your fingers tug at my ownInvitation and plea to stay home(i whisper your name.)I'm a coward. A masochist with your happinessI'll leave before our "just friends" sham falls apart(no traces left but memories)Your bedsheets left wrinkles in my skinThat I trace slowly with the tip of my finger(our secrets leave wrinkles deep within.)
My fatherHe only wears suits.black on white,white on black.He never talks about work.drives home,checks the mail,sits in his overstuffed lazy boy.Conversations are simple:How was school?typical. How was work?predictable. Turn on the news.On Saturdays he mows the lawnif it rains, he mows it next SaturdayOn Sunday he watches football.feet up, remote in hand,all dayperiod.My father drinks coffee black,My father drinks coffee from a gallon mug,My father drinks coffee all day,My father drinks coffee all night.My father's father drinks tea.On their anniversarymy mother gets white roses.On my birthdayI get white lilies.On vacation my father laughs,hugs us, and takes too many pictures.
I Hate My Love LifeI hate my love lifeand there is a highlighter yellowsticker on my stomachreading WARNING: Damaged Goods.I'm not a big fan of marinara.It has garlic in it and tastes chalky.It leaves orange stains on my clotheswith oil circles if I let it fall.I love candleswith wicks that flickerI'm always paranoidthey will set somethingablaze.I don't like chocolate.It makes my tongue achefrom extreme amounts ofconcentrated sugar.I wait for phone callsfrom exotic numbersor ones I have memorized.So I can flip open my celland say things like:Your sure you knowwhat your doing?or I miss youI can't keep track of tissue boxes.There are millions floating aroundmy bedroom waiting for a trash canor a cry baby.I pierced my nose becauseI thought it would protect me,No, I thought it would prove.I don't need anyone!I can make my own decisions!I don't smoke,but I keep thinkingmaybe, I shouldI hear it builds shieldsof black tar
Do you see my necklace?Do you see this necklace around my neck?my mother bought it from a venderoff a white sand beach in key westbecause it was blue like the windand it was tear drop shapedShe danced under moon beamsin bare feet across the wateruntil she thought maybe shewas windShe wore it across freewaysin LA while she breathed in moresmog then 20 packs of nicotineall the while singing along to whateverpopped in her headmy mother should have had me thereat 18 sitting next to her. Hair tanglingin the wind and laughing until I hurt so badI thought I might die too.