You Don't Love AnythingYou Don't Love Anything
you never wrote me a song,
and from what my numbed mind
will allow me to recollect,
we've never even kissed.
what i can recall distinctly
is the feeling of confinement
as i made you feel better
while you hung me out to dry.
i can remember all the places:
your room, the car, the park.
i can close my eyes and see
your mom's little living room.
it's almost like i was just there.
like just yesterday we had slept
on the couch at your sister's place
after a day in your home town.
i can see all of their happy faces,
but it may as well have been a dream.
i don't even remember how it felt
to hold your hand. not at all.
i gave and i gave and i tripped
over all of the strewn wrapping paper.
and honestly i can't seem to name
one beautiful thing you left here.
next to you, every sugary moment
was followed by sour accusations
and the pressing anvil of anxiety.
you never cared about me, did you?
as you go about your lonely days,
Odyssey into 2012: Ch. 1In the heavy light of the sun, she stood, holding paper in her hands. Her fingers twitched as she read the words. "Tokyo." "Zephyr." And this calendar, its boxes, its days, were like little portals into unknown worlds. She looked up from the parchment, feathery between her fingertips, and saw the open gate before her. It was tall, mighty, intimidating. The girl's dark hair was like a million long ribbons, and her young eyes, screaming out the will of her innocent soul with their blue, stared. Her grip on the papers loosened, and like a frightened gasp, a gust carried them away. They danced through the gate before her. The girl dashed through the gate's mouth, desperate to retrieve the priceless information. She ran, but the wind quickened, and her only memory flew faster and faster away from her. Beyond the gate, there were many tall, green trees. There were ruins of some ancient city strewn about, like dismembered limbs, like memories. She could smell the trees and dirt, and for just
Paper Cuts and GuillotinesPaper Cuts and Guillotines
paper cuts and guillotines
build up skin behind the screens.
these ancient shoulders of mine
are alien, quiet, and raw.
copper wires and submarines;
drink the sickness, no vaccines.
inside my head are entanglements
like accumulation rising high.
behind our eyes, we're all machines.
divots in the fields of our brains
house monsters that make us real.