Wednesday, January 27, 2010

Jessie and Charley

I've never seen such concern in her eyes.
Tears swell like tides. Subtle. Overwhelming.
She's unable to keep up the disguise
Of the fun-time friend who can't see the thing
Consuming him slowly from inside-out.
She wants to be the strength that he's missing
To learn what his sickness is all about,
As though knowledge could stop him from pissing
Away the life that she finds so precious,
That he's escaping like an old burden.
It's too late, though, when she tries to discuss
'Cause he wrote these words to her in the end--
     "Don't call it love when it looks like pity
     Fucking give up on trying to save me."

Tuesday, January 19, 2010

I Am Not Weak

It's that special feeling deep down inside
When you realize that she doesn't feel the
Same way that you feel about her. You hide
The awful ache and wonder what could be
Worse than this. Or perhaps it's more like when
You find that all of your friends have moved on,
You'll never be so close to them again,
What you called family was illusion
And now you have to face your life alone.
That's the tide rising around my ankles,
The winds of this emotional cyclone.
I know this feeling is the one that culls
     The weak and tortured souls that cannot see--
     Even at its darkest, life is beauty.

Thursday, January 14, 2010

Kiss & Tell

I'm much better at kissing than talking.
I can communicate so much more when
My voice is still and my lips are walking
Softly up to the nape of your neck than
I could ever hope to do with these words
That seem to only be good for masking
What we really mean. Like when we were birds,
My lips were tearful confessors, asking
Questions they didn't want to hear answered,
And though our words said everything was fine
It was with my lips that the truth was heard.
I was not yours, and you could not be mine.
     It was the purest way to feel that pain.
     You won't taste the truth on my lips again.

Wednesday, January 6, 2010

So I Still Have Your...

My nightstand carries a collection of
Jetsam, cast adrift when waters were wild.
The things they took off before making love
To me are ever-so-neatly compiled
In that special corner, should their owners
Ever decide they need the stray hair pin,
The rogue left earring, that scrunchie of hers.
Yet somehow the pile never seems to thin,
New nights of passion leaving deposits
That sensible mornings somehow forget.
I'm left feeling confused by this, 'cause it's
Some kind of sign I don't understand yet.
     So I'll continue sorting carefully
     Until such time that someone will claim me.