The past breaks the future 

My heart is a stone
I lie in the arms of my lover unmoved
My heart is a cherry blossom
As it craves a sensual touch
My heart is a river wide
Drowning with tears, rising upon the banks
And flooding homes

My heart is a stone
As I lie untouched in my lover’s arms
It hardens with craving
And yearns to be spoiled

My heart is a leaky faucet
The bolts are loose and weak
It drips and drops rust coloured water
From pipes older than the house
They reside in

My heart has lived a thousand lives
It doesn’t know How to trust another
After all the war it’s witnessed
And pain it’s caused

Irreparable damage held together
With a duct tape heart
Frayed seams
Caulked valves
Antifreeze in my veins
So I am not ice

But I am rock
Hard as diamond
And yet pretty not
Reflecting light not
All for naught

My heart is a stone
I threw through the window
Of a young man’s house

And I am waiting for him to return it.

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Why not Wednesday?

A note to those I have demonized

I no longer put myself in your shoes
I hardly see you as human

Your perspective is different than mine
and although I have the ability to see your side
I refuse to, for you do not attempt to see through my lens

My struggles become greater than yours
and I block out your troubles – big and small
You cannot suffer as I do

How fortunate you are! I see your wealth
and I see how easy things are for you
You do what you want, when you want
with little regard for my interests or even my
NEEDS

I do not empathize with you
You have created your life around you
You have control and power over your SELF
and if you are in a bad situation –
it has been brought on by your
poor decisions and lack of wisdom

You do not seek my help
and I avoid your input
You have poured toxic waste
into my habitat creating cesspools
of misery in my ecosystem
drowning my vigor and smothering my
ESSENCE

I am contaminated by you

I wear goggles when I am around you
that preserve my eyes while altering my vision
of YOU

You scare me

I no longer trust you
and I have felt for some time
that you do not trust me

A bond is broken

I no longer understand you
I no longer attempt to
You do not attempt to understand me
You do not see me as I am

You don’t hear me

Or is it that you don’t listen?
Communication has malfunctioned
The repairman is out for the day,
for the month, the year

I don’t know how to fix it

Or I refuse to fix it

I am tired of bending
I feel I have broken in so many places
I feel that I have attempted
to build a bridge between us
and that you have set it on fire

I am sensitive

I cut the bonds with those who hurt me
My skin is thin
I cannot take your criticism
I think you give it without consideration
of my ABILITIES, my TALENTS, my STRENGTH
I feel you give it unsolicited
I feel you judge me
and I will not hesitate to fight
fire with fire

I have judged you

I have condemned you

If you were a building
I would not enter

If you were a bed
I would not lie there

If you were a meal
I would not partake

If you were salvation
I would burn in HELL

You are a living demon
and if I have not cut you
out of my life yet…

I will.

The Uncanny Heart

I know this to be a broken heart
I know this from experience
I recognize this malady
this discomfort this ache

Broken ribs pierce a lung,
air slowly seeps into the cavity,
now empty, where my heart resided
before it burst, shattering ribs
puncturing the lung
not enough to kill me,
just enough to make me tired,
something about not enough oxygen to the brain
as it slowly fills the empty space,
leeching useless into the body
it no longer feeds

The twinge of vacancy
causing glazed eyes, mislaid thoughts,
forgotten desires…motives not worth the effort
of their eventual loss.

But this uncanny feeling is not what confuses me –
there is comfort in its familiarity
and shelter in the dark,
no hazards to lose what is not there –
what elation, what faith, what ambition?
All absent with the forfeiture of my core –

What obscures conclusion
is that no injury has occurred,
no sudden travesty or infirmity,
so what has generated such a heartache,
a brain sickness?

What is missing, save happiness itself –
which can still be found in
the blue sky
a good song
time with friends
a joke, a laugh
books and escapism –
an unsettling lack of loss dictates
at least an indifferent condition be established
– but not the torment of
heartbreak

Bits of mystery spill from the
Pandora box that now endures
in the airy space under my sternum.

Press on.
Let lack of heart not be distraction,
No more to wear upon my sleeve,
only a secret my face cannot keep.

 

Apparition

Is it fair to give someone two deaths,
to kill them twice?
For that is what I have done,
multiple times over.
I don’t like some characters,
so I remove them from my plot.
I fear an eventual loss,
so I execute them to an early grave.

I have suffered their deaths so that when the obituaries come,

I will have no more tears to cry, no ounce of shock.

I have cut loose the rope that binds us,
so when they fall, I do not go with them.
From up here, the wind can dry my tears
and drown out the cries of my sorrow.
Down below, the earth is too barren
to provide me any refuge from the barrage of pain.

Is this crossbow a weapon of defense?
Or have I carefully sniped any suspects before they can become threats?

Is there a right way to take away a life?

But worse,

these zombies still exist, more than ghosts,
no more breathing air into my life,
yet up and walking in a shared world all the same.
I cannot cut them down more than I have.
they are the living dead, and they bring fresh nightmares.
My weapons are no good against them,
there is no mountain I can climb in escape,

and I have already attempted to bury them with silence.

How many more will fall due to my hand, and yet walk due to my inability to forget.

The Worst Thing

It’s selfish and conceited, but sometimes I like to think I was your worst.

I was this little period in your life that you swallow pills to forget

I was the worst thing to ever happen to you

I kept you up all night, tossing in your bed, while thoughts went round your head

Like who the fuck is she, and did she mean what she said?

I’m a little piece of nightmare that got stuck in your dream teeth.

I’m the ghost devil on your shoulder, that you really thought was dead

And every so often you recall what I did

And think shit what did I get into, and can it never happen again.

 

I was conceited when I loved you, I was selfish when I left

I tossed words without abandon, I belittled what we had

Misery loves company, was my battle cry

I hung the phrase on all my banners, and let harsh words fall from my lips

Each second I felt scorned I thought would be my last

Every teardrop that fell from my eye you knew I blamed on you

I stuck a dagger in your chest, hoping to rake through

Your ribs and crack them down to dust

 

I love to imagine how I was the worst thing to ever happen to you

And in that I will be immortalized

That slanderous tale told at a cabin, and ghost story for the young

A cautionary tale of psycho bitches and what can come undone

A warning for your friends, a comedy for the bored,

A thank-your-lucky-stars-it-wasn’t-you for the unappreciative ignored

I will outlive all the rest, based on my infamy of horribleness

 

And then I feel downright bad.

 

Because I loved you in the moment, I treasured what we had

I trusted every word you spoke, believed each lie you said –

I think we both did – and when I started believing I was the

Worst thing that could happen to you, that I was crazy and insane,

I ran away and still blame you, even if it’s all in vain

 

Because I am the worst thing to ever happen to you

Plague

The written word:
A virus, thrilling
Bores deep into the skin
Creates its cavernous cavity
Gnawing, eating, absorbing flesh
To feed and germinate
Spreading from limb to mind
A possession unlike any other
Sometimes resulting in spewage,
Uncontrollable waste –
Yet other times patterning
The ethereal rash which
Grasps and ropes observers in.

I was infected at birth
And I spored in my youth,
Pieces of myself falling here
And there, to the dismay
Of classmates and teachers alike.
They’d try and reattach the pieces,
Wearing gloves to stave off infection.
They didn’t deserve this plague anyway.
It was mine, wholly and fully and beautifully.
So what if they didn’t understand?

I managed to get under their skin anyway.

Still do, I think.