Nobody Knows Me

At all, when the lights are low; I'm with someone I don't know.

I almost feel as if I am holding a white flag in my fists still pumping vitally as if a heartbeat were within the capillaries of my fingers. "Here lies December 12, 2009. Here lies beloved wife of August 1, 2003. What a beautiful, loved, missed, cherished, respectful eveningtide of frog-tubas, star-piccolos, snap-marimbas. Adieu, adieu." I keep telling myself that one day one day won't die. But they always do, anyway. Our hearts are really just gargantuan palaces of these gravestones, and the deceased days lie there, and we never, ever pray for them. I hope somebody prays for me when I die, for my soul is at the mercy of life gone.

Anyway, I don't want to talk about it.

That's the issue. It's that, if you, leave, the, mind,stagnant, enough for, long

it pretty much dies.

Give me back my damn book.

The stickers are still sitting here

along with $4.25 and change

and warmth

and wrapping

and cards

and you're getting it,

but just

Give me back my damn book,

please.

It's hard enough to handle that moment

When it's still a virgin

and it's the wedding

Nothing's changed yet,

She's still who you want her to be forever, there, in her dress.

And then I open the doooo--

CREAK.

And then I feel coldth on my fooo--

CREAK.

I open the door to the bathroom, the most trrrr---

CREAK.

The toilet goe---

CREAK.
CREAK.

CREAK.

All the way back, reverse it.

By then, the whole world plus the bird knows you're awake

and you've consummated

but you don't feel like love, you

Feel like a pervert in the dusk.

When I stood out looking in that crowd

Most faces I could name if I'd like (but I don't want to)

they all seem so purposeful.

They all have something to say

--The faces, not the souls.

No, the souls are stillness in the auditorium.

And they clutch something, Oh, anything to accompany.

I don't feel comfortable being an actress

because eventually she signs a lease to take off her clothes

and kiss some boy she doesn't even love--

and if you didn't love him, why did you kiss him?

Because there's money in lust and in cameras.

So I just sit down and pretend like I have sunglasses on,

and pretend like someone but no one sees

What I'm seeing take place at that moment.

Even in the paralysis on the left,

the right wing huddles and swoops to bandage and cure.

Even in the mute front (all quiet on...)

The back tones of auburn and cigarettes

(Cigarettes is the perfect antepenultimate for any song)

rise above, swimming in the overheard sea of emotion.

There is never silence in the gym.

But, above all else,

I love you and pray for you, and you, you, you

Give me back my damn book.

Dreams of Hartford All of My Life

Don't you ever want to quit humanity?

I really don't get myself, and it's not a matter of progress. It's a matter of:

I am a body who does not know the soul within;

and until I know her,

I'll always be stuck in the Purgatory of my mindscape.

HOPE is That Thing.

I'm thinking about it a lot more; lately. About IT, you know, that, that little veil that I own that I placed on a mantel a few years back and now I want it back. It was at some relative's house and they have it, and although I keep calling, they will not mail it. Discrepancy, is what hinders. Nothing else, really. It's a really pretty veil, I tell everyone I meet. It's silver, almost, almost shiny as if a fabric could be golden silver.

Yet in its hard tones, it is as soft as a soul in a prison watchtower, who watches the files of criminals as they pass by, wishing for a past of schools and homes and parents who cared enough, just enough...

I think about it every night, and I pick up the phone and dial the number every night, but right when she answers; I hang up.

My Heart's a Drummer

On Mondays when the sky spells out my name in grass on the windowsills,

I pray your name in my whispers and hope that all will be well--

With you, if not with me, if not

With us.

Secret

I cry for you sometimes.

When You Can't Help Yourself, Try Harder

Something that's been racking my mind lately. Perhaps it's full of blame and a lack of responsibility on my part, but everyone has ways of venting. And maybe this will never be solved; I just wish to make my sentiments known to absolutely no one at all.

There's a bit of an issue that I won't get haughty about. But I don't appreciate being messed with. If you are my friend, let it be known for a longer span of time than a day or an hour or sometimes a minute. If you are not my friend at all, let it be known constantly. But don't be both of those contradictions, because then I will just be very confused, toyed with, and hurt trying to figure out which of the two categories you will fill in that given instance that we approach each other or talk. I can't always decipher your intent from one meeting to the next; I can't read minds; I can't handle a personality like this. If you wish to be friends, that would be great. Although we sometimes get on each others' nerves, I think we think in common. But even this doesn't obscure the dual-personality tendencies you exhibit while around me. I get it if you're just as messed as I am. I'm pretty sure everyone in this whole damn world is messed. Messed up, messed over, messed with: all the same result, right? A world of sad confusion. But even if you are, that's an issue you should work out. It's not right to hurt people by being bipolar with your friendship. I've been on a bad end of a bad deal for a long time with you, and I've just watched it unfold and fold itself again only to repeat. What should I do? Ignore you as you can me? The dramatics come into effect, and I dislike being the "dramatic" one as I was 2 years ago. It's not a fun job title to procure. I've had some of my best sophomore memories with you in more respects than one. Sophomore time of being alive and living. I came over to the school with inhibitions about friendship and getting close to people. I think I become too familiar with you, because it shouldn't upset me this much. It is the instances like you that will make me even more apprehensive about friendship. Thank you. So, if you're messed, talk. If you're fine and unaware: there's not much I can do. It's not like I haven't told you this. Sounding like a broken record is not an admirable quality that will make you want to be friends with me. But again, the old-age question of freshman summer--"Why should I have to prove anything?" Do I feel you're worth it? Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don't. It depends on who you were to me that day. I don't like tangible roller coasters, and you've seen me approach them with hesitance and fright, so please don't put me on one right now. I'm a person, and although I am cold and distant for most of life, I do care about you and it hurts to be toyed with. In the case that you don't want to be friends and you are (very unconvincingly) humouring me, it would hurt a great deal to be broken off from you because I think we are friends (?), but it would be a hurt that I'd move on from. It's like a broken bone; you just adapt and move on with a cast on your arm until one day you wake up and you are fine. I've done shit like that before. I can rinse and repeat. But continual and dull pain just becomes an annoyance. If it varies, it becomes unexpected. I never know. So, if you break it off today, tomorrow, next week, do it. If that's how you intend it to be for 2 more years. I try not to need people, so you'll just be another gerbil in that experiment. Just break it off and please, after, do not consider me at all because that's what I'll be doing for you. 2 YEARS, two years. It seems a lifetime ahead, stretched over moments where you'll be this and that and nothing at all sometimes, but it's closer than we think. It's sad that you're the kind-of-person I add to my "will-not-contact-after-having-parted" list. And maybe my friendship isn't worth it for you. It's only been less than a year and it's already an issue. Record timing. Be someone constant in my life, whether it's a friend or a nothing-at-all face I used to know. I can accept both. Just please give me one. That's all I ask of you.

Another day to watch; who will you be today?

Truth Is

It's the silence between the notes that really gets to us.