open shut

in this apartment i find religion

a thousand flies in imperfect symmetry

and the number isn’t right

but the ring back is faultless

and i am flawed

she speaks german

i ask her to tell me

about you

she simply throws another stone

the carpet is stained

red nail polish red wine

and the flies keep buzzing

tell me about yourself

where you’ve left

which numbers haven’t answered

yes

...

i stare into the dark,

and there are tiny lights.

their light pings off of each other,

emitting little starbursts,

and making what i can only describe as a twinkling sound.

i stand alone,

in this black void,

although it is not scary.

no, no not at all.

it is comforting,

like being enveloped in serenity.

the dark has a warmth to it,

not because of the light,

but because it in itself is warm.

...

My anger is hungry.

Its stomach growls, its hands reach.

But there is nothing there.

There is nothing to be angry at.

Like birds on a wire,

I watch,

and I wait.

I am kind,

and I forgive.

But you are at my front door.

And no longer am I proud of these virtues,

I do not want them when it comes to you.

Wheat stalks blow in the wind,

a pig is slaughtered next door.

There is a heart-beat coming ...

His knees are bleeding and he’s begging me to free him from his porcelain prison, and though I may be a God, I have no mercy for the weak....

Your fingers are bittersweet,

tracing verses across my back.

Stretch marks gleaming in the shitty light,

I take your hand and nothing’s new.

Over and over and over and over

and over and over and over and-...

I’m tired of hearing who I’m supposed to be.

And I’m tired of hearing the constant doubts.

I want to have faith.

Please,

Let me have faith....

frozen in devotion,

angel of self death,

sword and wings ablaze

wretched in repose,

veins twisted open,

somewhere between faith and praise

salt burned wounds,

ash in the east,

riddled with stone built days

the rapture comes,

alone i am raised....

I lay in the sun and I can hear the music in my head. The violin, the piano. The music of my future. It swells and I breathe in, feeling the desire for greatness grow in my soul. To be known, is yo be remembered, and my memory will last long after my death. The history books will know my name, will know my songs. I won’t be matched; I will grow and climb and play my way to the top, ambition in han...

I want to be touched, to be worn.

For your hands to gently erode their places into my skin, indents where your love rests.

I want to be known by you.

I want to be close to you.

_Hold me while we dance._...

My arms are moving on wide arks, dashing lines across the board. The chalk leaves dust in the air, my hands flying through the clouds, scrawling wildly, as if my last moments are here and these are my final words. My eyes are flicking between points, erasing, redrawing, erasing, more lines. I’m out of breath and my arms hurt, but I’m not done. So close, but not done. Finally, I draw the last line....