Wednesday, December 26, 2007

Rick and Donna

I'm pre heating the oven for a pizza when I see my upstairs neighbors, Rick and Donna, walking their dog in the back lot
Rick and Donna, the perfect little poster children for twenty something love
Rick and Donna, golden athletic statues with the perfectly groomed little dog
Models for the sappiest fucking magazine cover you've ever had the opportunity to gag over
I fucking hate them
I hear them having glorious sex right over my ceiling almost every night
I can hear their bed posts grinding trenches into their hardwood floor
Rick pounding her as if HER life depended on it, like her vagina was dying and he was giving it CPR
And he always laughs when he comes
This exhausted, "I can't believe I just came that hard" kind of laugh
The "I can't believe the sex is that fucking good" kind of laugh
The sound of it just bleeds down into my bedroom below
And I start hearing the "you don't even remember what this feels like anymore" kind of laugh
I hear the "hows that hand working out for you" kind of laugh
I hear the exaggerated last chuckle of Rick as he rolls off her sweat drenched body echo around my empty walls
Donna just lying motionless, glistening with liquid sex shimmering off her Olympic abs
Both of them sporting carefree bed suave hair styles that say "I just had an orgasm like a prison riot"
I fucking hate them
Just one night I'd like to replace the cries of pleasure as two lovers satisfy each other in every way they desire
Instead I want to hear dishes being thrown, obscenities being shouted, and open palms meeting the gruff terrain of Rick's rugged poster boy cheek
I want to hear doors slamming, and sirens approaching while the smoke alarm is going off
I want to walk outside in my robe with a cup of coffee just in time to see the dog run out with his ass end on fire while Donna chases him with a blanket and tries to put him out
And Rick stumbles outside naked hacking up a lung with bottles of creatine and protein shakes wedged between his beefy arms
Donna bellowing about her neuvo plush couch being ruined while Rick's using a copy of Meathead magazine to cover up his shrived little cock
And still arguing, all the while, beautiful hate fulled arguing while I take another sip and breathe it in before the cops show up to work out this whole mess
After which I walk into my bedroom with a huge shit eating grin because I can finally jerk off without any jealous disdain and sleep for the next two fucking days
And I laugh hysterically to myself
When my roommate comes into the kitchen to find out what is so goddamn funny
And I realize I've just been staring at them for the last ten minutes when he asks me if I know that the oven is on

Tuesday, December 18, 2007

Little Ray of Sunshine

When I met you, I saw you as the yin to my yang
Me being the brooding little musician poet that I am and you were the bright little ray of sunshine that lightened up my days
Every moment I saw you becoming more focused and intense until you set me on fire
Like a Great White concert you engulfed me in a flame that caused me to burn circles into my carpet screaming in pain until I bolted through the doorway leaping into traffic until one happens to nail me and my head becomes severed by the windshield and lands in the passenger's lap when a rainbow sprouts from my neck and a leprechaun jumps out of my ass which makes as much as sense as why I fell for you in the first place
You pretentious, flaky, hippie bitch
But there were those moments when you uplifted my spirits to heights I've never seen
Helping me fly you were the wind beneath my wings
Soaring to elevations that I never thought possible till I left the atmosphere and suffocated from the lack of oxygen, plummeting back to the earth like comet when I landed on your cloud of illusions receiving a handful of hand jobs and bottle of booze where I gained the enlightenment of the men that you used, which you so fondly refer to as "history", but the last time I opened a history book I didn't see a listing of everyone that Abraham Lincoln fucked
Since we're on the subject of history lets get down to some facts
Hilary Hanson is an eighteen year-old poet from Rockport, Maine. Her favorite things to do are looking at the stars, shopping and making cookies and cupcakes. Her loves include rocky beaches and poetry by Edna St. Vincent Millay.
She of course shares some similarities in hobbies and even name to one of our own Austin poets, who is a magnificent woman and has absolutely nothing to do with this poem
The point that I'm making here is that love is a hydra with a barb wire laced vagina and nine heads that grows two more for everyone that you cut off so if you're fucking and fighting every head that you're facing your going to find yourself devoured by the mob that's replacing the last worthless battle that you just spent on a serpents kiss when you should really just go home and jerk off
Speaking of jerk offs
Dwayne Williamsburg is a forty three year old investment banker in Blue Peak, Washington. His favorite things include taking long walks on the beach, listening to Kenny G, cliches, and sacrificing small animals to our lord Satan
He of course shares a love of some hobbies and a similar name to myself, Dwayne Williamson, who is speaking completely in third person on the topic of this piece, which is definitely not referring to any one woman that may or may not be present in this room
But love is a sensitive subject that should never be swept under a rug by a broom, you approach it head on without leaving out any of the truth, but some people are just ashamed of how they met, telling everyone that they ran into each other in a coffee shop instead of over the Internet, which seems really odd to me, but how would I know I’ve never done anything of the sort, but sometimes there are statements that deserve a retort, so you shouldn’t be surprised when unmentionable words come back around to bite you in the ass, so everyone raise your glass and toast the past because little white lies are never going to last , and one day someone is going point out the cracks in your mask, but it won’t be me…….because I don’t know anyone I could write something like that for, but its kind of fun to write poems pretending like you do, right sweet pea?

Monday, December 17, 2007

Things You Need to Understand Before You Date Me

Things you need to understand before you date me:
The stereo in my car is the stereo in MY car, which means that I control what we listen to while we're in it
This of course means that you can have full dictatorship over the musical selection in your vehicle, however I still reserve the right to pout silently in the passenger seat
While I probably won't be listening to your favorite band I will attempt to find something that you might enjoy, but if you decide to torture me in your car with Ani Di Franco or anything in the weekly top 40, expect to hear the most brutal death metal ever the next time you sit down in mine
Now there's only one volume level on my speakers, and that's as loud as fucking possible, if you even entertain the thought of trying to turn it down I suggest you say something to me first, so that I may pull over and provide you the opportunity to leave on your own free will
Otherwise, godspeed, sweetheart, and remember its best to tuck and roll
If I actually like you a lot and you manage to decrease the volume while remaining in the car, realize that while the music will dissipate, the level at which I'm singing will not
Most likely I'll also begin to sing as horribly as possible, until you relent from my off key audio assault and turn the music back up
In the case that you have something to say, unless its "Oh god, my appendix is about to burst", there is no need to interrupt me in the middle of Love Gun
You can wait till the end of the song
Now trust is an integral part of any relationship and you should understand that my trust is both conditional and situational
Meaning that as long as the conditions of the situation that you find yourself in is nothing I should be concerned about, then we'll be just fine
However, if you are one of the kinds of girls that likes to get black out drunk in clubs filled with frat guys that take shots from between your tits, then you can back that ass up and out my fucking door
It is also very important that you know where you want to eat, or at least be able to provide suggestions of things you would enjoy, not just a list of what you DON'T want
Because this isn't a crime investigation where we need to eliminate suspects, I'm fucking hungry, and if you can't pick something, we're going to get a big fat greasy meat burger with extra meat and a side of meat where you can't complain because of all the meat in your mouth
Moving on, when evening finds us completely exhausted from bringing you to climax repeatedly, and we actually go to sleep, I don't want find a leg in my hip or an elbow in my back as you try to push me off the face of the map
Cause bedtime is sometimes like playing Risk, and if I'm forced to huddle up in Australia its only a matter of time before my forces build and I sweep the board
But most importantly......I'm going to compliment and kiss you more than you ever have been before
And every time your lips meet mine you're going to know that there's nowhere else I'd rather be, because hell if you can manage to put up with me, then you deserve to be treated like a queen
And as long as you can give what you get, then that's more than enough to keep me happy

Sunday, December 9, 2007


I awake at 6am and roll out of bed
I'm not even fully functioning this early and still having fragments of dreams drift aimlessly through the fog in my head
I perform all the regular routines, like showering, brushing my teeth, and debating on leaving quickly or actually taking the time to eat breakfast and being late for my job
But on this morning after everything was said and done I reached for my doorknob to realize that a hand was attached to my right wrist with nothing following it, just a hand
White as death, with fingers flexing themselves into my flesh, and tattooed on its dirty, pale knuckles was the word "rent"
And of course I was extremely startled by this and immediately used my left hand to attempt to pry it off my skin
But there on my other wrist was another hand with the exact same appearance only this one had the word "work" marked on it
When I pulled them their elongated fingernails only sank deeper in, and hitting them against other objects did nothing to loosen their grip
I was in a blind panic when I tried running into the kitchen to find a sharp instrument to cut them free
When something prevented my left foot from moving and sent me crumbling to my knees
I looked back to find another independent appendage with the word "hate" carved into its length
Then I feel the pressure of another skeletal vice latched onto my right and the word "fear" runs into my sight
I stand only to be hit off balance, falling backwards, impacting with the floor and sprawling myself out across the Welcome mat next to the door
There on my chest is another five fingered guest with the word "stress" inked across its expanse
Pushing down with an amazing force keeping me nailed in place while the others pull my limbs in opposite ways
I scream for them to stop when I hear the sounds of my bones pop, as they drop from their sockets and fill the empty space with a pain both red and hot
Then in the moment I'm about to completely lose it, just break down, and hope to die
An army of arms burst from my gut and effortlessly start to brush all the hands aside
Wrapping themselves around me they envelop me in a grace that denies the fates that played out around me
Soundless parts of bodies enamoring me, strengthening me, pulling the pieces together and restructuring me
And etched into each of their forearms are words like family, friends, music, poetry, integrity, hope, honesty, and love
My armor for the outside world, my coat of arms, my defiance of any force that intends to hold me down and bring me harm
Bulletproof charms that circle my torso and deflect clips of antithesis that barrel towards my heart
They are my unspoken support beams and foundations cemented in art
So when I get overwhelmed and torn apart
I can still stand up, dust myself off, and walk out that door

Monday, December 3, 2007

She Reads Books

She reads books about things that can never be understood
Books that explain explanations, words that explore explorations, and debates that debate deliberations
As if the imaginary god of literation would burst from the pages in a robe made from the conjugation of imitated truths and the skins of misunderstood youths, shine his heavenly light on the book and say "here, you missed this line like all of your other peers, now you can be the only one among the thousands that have read this text to fully comprehend this asinine bullshit"
Her bookshelf is filled with spines that have titles as vague as the contents, the authors names get butchered when I try to pronounce them, yet she lets them roll off her tongue like a water slide in the mid afternoon heat, refreshing, and as light hearted as the fair haired children that lunge down its inner spiral
And she's so mindful of every reference that she plucks from her paid education
Having an intellectual conversation on a subject of her choice is like having a three hour pillow fight with a younger sibling, its all good and fun for awhile, but at some point both of you get pissed off and just start swinging as hard as you can at each other's faces
But her words hold no weigh, her weapons have no real impact, her attacks are made with one step forward and two steps back
Until her debate is so distant that she can listen to the echo of her own voice until she feels satisfied with the amount of noise and finally shuts the fuck up
She slithers through sentences until her tongue forks and ties itself into a knot, words trip out of her mouth and quickly crawl back in once they realize how foolish they've become
I've been involved in her double talk so many times that I've been tempted to end her with a knife if only it wouldn't require an illustrated diagram to show her how to die
My words would get spent till lungs dry up and spit dust when a gust pulls them up and spells out the words "I give up"
Cause her books have pages like mirrors that reflect themselves on to the reader till she knows as much about herself as the writer knows about his topic
Then the only definitive statements she can make anymore is how much she loves her cat, and how she's afraid she's getting fat, or all the places she WON'T eat at, or how she doesn't like when I point out her indecisiveness LIKE THAT
I don't know why she reads those books
Just like how she doesn't know why I keep writing poetry about her
But she reads books about things that can never be understood
And I write poetry about things that can never be understood

Sunday, November 18, 2007

It Just Never Happened

There's something that basically happens naturally in every one's life, usually when they're a blossoming adolescent
And after that first bliss fulled occasion most people enjoy it many times over in their life
Some freaks even become addicted to it, and start doing abnormal things to increase the pleasure it brings, like wearing costumes and performing with accessories because that's apparently what gets those weirdos off
Now don't get me wrong, aside from those misfits, I absolutely love it
And if you ever gave me just one quiet evening alone I would fill you with the immense joy that it brings
However, at this point in my life I've somehow managed to date three different girls that have never experienced it
And it was still as shocking the second and even the third time I heard that it just hasn't happened for that specific girl
Of course, my first question is always "why not?"
Then they would give me a response like "I've just never had the desire for it"
Its at that exactly moment when my jaw would spring open, releasing the words that had been arming themselves behind my lips like Roman soldiers preparing for battlement
I would let loose with that epic statement that would stop all the action in the room as if time were a beast with two heads and normally flies, but in that instant it landed on our table holding itself perfectly still while glaring into our souls with both pairs of its eyes
In this day and age its pretty much part of growing up, as if it were cinema puberty
Its like this you get born, crawl, walk, talk, run, school, Star Wars, acne, awkward sex, drugs, finals, senior trips, clumsy sex, Star Wars, graduate, drunken sex, work, bills, pretty sure you rocked her world though she doesn't agree sex, Star Wars, bills, bills, bills, bills, pills so you can get it up sex, Star Wars, get way too fucking old, and death
After which you either become part of the light side or the dark coming full circle as prophesied in the Star Wars
So if there are any ladies out there that share this same affliction that my previous girlfriends have had
I'm strongly advising you to get a fucking Blockbuster card and rent the goddamn movie
Hell, you can even come over to my place, I own a fucking copy
We'll get some beer and some chips and experience it the classic way........VHS, on a shitty 19 inch TV hooked up to a Montgomery Ward boombox WITH bass boost
You can actually feel that shit, kind of
Then you too will sing its praises and when you come into my bedroom which decorated in a mock up of Jabba the Hutt's lair , you definitely won't mind wearing the Princess Leia slave costume complete with chains while we have the nastiest sex you could imagine and when you scream my characters name you say, "Han Solooo god your light saber is so big"
And then I whisper in your ear........well baby its because I have a high midochlorine count
Then the moment I'm done working my Boba Fett in and out of your sarlac pit I pull out and "accidentally" unleash the power of the force in your jedis
But for the love of everything good and holy don't just tell me you'll "try" to watch it
Because in the words of one of the most prolific figures in the history of the universe,
"Do or Do Not, There is No Try"


I'm on to you
I know what you are now
And I never really noticed it before because you're outer appearance is never the same
And I never see you again, not in the same exact place, not with the same exact face, but something about you always stays the same
A face that is meant to be delicately chiseled into a marble slab
A hand crafted masterpiece that still has its imperfections and cracks, instead of a center fold face that comes out of a plastic cast
A body that looks like a real woman, like a classic beauty, not like these anorexic train wrecks that somehow pass for attractive these days
And though it is the form that you take that always catches my eye, its not what keeps it there as you gracefully walk by
Its as if your skin is made out of glass, and your rib cage divides into sections and pulls itself back so I can see past everything that everyone else sees
And there you are
A little ball of energy that glows so bright that it absolutely shadows out everyone elses light
Its your core, or your source, or your essense, how ever you want to phrase it, its there
And you always come out of nowhere, as if all the particles in the room were sucked in and combusted in the moment that I blinked, creating you
A beautiful distant star that usually hides in the dark, but for one brave moment you shoot across my view
And I don't know what to do
I pace around the aisle pretending like I'm going about my normal business, every so often glancing around to make sure you haven't moved
I'm trying my best not to stare directly at you, but I'm sure you're not oblivious
You know that I'm looking and you probably also know that I'm trying to muster up the courage to say hello
I can play two hour shows without missing a beat, or stand in front of an audience screaming about fucking, but for some reason
I can't even approach you
Then as quickly as you appeared, you implode into yourself and completely disappear
I always miss my opportunity, so I wrote this in hopes that you could somehow hear
Don't give up on me
I know it has to be frustrating but I don't have the light I need to be with you yet
I thought I saw you in others, but every time realized that it was only a spark, my core dimmed and now its practically gone dark
So please don't stop showing up
One day I might just sneak up on you by surprise
Then we can sit down together like two headlights driving down a deserted highway to somewhere we've never been before
We'll find the edge of the world and fall continuously into each other until you and I don't exist anymore
All that's left is the plural of us in a singular love

Third Stool to the Right

On any given night you can find our subject on the third stool to the right in your local dive bar
Sitting alone he tilts his glass from side to side, swirling the contents like a cauldron that he stares into for advice
But the only face he sees inside is bitter and lonely, cold hearted and ugly, pressed against the walls for years till his expression only resembles the bricks that line the outside of the building
And every once in awhile he sees what he recalls of his daughters beautiful little face burning brightly behind his eyes
And he just takes another shot of the whiskey he keeps next to his bed when she keeps him awake at night
I say he remembers what he can recall because for the last 12 years he hasn't been a father at all
Back in a time when things felt more innocent, a young man and a young woman became more than intimate
And every evening was spent lying in each other's arms whispering in her ear before she would roll over and return the sentiment
But quick passions sometimes lead to quick decisions and there was no thoughts about any natural repercussions when he slid himself between her legs without any precautions
The next few weeks found our couple grocery shopping as normal, but this time next to the bread, milk, and eggs was a pregnancy test
Back home in the bedroom his heart raced, and her hands shaked, as they watched the strip change colors right in front of their face, and she cried when she realized that her life was going to change
What should have been a beautiful moment was washed over in panic, despair, and rage, as the father tried to talk her into visiting a clinic the next day
The truth was that neither one of them were prepared to have a child, and while he didn't want to stop the birth of a human being, he knew he couldn't provide it with a proper standard of living
His bitterness just expanded as evenings were spent demanding that she took a look at what kind of world they were bringing a little child into
A mother that never even graduated high school and a father that was too self absorbed in creating a name for himself that he already renounced the God that his parents had introduced him to
There was no comfort in reaching out to higher powers and this course of events only led him to believe further that any benevolent presence was too high up to be concerned about a lonely little boy without the proper will power
The guilt ate at him during every waking hour
He had dreams of uprooting his little flower
Devouring the seed inside her already blossoming body to prevent dealing with the years of inadequate preparation that this poor little spirit would be forced into when it was born
He was more than torn
He was divided into an internal battle with his morality, his responsibility, his integrity, and his youthful desires
The relationship only became strained as the months went by and he secretly wished for a miscarriage to relieve the torment in his mind
Until the day came when she arrived
He stood in the delivery room and watched his daughter emerge from inside, and when the nurse placed her in his arms the world realigned itself and tears poured from his eyes
It was the most beautiful moment in his life
And even when told me this amidst the crowd and noise in that bar, he still cried
And when his tears finally dried he told me about what happened within the next six months, when his baby died
Even though in all reality he had no control over the fact that his little girls heart had just stopped he still felt like it was his fault because God had been listening and he finally woke up

The Gallery

I've got a gallery of stylized portraits of past mistakes in art deco frames hanging from the recesses of my brain
Every once in awhile I like to wander through admiring the pictures so I can get another look at you
I still have your phone number as it seems to be impervious to the quarterly contact deletions that occur on my cell
I can't tell you how many times my thumb has dangled over that button, just centimeters away from cutting the last line that still connects me to your life
A digital umbilical cord that feeds me false hope and shattered dreams like rapidly deteriorating film reels that sputter and click in rhythmic repetitions of tragic drum beats
And I was always on the edge of my seat constantly admiring you like a starlet on the silver screen
The academy of me was almost all agreeing on presenting you with the prestigious honor of an Oscar in the form of a diamond ring
Then time changed something
It swept in like a thief, clinging to shadows and holding its breath till violent gasps exploded from the depths of its chest
In those ugly inhales we would spend the evenings turned away from each other, clutching the covers, considering if these encounters would happen with another
Blood shot eyes peering over our shoulders at each other, words crouching behind our lips, waiting to ambush the next chance that we would get
Until the thief learned how to breathe freely and walk among us easily, whispering phrases like "he doesn't need me"
And that little bastard would run back to my ear, perching on my shoulder telling me that she doesn't want me here
He would reassure me that I'm a man, I have my pride, and I can't be trifled with emasculating statements like "I'm sorry" or simple gestures like wrapping my arms around you when you cried
I almost called you when I was standing in the cold outside
Unfortunately that same invisible barrier that protects your cell phone spectre also won't allow the pressure to my fingertips to ring your line
I wanted to tell you to walk out and take a look at the first star that caught your eye
And how I imagine that on that star is an alternate world where we killed the thief and set everything right
But I realize now more than ever
Not everything dies


Dear God of Modern Medical Advances and Health care Innovations,

Fuck you
I suppose you must be pretty proud of yourself
After all you have been quite busy lately
Most noticeably in the object of my unquenchable desire that I just so happen to frequent my evenings with
Evenings that just meld into one another
Evenings that are so fantastic that they flood into the following day
Evenings filled with slow kisses, gentle caresses, flirty eyes, intertwined body parts, and gritting my teeth from the fact that I can't put my hoo hoo in her haa haa because of your wondrous gift to women of the world
Otherwise known as the HPV shot
You so expertly produced it for the prevention of cervical cancer and the rapid deterioration of my sexual sanity
So two big thumbs up on that one, chief
Cause let me tell you, there ain't nothing I love more in this world than ordering a prime cut T-bone steak and having a Big Mac show up on my plate
And I guess that I can't really complain because the chef is so fucking hot that I'll take anything she gives me with a big shit eating grin on my face
However I am this close to running back into the kitchen and sweeping everything off that prep table
And in the middle of that maelstrom of lettuce, onions, pickles, special sauce, and sesame seed buns swirling around us like uncontrollable vortex of passion, I'm going to pull out my secret ingredient and show her how to bake my sex in her love oven
But right whenever we're about to start cooking you have to step in and remind us that she has to pre-heat..........until September
So this 9/11 while everyone is mourning a horrific American tragedy that no doubt has scarred the image of security and freedom in this entire country
Leaving shock waves of fear and paranoia in the hearts of our general populace
I'm going to spread open her twin towers and blow my airliner right through them
Alright, I might have stepped over a line with that one, but you make me more concerned than a Jew in an enormous German shower stall
Maybe one of these days I'll thank you because the lack of completely lust filled interactions has made me appreciate what an amazing person she is even more
But until that time comes
I point my perpetually erect middle finger
Directly at you

My Intentions

I just want to say that its a pleasure to meet you Ms. Grey,

I'd like to take a few precious moments of your time if you'll allow me to be so cordial as to explain my intentions with your daughter
Now we both know that she is a radiant display of beauty both physical and mental, fit to be perched atop a throne and worshipped by people of her own civilization
And we both know that she's so kind hearted that even kings of neighboring lands would travel bare foot from thousands of miles away to stand in line just to tickle her back
But I'd like to think that the people of her own land would be so passionate about their queen that they'd fight to the death with the outsiders, using those very same farming tools which are essential in growing that disgusting bread she eats without flour
Because laying just one finger on her pristine body would be the equivalent of marring a beautiful French painting that was made by someone fancy and shit
Now I don't know what kind of books you were reading this vibrant spark of life when she was little but her grasp on performance and prose are reaching epic proportions
You've seen those fantasy paintings with the scantily clad vixens mounted on a cougar while they hold their sword up high in the air as lightning strikes it on top of a mountain
That's her
She is a barbarian woman welding her tongue like Excalibur, slashing through lesser foes like tiny sissy paper mache dolls while she torches entire villages with each word she casts from her lips cause she's a fucking witch
And the spell that she inadvertently enchanted my heart with has started to consume my entire being, which is why I had to come before you and tell you that I want to fuck the holy hell out of her
I suppose I should apologize profusely, but I want to ransack her body like an LA rioter in 1992, flipping cars with my ridged member leaving only a wake of carnage and destruction on my way to her pad locked liquor store
And liquor is just the start to what I have waiting for her
Because what she doesn't realize is that I'm mother fucking Conan, that's right Schenegger in all his glory, arms like tree trunks, and abs like Jesus
And when some huge ass serpent in some dungeon that she's exploring comes tearing through a wall to attack her, I'm going to jump out from the shadows and choke that bitch with my bare hands
Then while I'm standing there in front of her in all my testosterone filled glory, I'll unsheathe my sword and cast a shadow over her civilization that will last for millenias to come
And millenias won't be the only things will continue to come
I'm sorry, whats that?
Oh, yeah, hi my name is Dwayne
Wow, yeah, I suppose that was a bit too much information
But I wasn't lying I would put sores on her from fucking so much

Candy Man: A Cautionary Piece

The years of scrubbing your smooth skin hasn't washed off the venom you born with
You were cursed with a disposition to poison men that let you in, use you up and spit you out again
Your environment breeds unfortunate seeds that don't have the strength to push past the crust of the earth
You're part of the individuals born into holes in the dirt, practically doomed from their birth
Surviving off the residue of lovers that left you when you clawed your name on the flesh of their chest
And I hate to tell you this, but I'm not any better than the rest
On paper I'm all good intentions and air tight alibis, but I only brought you to my bedroom so I can swallow your soul one bite at
a time
I enjoy running my hands over your frame, finger fucking the stitches out of your emotional scars
So I can pull them apart and stick my face in to get a good look at the daddy shaped hole in your heart
Truth is I'm just another vulture sitting under your nest, watching you squirm from how your father pushed you out too fast
And 50 feet down you still flutter on the ground, wishing for wings that work, bleeding internally, performing physical favors for anyone
lonely or horny enough to buy you a drink at the bar
Cause you're struggling to find water in a desert of empty pleasures that only leave you further dehydrated and violated
by steel wool finger tips that scratch your lips, scrape the flesh from your hips until they unhinge their jaws to devour whats left, leaving
only a name you can refer to in the past tense
Legions of men forming lines to your bed filling holes that are stretched like the veins in your arms that stream chemicals to your heart
and everything is only an awkward effort to find a new beginning to the chapters that keep ending with you waiting for phone calls that never
Cause you gave them the ending before your evening was done
Then you wonder why the tally marks are adding up on your inner thighs
So allow me to give you a little insight tonight
Look at me, fucking look at me
I'm one of those guys, standing up and raising my hand, admitting that I didn't feel anything when I slipped out of your life
You're just another vehicle that I pushed into a lake of lies so I could watch you drown inside
And I absolutely love it when you fight with me so I can eat the meat off your spite, blow my smoke in your eyes, and leave a shell of girl
that had high hopes for a world that would some how mend all her broken bones and wipe the tears that she cried
In this one moment of heart felt sincerity I hope you grow up and accept your own responsibility
Stop talking to strangers that claim to have new flavors of candy that you can take home and taste
Cause I got a whole bag full, so don't trust every friendly face


I can feel it brooding under my skin
It's tension
And I can't put my finger on exactly what it is, whether it's a primal sexual thing or some kind of unbridled animosity sitting on our chests
And even if I figured out exactly what it is I can never really tell if its the same thing that you're feeling
Its like we're both holding guns under the table, or hiding knives behind our backs when we use one arm to side hug when we say hello or good bye
And the words between those two occurrences are few and far between, even in them neither of us say what we really mean
Its lip service
But for what?
Every meeting that we arrange just makes further clear that one day we're either going to blow up or shut down on each other
I can't tell if this is just granting a courtesy or if you're actually helping me try to fight through this fog of frustration that has encapsulated any enjoyable moment we used to have
But there's something you need to know before we get to the point where we say things neither of us can take back
I miss you
But don't misunderstand what I'm saying
I'm not saying that I miss your kiss, or your touch, or the evenings that stumbled into your bed after I drank too much
I'm saying I miss YOU
The intelligent girl I could talk to, the girl that randomly wanted crab puffs, or felt compelled to walk down the street to the convenience store to get a mixture of Icee's at midnight
The girl that listened to me play guitar while she studied on her bed, the one that I felt comfortable inviting to events where I wanted to have a female for company instead
In comparison of our personalities its amazing that we even managed to get along, but somehow we did
And words got mangled and tangled in safety nets that you installed in hopes that you could soften the blow if I should happen to fall
Well I did and I'm done debating on whether or not you pushed me at all
Now you said what you needed to say I've had time to process the truth, lick my wounds, and scream it off of the tops of roofs, venting words that hurt but I was never aiming at you
I had just been holding a weapon that I needed to shoot
And if you took one in the chest then I'm apologizing and offering my bandages to you
They're a little used but I don't need them anymore

The Composer

You're omnipresent, like a Greek myth you summon yourself in front of me everywhere at once
I can't lift an eyelid without seeing something that reminds me of everything that was
Movies, albums, and street names that still whisper like figments that haunt me in the night
And I'm inadvertently resurrecting your spirit through ashes of wine glasses that litter the corners of my room
And when I go to clean up all the empty beer bottles that your hands had graced, little ghosts fly out of the empty space
And its absolutely killing me cause there's millions of them with your face
So I rush through the apartment corridors like Pac-man to the kitchen to scavenge the cupboards seeking the little magic pill that erases my conscienceness and turns all your ghosts blue, so I can float back into the bedroom and eat every single piece of you
But I never have enough time before they all stop flashing again, like emergency lights in bright patterns of orange, yellow, and red
And I'm back to chasing the dots, chasing the shots with a hit off a bowl in a place where you're not
While a flat lifeless pillow lies on the side of the bed that you would have got
I made music from the way you moaned when my hands and my tongue were exploring your body on the evenings we were alone
And now your just the fucking annoying song that I can't get out of my head
Your the name that sends pangs of shock waves through my stomach when I see it as I'm scrolling through the contact list on my cell phone
You're the static in the air, you're the empty dial tone
That same exact sound that I hate to hear when I'm debating on calling you to see if your home
You're the nagging little nuisance throwing useless little toothless green eyed monsters that circle me at night when I'm just trying to push past the images of new gentlemen playing the keys on your skeleton, composing new symphonies of ecstasy, surpassing me in orchestral arrangement that climax in crescendos of sweeping refrains till your knees buckle and you don't have the strength to walk when the piece comes to its epic end
And then the vision stops, rewinds, and plays itself over again
You're the magazine ad that I tear out and pin up onto the wall, you're the rise of the Roman empire and the decadence that led to its downfall
You're a fucking evil priestess sticking pins in my voodoo doll while I curl up over campfires burning effigies of your form
And I'm just begging you, pleading you, imploring every beautiful inch of you, call off your fucking dogs
Cause I'm just waiting for everything to come to pass, when I'll be reborn like Jesus Christ of a cardboard cut out Nazareth
Screaming with a thousand bold voices of a cathedral choir as I'm preaching to the red headed devil that I still desire
Douse me in this bottle of whiskey and bathe me in your fire
I want to make my home inside your lungs under stacks of funeral pyre
Till you develop Emphazema and spend your life dangling from hospital wires
I'll be your fucking Judas leading an army of two tone, turn coats, that roll over with every high pitched note that your new composer pucks from the strings of your heart
While I watch from the mezzanine of some hellish dream while you two make percussion out of each other's private parts
Stabbing me like poison darts with each wet slap holding me down and ripping me apart
Till the fluids from my limbs and your sexual car accident come mingling onto my mental canvas like a disturbing work of art
I said it once before and I'll scream it again sweetheart
Call off your fucking dogs or nobody gets out alive
Cause I'm ready to lay down my life and battling your miserable memory is like bringing a knife to a gun fight


It slowly became apparent to me that while I was only interested in counting the number of lovers on my two hands
You were busy growing extra arms to accommidate your new men
And I'm not even attempting to say that's a reflection of where you've been
But rather an indication of where you're willing to go before your life's end
Double talking over dinner tables in philosophical pillow fights that don't hold enough weight to ruin anyone's night
And after two hours of questions without real answers, you get no real winners, you just get real tired and have to call the fight
I can see how that can even be a summary of everything we ever were
A flash in the pan of romance without enough gas to truely burn
You would think that striking two stone hearts together would cause some kind of spark
But more often than not I'd be found drinking myself to sleep in the dark
You see, sweet pea, I ran the numbers in my head, I picked up the remains of memories and buried what was dead, and I recall every soft spoken word and still mean everything I said
But that doesn't help the fact that I was an interchangable accessory for the late night hours in your bed
Now I know you said you wanted casual and casual was right
Cause I was just the shirt you threw on when you weren't going out for the night
Now since we're being honest I suppose I should admit that I didn't need much help in wrapping myself around your finger
Its mostly my fault that I crafted poems and love songs that are strong enough to linger
But when I would lie down next to you my eyes were blinking in shutter shots that created libraries of images in my mind
Until the shelves overflowed and photos came drifting down to my heart, making spirals down my spine
Till it fell like every instinct in my body was standing straight in a line
Saluting the essence of everything I thought could be mine
Its funny how perseption can cause you to re evalutate the truth
And I still would have fought for my reality nail for nail and tooth for tooth
But the emotion that crashed like waves in your eyes wasn't the same rolling tides that came spilling from your lips
And I should have know better considering that it took a bottle of wine before you'd start talking with your hips
I spent every moment trying to graduate from those second grade smiles and ninth grade encounters
We're both fucking adults so what makes you think I want to dry hump for hours
And we still flirt like fucking first graders sitting at opposite ends of cafeteria counters
There's no way I can ever guarantee that I can comfortably sit next to you in the same place
Or not have the urge to punch whatever new boyfriend you've found directly in the face
And sometimes I really think I'd feel better if I could win in the "who's going to fuck someone first" race
But determining the winner would mean I'd have to know how soon you gave yourself over to someone new
And how they just made a parody of everything I tried to give to you
I know its only a matter of time before some golden boy with a sharp tongue and a higher education finds his way into your arms
And I'll probably just get drunk at your wedding and throw my empty beer bottles at your car
Of couse thats to say if our post relationship even makes it that far
And sometimes I hope it doesn't