The Stranger In The Street

You're beautiful on the outside, but on the inside you're arrogant to people who do not know you because you're so sad and fragile that if they get to close they might just crack you down the middle. You're terrified of the dark and you wince as you pass mirrors. If your friends were smart they would see the vulnerability in the few seconds after you wake, before the mask descends. They would see the shadow that passes over your face as a stranger brushes past you in the street. To you, I'm just another of those people, passing you by in the street, but if for a moment you'd look back you'd see me standing still, staring after you. I wish I could tell you that I know, I know what's happening to you 'cause you see, you're just like me. We could be happy broken together.

The Last Cowboy

He almost reminded me of John Denver, with his smell of whiskey and cracked leather. The way he wore those glasses, years beyond repair. How youthful his face stayed, how natural his laugh was. He was the kind of person you feel the need to keep in your life, even though they might never truly be part of it. He was living in Oregon when he died. I don't know where I was, what I was doing. I hardly ever know. On that day, it didn't matter. He was drunk. Alone in his pickup truck when he ran himself off the road. They say he didn't suffer, that it was quick. I wasn't invited to his funeral; who was I but a stranger he met once on his short journey? I remember hearing how his family gave the boots he was wearing to his closest friend, still caked with the mud he has tramped on earlier that day. I still think of him from time to time, that last true cowboy.

The Love And The War

"Look." You said at last, exasperated. "Think of it this way: how big is your heart?"

I smirk at such an easy question and hold up my fist, fingers tightly clenched. "Here. As big as a fist."

You shake your head and raise your hand, curling your fingers over mine. "No, don't you see? My heart will always be bigger than your fist."

The PED Was Elastic

Our love wasn't unrequited, but unrequired.

The Bird Flew Into The Window

He was a good man doing a great man's job, while all the great men were busy making bombs.

Under My Skin

I was born with wires in my blood, running up the length of my body. I can feel them when I touch someone, and static runs through me, and when I turn over to fast in bed and they cut into my organs. I can feel them there, waiting. Just waiting. For now. They whisper to me at night they're going to get me. They know what I've done, and they will come for me. They're inside me, all the time. They could take me now, if they wanted. But no, they are patient, they will wait. They will lie grenades through my veins and landmines along my bones and they will wait for me to fall.

The Silence After

I need you to do this for me. Just one thing, but it's important. Take out a notebook and note this down; I did live. Because in a thousand years time they may not be able to imagine what it was like, but I was here, and you were here, and we did not need each other because need is ugly and we were beautiful. So I need you to let them know; I did live. More importantly, I loved.

The Hundred Thousand Dead

Sleeping in a basement with rock, dirt, and my best friends. We drank ourselves silly, smoked ourselves silly, talked ourselves out. Not but three hours ago I was waking up. We'd spent the night lying on a fire escape, laughing and telling everyone how much we loved/hated/indifferented each other. It's just another day in the life of the inane and confused; we aren't much but we are existent and I guess that's something to brag about.

The Day I Left

A hundred thousand people before me have been trapped inside this tiny heart; I can see initials carved into the walls, hearts still ringing together names of lovers who fell apart long ago, and old cigarette butts litter the floor. So this place is no stranger to misguided children looking for some semblance of real human connection.

But I want you to know that I have no damaged you with my insignia or marked it as mine alone in any way. And I have tried to leave it as I found it; dark.

The Corridor

So I just sat there and watched them pass because, like me, their lives are too busy for strangers.

The Murmering Bones

I haven't a bone in my body that doesn't speak in whispers; they all grind and crack as if they are trying to speak to one another, like blind old men feeling each other's faces. My joints are landmines, I can see it now. A crack of knuckle and suddenly a thousand atomical secrets come pouring from the creases in my palm. What a spectacle, what a sight; a child exploding from the outside in. What a thrill, what a mess, to have secrets all over the floor at my feet, but for their electric spark to die out before they can ever reach the ground. A dead spark, a wet match, a short circuit. What's the use? I woiuld rather keep the static stored. I will cusp my hands together lightly, I will be careful not to move my spine to rapidly, or a mess of electric shock might come bursting out my neck. I will have to be gentle and fragile and tender, because these secrets my cells tell one another can burn holes into the back of someone's head, can strip me of my sense of common things, can leave just as quickly as it comes. I will be quiet, I will listen and I will catch the slight buzz that comes at every point of concentration, and I will not create a crack.

I will never crack my knuckles again.

The Dog By The Roadside

It sees the truck and the urge to chase is overwhelming. It runs for miles, barking ceaselessly. The pursuit is pointless. Fruitless. Even if he could catch the truck, what would he do? Such quetions are irrelevant. The pursuit itself is the point. And in this solitary moment, his obsession is total. Mind, heart, body, and soul all singing in unison, in singular commitment to the chase.

And then, it ends.