the is of aa camera empties itselfof momentsas of facesthe implicatureis your facereflectedpastthe futureexi(s)tsin thatglancedeveloped
mask painted downi am not waitingfor hisor hisapprovalanymore(i was never waiting for a coffinprocession, as they awaitedcoffers opening, gleaming)i disregard my blood;imagine grimalkins warmingtheir crooked fingersover bubblesexplodingpunctuating their gripes:on breathing,on lifemy mother suffered.in turn, as iwhen the day comesthere will be no thanks;no Ihe will be happyto have lessshe will be happyto have her breath given backsay we carry our memories with usfind outtoo latemy suitcaseis just a largehandle on a holeexpressing your lovewith a store-boughtmask, with plasticpainted tears streakingdown does notendear me to you(your love is a fictional entity birthed into an effigyyou burn cigarette holes into)no, i willnot hugyoui feel my capacityfor stormsbattering my facesubsidinglike an unlikely predictionfor year-longgood weather***
lets goRelentless as an ocean erodingthe creases of my cliff facetidal waves of youcrash along my boundary stonesthe push and pull of blue:eddying thoughtsemotions white washi don't think the ground will keepbeneath me and i'll plungeheadfirst intothe push and pull of you(are you waiting)(are you waiting)(are you waiting for an sos on the sand?)let's go
arent said - WhenThere will not be any words when the time comes. Emotions will circle back on themselves like the snake eating its own tail: an endless cycle. Existing, not existing, consuming itself into oblivion, only to expel, excrete, create itself again. Constantly extinguishing, constantly setting alight.I let the ink melt away the words I write on my naked flesh. Lick my finger again, rub out my emotions. I wrote them; childishly hoping they would find you. Like the words I say quietly in empty rooms, in empty expanses on other continents, hoping the wind will carry my thoughts to you.I wanted to tell you, but being the coward I am, I don't know when I will. And if it will matter, then.Words lose their meaning when they aren't said. When the receiver, the reader, the listener is never in attendance. Having never been invited, they have never had a chance to RSVP the event, to ever be allowed to show up.(Meaningless: When not followed by action.)In time, you'll completely forget about me. M
daily - like waterI come back to you unwillingly it seems. Walk back down these streets I've forgotten to walk along. They say it is never easy going back. I don't agree so much; I think it's so easy that this is what makes it so hard.Where do you go on those days where all you need to do is walk? Hoping to find yourself in the brickwork of old stable buildings, do you ever look up just to see if the sky still exists, up there?Maybe it only happens to those who look too intently at their own shoes, mistaking this for politeness I wasted too many years staring at worn leather. Maybe it wasn't very polite of me to say goodbye as I did, but politenesses are always so easily forgotten, I think I just wanted to stand out a little this time.I assured you I would call every day, this became every week in practice it meant once a month if you were lucky and I remembered. I like that, luck and my memory being related. Maybe I should remember to be lucky next time.***This tea tastes the way you
home-boundi catch little insects with my fingersit makes me feel so powerfuland having become god in your eyes, also -i quit:take your sorrys with me,punch in,shuffle through turnstiles,take the line closest to the door.i speak erratic, tongue soreexplaining away thisknotted anchorhe said it was "very zen"to undo, unravel,unrelentingly -of course i cringed.having had your breath takenyou have the gallto ask forit back.
the city. Burnt outA violet tag catches my attention as the metal moves towards the city. Burnt out buildings sit comfortably silent in the fenced in wastes of grass; I wonder if anyone lives in there, knowing where all the holes are, sleeping between empty bottles and filth.People shuffle around inside themselves, volleying thoughts in tiny spaces; a child tells his mother he would rather stand. A forever exists when I close my eyes, pinch the space between my eyebrows; breathe in deep into a sigh. It's black there, confused and consoling, but then one speck appears, and another, conjuring coloured hallucinations to dance along my lids, telling me to open up again.Floodgates releasing, bodies sprawling, clustering in front of each booted step. I head for the stairs and take three each stride, hoping to exit quickly, escape the undertow. Advertising excrement greets me like a dementia patient, hoary, useless make-up, insisting I'm a naughty girl: I should visit more often. Bypassi
calypsowhite rock exploded into perfect formprimary colours washingbackthe need to stayin citiesnear peoplethe quiet is a heart beatmuted for a mother'sanguishthe skullsare notcrystalthe airis notnewbut everythingis newnow.
imagine my surpriseI canfeel myself pouring (itisn'tan excuse) anotherdoppelganger (yes,I exist everywhere) down the pipes(alltypes)again.
All Hallow's EveThe sky grew darker as the days grew longer, leading up to the day I had most been looking forward to – Halloween. For years, I had gone out trick or treating, dressed up as any fun thing I could think of. Ghosts, Vampires, Zombies… I’d done them all. But as the years went on, I stopped being “cute”. Rather, I became “too old”, and eventually some people started to call the cops. Seventeen I guess is a little old in the eyes of society, but I was still a kid! Let me have my candy and visit all the houses around!I looked at myself in the mirror. My costume this year was a joke – nothing more than a sheet over my head with eyes cut out. I wanted to wear a more elaborate costume, but maybe if they saw this amateur costume that covered all my features, I’d get less people afraid of my age.“I’m heading out!” I called to my parents.“Timmy, again?” asked my mom. “We told you last year that you are jus
LilahI was in Taste of China, waiting on Lilah to show up. I was pretty nervous, mildly terrified, this could go horrendously badly, or it could go moderately badly, either way, I wasn't sure I wanted to be there. Only I didn't really have a choice.I remember the first time I met Lilah; it was at Freshman orientation. I didn't pay much attention to her right away, I don't think she wanted anybody to notice her. They had us all gathered in a small room on the second floor of the union.I wanna say they were talking about the code of ethics on campus, or something, I don't know, I was more distracted by the girl doing the presentation. Now that chick, I did not mind looking at for a while! Skinny enough, with tits big and firm enough to give even an ass man like me pause, and all this plus a pretty face. Just a good looking, stereotypical, hot chick is how I remember her, make-up caked on, the whole package. Eye candy for sure, and so sweet! Listening to her going on with that
Camera of Change: Selfie ConflictThere once was a man who went by the name of Charles Bahmer, an average guy in an average world. Nothing spectacular ever happened to poor Charles. It wasn't like he had a poor social life; in fact he had a great one. The only issue he really had was his inability to take a selfie. That's right. Charles, for whatever reason, could not take a selfie without messing it up somehow. Even though phones had front facing cameras, which were clearly designed for taking selfies, he still screwed it up.Nonetheless, Charles found himself out walking in the local park during a nice cool fall day. He always loved taking walks when it was nice out. Dressed up in sweats and a blue long sleeve shirt, he was able to stay comfortably warm. As he walked down the trail he noticed something shiny under a few leaves. He walked over to it and crouched down to see what was gleaming in the sunlight.It was a digital camera, but nothing fancy enough that would be worth something in a pawn shop. Charles noticed
He loves meThe sun fell down on me like soft petals gracing the ground at your feet. Like that day I picked that flower from your garden, daring your eyes as I plucked our forever.He loves me not.