Embossed time

I search for ways to stop caring...
Between grass seed and weed, flowers grow
and nettles won’t be pulled without pain.

We are not empty spaces…
we are flourishing in different directions.

Drowning you is hardest in the moonlight.
When your eyes have the ability to meet mine
and you reflect our history.
It’s harder to blacken you out
when your skin is lunar wet.

Our pistols are drawn
but our barrels are empty.
There are sunsets to be walked into
but we would both rather stand kicking at the dust
til our eyes grow red and teary.

You won’t be erased by clear empty nights
so I remove your trinkets from our around my fingers.
Their memory stains my flesh white
their sadness an irremovable indent
embossing time
and lies gone by.

In the daylight you mean nothing to me
But in my silence I make believe.
I didn’t invite your into my castle
So why do you stay?

Pitbull to the balls 23/12/10

Pitbull to the balls
your inability swallowed my heart
with painful precision

anticipated
I field the incoming news
like an awkward debating champion on a baseball field
Helplessly!
I fall into the vulnerable abyss
as though it was rehearsed,
yet gag on the unexpected revelation
that nothing would have prepared me for the pain I’ve been awaiting

I mail back lies
and their convincingly sincerity
acts as relief

I want to spit it on every stranger I meet
but I fear the reality will burst my neurotic bubble
I cling to this grief
as though it is the last thing that belongs solely to me

I wear your ring
and give you all my bitter tears in return

This emptiness will always be looked upon with blank stares
My hateful words will always paint me black;
even if muttered beneath voiceless pleas

You always took what was mine
and yearly I wrap hate up and place it under the Christmas tree
tagged: to me with love
a gift to myself to replace the one you never manage to post.
One year you sent me an empty advent calendar,
then asked for it back…
it was returned full

I fill this space between us with plastic junk, broken furniture and blackberries
I want you to be scratched up and bleeding by the time you reach me
I want to see red trickling lines down your legs
and a disheveled golden main

You made the distance empty and cold so I filled it with hate…
To block my view and give the space purpose.

Will there ever be a loss deep enough to allow you to hear me?