The world’s gone mad.
As the last ember crashes down,
And the stars have begun to fade away.
And I am just a waste of youth,
Something that lost promise before it began.

And I sit like a flat tire,
waiting to rot.
And the world has begun to fade out.
And it is once again morning.

And who shall give me roses?
And what shall I wear?
Will I be remembered,
Or just sadly ignored?

Am I losing my grip on the world?
Or is the world spinning me off,
An ephemeral spinning like the wheels
of my childhood bicycle
As everything crashes
And the hill is too steep?

What shall I become?

Who shall I become?
Who shall I say hello to?
Should I be by her side?
This isn’t fair,
But than again what is today?

The rain patters,
The sidewalk splashes,
Worms crawl into the meat of music,
As the sky is an embrace,
Inside the ribcages of cold stone and marble.

We run,
Coverless and naked,
Under the soft turf,
The perfect green that is a river,
As we are straightjacketed by Dadaist clouds overhead.

Take me inside,
Keep me safe and warm,
Strip me of what is unessecary,
Kiss me,
For words are merely gasps for air,
And touch becomes the universal language.
Speak in these new tongues,
Make it sound like praying,
And resonate like a chorus.

Let us encompass each other in skin and blankets,
And never let go.
Let me be yours forever,
And let me love you over and over again,
Even when the clouds have passed.

Soft summer breezes,
A kiss on my cheek,
Porcelain and tear-stained,
Despite this memorable heat.

Two sweaty bodies merge in this afternoon,
This is our siesta,
Let us enjoy this.
Let us enjoy this boyish roughousing
That reminds me of a time when I was younger.
When the daisies were actually white,
And the air smelled clean,
And the dirt was my only stain,
And the sky shone,
The blue of a robin’s egg.

I thought those days were gone for a while,
And that life was a harsh, gray, New York reality.
I was trapped,
Stuck between a crib and a coffin,
Unable to sleep.

But with one of your kisses,
From the tenderest lips,
The world changed.
Your sweet eyes,
And tender carresses,
Made my childhood come back again,
Restoring life into the most dried-up hopes,
And polishing the stars as a guide for me.

And all I can wish now,
All I can pray for,
Is another day,
Another moment in your precious arms,
Another kiss from the reddest lips,
Another soft blush.
Another day to turn into the longest nights.

I’ve been sitting here for the past hour and a half staring at the screen. It’s hitting me again, I know it. Damn it, why has it hit me so hard in the past year, I think. I look around my room for inspiration. The pink and white puppy, the one that he gave me for Valentine’s day and picked up at a convienence store right before he came to see me so he would have something nice, sits on the top shelf collecting dust with one ear flopped over its eye like in a firing-squad execution. I don’t want to write about that now, though. That’s my past. It’s something deep-seated that makes my face flush with anger and tears whenever I think about it. I don’t want to think of it even. I’m happy now.

On the other side, there’s a set of fairy wings. I wish I were a fairy. I think I’d be a nymph actually, you know, like the ones depicted bathing in John William Waterhouse paintings that just make you want to take your clothes off and bathe with them. I could really go for a warm bath in my yellow duct-tape tub right now. But I have stuff to do. And yet I’m still wasting my time blogging here. It’s what I do.

I keep meticulously staring at my cell phone. It’s looking kind of sad, waiting for a call or a text or something to let me know that the Jersey Devil didn’t eat his soul. I keep fixating on it. Damn it, light up and vibrate. Give me something to look forward to. I send a text. It was thirty seconds ago. I have no answer yet. This can’t be good. My stomach tightens waiting. Why isn’t he at my beck and call? Of course I know I’m being silly since he’s probably busy. Damn it, I hate waiting. I’m like a five year old. He’ll be here soon enough. One minute now. I check weather reports in my spare time. Clear weather, although it’s been gradually clouding over all day.

I hear a sound. It’s the phone, but not my phone. It’s someone I don’t care about. That happens a lot, being in such a busy household. As of Wedensday, I have sent out 109 text messages. That’s a lot of text messages. My bill is going to be insane. How can I pay that? I haven’t gotten my paycheck yet. I should probably do my work, but I’m sitting here, taking space instead.

Looking through the cracks in my blinds, I see a bit of blue. Blue makes me think of the ocean, of past loves, of warm summer days laying in fields. It makes me think of Rockland. I have the sudden desire for it to be fall, you know, the fall where it’s perfectly freezing outside but the sky is as blue as cotton candy? I love days like that, especially Saturdays. Good days for reenacting. I can’t wait to reenact tomorrow. I love that site, and it always makes me think of summer. Oh, summer. I went swimming today. It’s freezing outside. Where’s my summer?

I keep myself locked away from the world,
From the horrors that haunt me in garish light,
Screaming into a plastic bag,
Suffocating poetic thoughts into white-gown notebooks.

The empty asylums of co-op city,
Monsters in this wallpapered sky,
Call to me.
I find solace in the empty promises of high heels
And the hydrotherapy tubs that are Utica Coffins.

I wonder in naked cold sweats,
I ask “what cost my spirit?”
“Why am I afraid?”
“What are my options?”

And I hide in the back of my mind,
A pleasant world of hysterical open fields.
Both bunnies and demons and angels run,
Admist the Jacobite Rebellions and calculus formulae.

And I think of future days,
Of cracked chess pieces and broken vases,
Of deaths in shit-stained underpants,
Of no one by my side,
And my soul runs into pink sequined panic.

May I hide in a world I dispise?
May I sit for chamomile tea with a walrus and a hatter?
Is this theraputic?
Why am I crying again?
Must I nonerotically cry?

I long for excitment,
And fear T.S. Eliot’s pain.
I wish for the past,
But long for the future.
And fear the unknown lard-canister depths.

I woke up this morning,
The sunlight making me nauseous.
I didn’t heed any warnings,
But I still was cautious.

And as I rode up on the street,
Looking for something new to see.
I felt the dirt beneath my feet,
And I wondered if this really was me.

‘Cause all I need to do is be with you,
And something makes my day somehow less blue.
I then take it all in strife,
And you make me thankful to have you in my life.

As I sat inside a room
Thinking nothing of cold tea
I thought of you as my groom,
Seeing all there is to see.

And as politics were made,
And voices became lies.
I sat thinking of this day,
And being by your side…

‘Cause all I need to do is be with you,
And something makes my day somehow less blue.
I then take it all in strife,
And you make me thankful to have you in my life.

And when this day will end,
You will be deeply missed,
Until the sun will rise again,
And I shall feel your kiss.

‘Cause all I need to do is be with you,
And something makes my day somehow less blue.
I then take it all in strife,
And you make me thankful to have you in my life…

Haiku #1:

Let us rest on hills.
Accept my apology please.
I love you so much.

Haiku #2:

Kiss me in the rain.
I shall wait on the grass hill.
I am very very wet.

Haiku #3:

Sleep now my lover.
I shall watch your eyelids flutter.
Blankets provide warmth.

You take your hand,
Fitting two fingers inside the flesh of lined palms,
Marking territory.
I am yours.

Not mortals but spoons,
Fitting inside each other,
Sleeping as the thunder rolls by.
Dreaming is no use,
For what we have is a sweet nectar fantasy
In which we are living.

And not spoons but gods!
You are greater than Adonis,
As quick as Mars,
And as wise as Juppiter.
You are supreme,
And I could not ask of better.

For a fraction of your love,
A mere volt in this passionate cloudburst,
Would satisfy me forever.

I keep my dreams locked away from you,
In the foot locker under my bed,
With the keys I can not find.

Inside the chest are hopes and wishes,
Ones I do not wish to fly from me.
I bring them out at Christmas-tide.
And sometimes on special days.
I keep them very close to me,
And hope that they shall never leave.

But today I looked in my box,
And it was empty.
The hopes were cobwebs.
The wishes to bring out were mere memories.
I could hear the echo of my voice
Inside my empty void.

I have tried to refill the box.
I throw in sex.
I throw in love.
I throw in falsehoods and poetry.
I lock the box tight,
And I wish for it to burn,
But it still sits and haunts me.

I do not know where I fit for you.
I was a prize.
I was a pet.
But now I am just daughter.
I am just the tenant that takes space.
The poet with no means.
I am a girl.
Just a girl.

And every night I see the box.
And every phonecall I see the cobwebs.
I hear the shreiks of a thousand nightmares.
All that include you.

And I wish for is my box,
To be filled with joy,
That was once lost.

A simple brushing of pilgrims,
Big blue eyes upon a strong bare chest.
A first kiss,
Raw and unexpected,
Like the March wind.

As uncertain springs warmed,
My heart warmed.
My distrust melted.
My dreams melted into ideals of you.

And now I sit,
Alone in a bed of adorations.
Wishing for one touch,
One kiss,
One single arm wrapped around my fawn form.
Your heavy breath tickling my skin.

It shall be too long.
It shall be too long.
Since I get to hold you again.
And feel your form.
And taste your honeysuckle lips.

So now only dreams and desires shall do…