carve

carving each breathe/ from one word/ to the next/ wondering if survival ends/ when the last letter/ of the last word/ sits still in its groove/ as shavings of memories/ lay strewn

.nausea.

i push the feeling down
as a wave of nausea and expectation rise
at the base of my throat
i’m ill over the idea of you

lost in my thoughts because my lips
refuse to part
i don’t want a single sound to escape
or you’ll know
and my eyes wander in the distance
over your head, anywhere but into the gaze of your eyes
no point in you seeing the way I feel
if my words will never catch up

you captivate me and even as these letters
become another word in reference to you
i still can’t speak
my tongue longs for the day when
it can whisper my passions
into your ear

.she writes.

she writes poems for me
because the words can never seem to fall from her lips
yet the ink that stains her paper holds more weight,
more truth,
than I’ve ever heard her mutter out loud
my intense desire to hear those words, rather than run my fingers over flat black marks piques her interest
for she’s incapable of living and loving out loud
all her feelings are trapped between two surfaces
while she’s a prisoner in her thoughts
and I often wonder how we would be, together, if she was free

Counting Sheep

Breathing in rhythms of pain and loss,
Love lays over me like a tattered sheet on a brisk night
Everything exposed to the elements of harsh reality; you're never coming back
Legs tangle, arms fold & unfold
Eyelids flutter endlessly in an attempt to will the darkness to bring comfort
To bring some sort of solace to the groove where
My heart used to be
Sunken memories between sheets and pillows smell of yesterday's passion
I'm
Caught in sensory overload and standing on the edge of madness
I'm
Awake
Troubled by the empty thud banging against my ribs and drumming as if some ancient ritual of self infliction
Would bring you, my lover, back into my arms
Back into those cool summer nights, a mess of brown skin, arms that found their way in slumber
Around waists and traced designs on hips and curves that became a roadmap of love within each journey
Lips that warmed, slightly opened and the sound of air escaping between them reminds love that the distance is merely inches from your grasp
And eyes opened to stare, fingers ran blindly, yet so aware over those lips
And remember the first time they met,
The first time that something greater than sleep with the ability to render bliss
Became a way of life
I'm
Lost again in yesterday's want, mixed with the desire to learn you again, ceiling twisting and cracking as pieces fall onto my face
I've never been good at counting sheep

.change.

You've counted me out,
counted me in,
pennied, nickeled & dimed me
I'm the only change you'll never spend
Smooth rounded corners of my existence hitting the fabric in your pockets
I'm forgotten & just cents
even if when we are alone you put me in your palm and it makes sense
I'm metal & you're flesh
I withstand extreme heat or cold without shelter & survive with little to nothing, but I'm strong
You are easily cut, bruised and scarred without repair...remnants of your history blemish the very hands you hold me in.
Let me go, let me know
The way it feels to be more than
an afterthought when the kinds that folds in artificial bliss
is a distant memory
& you realize you still have change
Left waiting but you'd rather stay the same
Being broke indefinitely