Why

When feet fall soft but quick 

Does the hallway extend

And the hot breath of whoever’s behind me feel hotter 

Why do I stay pressed to the wall 

Like a stubborn gruby sticker 

You can’t peel me off.

I corner myself in my emotions 

And blame the outside world 

I flatten my feelings into a sheet of paper 

And fold them into paper frogs 

Scattered throughout these hallways 

Little bits of me to contemplate 

To dispose of with the rest of the rubbish

when you take it out 

“Why?” 

I’m scared 

I’m scared of everything 

And the frogs unfold 

Crashing into me in a wave of colored paper squares 

Creased with memories of how I hated them 

But forgiving 

And fitting themselves back in-between my ribs 

And under the lump in my throat 

It was behind closed eyes, 

That I was counting 

Chided and shushed in a harmony of nothing

Anxiety hot beneath the skin of my ears

Burning like the dull glow of coals at four in the morning 

Each syllable a tally mark on the back wall of my brain 

Pushed through a thick thrum of wishing 

No more words would fall from my lips

Until it felt normal to push 

And strain to drip 

thick consonants from betwixt my teeth 

Until you 

Face pressed soft into the small of my back 

Your breath hung on a wreath 

of paper crane lullabies 

Did the words feel as though 

they were flowing from somewhere 

Sincere 

And suddenly there was meaning to the moments

That I opened my mouth 

And sang out broken fragments of my heart 

To your waiting ears 

Daffodils pose prissy
Before a faded neon yellow sky
Chances of rain they said, iffy
But the heat is sucking poor daffodils dry
Get yourself clean she says, spiffy
But my nose tingles, aching for a good cry
As daffodils wilt, no longer fresh, pretty
No time for a proper goodbye

The parlor decor is kitschy
But I haven’t got feeling to mind
The back of my brain is itchy
Whith my tears that I’ve set aside
The life in his eyes is missing
I have to wonder if there’s any in mine
While I wish I were back in my kitchen
Unafraid of what it’s like to die
 

You wander 
through a wasteland of subconscious thought
who are you to think twice 
as you round each bend 
going in circles 
each second you try to befriend 
slips away like sand 
and you're alone again
always losing to the timer on your breathing
always pacing around imaginary walls
stuck within a labyrinth of your own creation 
going ever crazy 
until reality calls
you back into this world we live in 
and plunges you deeper into the depths of your own fear 
sending you back to the start 
but each time you begin again 
the walls change ever so slightly 
and there is never a straight path
out. 

 

Hours click
Clock
Tick
Into each other
Like gears always shifting 
And kookooclock concerns 
Popping out of the little window on my forehead 
At the top of every anxious moment 
As my insides swing 
Back and forth 
Vermilion secrets burning a hole in my stomach 
Counting every second until im free of this room
Reality is a fallacy 
To the mind 
That be confined
Within the depths of an imaginary clock
Maybe i am melting 
Painted plastered to a table edge 
Salvador dali style 
Dripping from the dying tree branch of my memory 
Who am i becomes lost in the monotony 
Of the omnipresent clocking clicking shifting 
Of my world moving against me
Rushing pushing pulsing 
Time is relative 
They tell me
Yet i feel it pulling me slowly 
Farther from the bright eyed boy who used to stare back at me
In the foggy glass 
Now he’s older 
Sadder 

Hello 
You wave at me
Gently like a swaying blade of grass
Seconds drag on
And moments pass
Before I can think to lift my hand in reply
The regret will now linger
Crawling in a hot shameful, many legged entity 
Up my spine
And across my cheeks
Because before I could think to lift my hand in response
You had already passed me
And I was too deep in my own frustrations to pay mind 
To the fact
That to socialize fully 
Would mean to wave back.

 

soft in waves
she comes down from the heavens
tethered only by a fraying strand of moonlight
caressing each memory
she holds in her hand
your sleeping heart at night
still beating as it will within her silken purse
as she alights on downy pillow stairs
to a land of subconscious realizations
sometimes she begins with a gentle smile
and a saddened gaze
and leaves in a faded gesture
with the ringing of an alarm clock
other times she comes creeping teeth pointed
and eyes hardened from too much to process
she'll depart as quickly as she came
leaving you in a cold sweat in the darkness of the early hours

she is the dream keeper
who in tiny bottles made of star dew
collected in the nebula fields
holds onto all the dreams we forget
and holds dear each little memory
each sliver of childhood innocence
we lose touch with as we strive for maturity