in the hardened darkness of your shadow cast over me i can see the details despite a near total lack of sight. details and edges and breaths unbreathed as of yet, reminiscent of a future, each pause a threat to reason and a menace to sanity. i lie feeling each individual synapse traveling across ten-thousand-plus nerves, i feel the sinewy muscle fibers of my body tense up and release with each muted gasp for air.

i have a minimum of three distinct conversations with myself simultaneously and silently. the sheer breadth of subject matter leaves me flying between a dozen people harboring infinitely more disappointments; the terror creeps up on me, innocent and pathetic like a child clinging to his mother's skirts. rather than being happy that i can find and feel what i have come to assume is authentic love, i am crippled by the intense fear of it ceasing to exist. i am greedy. i think not of the moment, but how long it will suffice, when the next will manifest itself, only to be jolted back into the reality that today will never be enough. i try to remove myself, surgically. fused to an enigmatic twin, sewn tight in siam. i look him/her/it straight in the face and see nothing but dead eyes and space.

if white is the sum of all colors the empty air between my ears is in reality full and real and static and tangible.

but we all know white is not. nor is nothing.

simplicity is the new complication. complication is the new simplicity. i see not a personality but a series of trained reactions and randomly yet deliberately ingrained pieces of the galaxy. confined to my own personal universe, i see the swirling mass of a thousand ideas, conversations, television programs, radio advertisements, memories, doubts, and dust. i am incapable of sensing change within my own boundaries, and simply assume i have when those around me do not.

i am lost in familiarity. i am losing you, to familiarity.

my own feelings of degradation from day to trying day do not permit me license to break you down in efforts of somehow finding a common ground. from here, i will soar.

i choose not.

who wants to talk about all the things you can’t have and the choices you can’t make who wants to worry about what tomorrow or yesterday really promises or has robbed of you.

I know it’s real.

It has to be. Life would be too long if it wasn’t.

ghosts.

the bruised flesh of my shins and forearms would have been indication enough i had too good a time last night, but the thick scab and dollop of (now matted) blood in my hair and stomachache like no other seal the deal entirely. the lure of breaking out of whatever kind of routine to which i've recently condemned myself is all too powerful.

when i sleep i don't count sheep i see you,
and in i breathe the murky deep.

my mind has begun playing tricks on me.

i deserve a treat.

l'aigle casse

the vibrations carried through the air like so many tiny beads of spittle, projected into the atmosphere and eventually, my very personal space, resonate in my brain. the quality of her voice is shrill, forceful and assertive, yet indecisive and in some ways timid, like an angry teen trying to argue a point that has been only half-formulated, yet is adamantly defended to the last breath (if, for no other reason than it is her point).

i've never met anyone so determined to be right that they sound so wrong.

she is broken. my whistling will not fix her.

pollution.

it's been almost a year and i still dream clear as day.

chocolate clouds.

as i walked into the office i heard that kind of exasperated roar it seems only broken women between the ages 31-42 who have given up on all their dreams can produce. this already feels like the longest day.

call me debbie downer i'm a professional frowner i don't clown around or do anything fun.

i realized the pavement gray clouds that damn near fool me into thinking the road just runs straight into nothingness are going to be here to stay soon enough, and quietly tip-toed in little circles in my bedroom. i thought i looked pretty standing in front of the window and that big round mirror tightening my bra straps and wished you were there.

initiation and defloration.

i realize the ease with which my shaking knees lock up in anticipation of even the most wicked options.