Cough Syrup

I will never say this to your face.

I will never open up and let it all out because I am too afraid of what you might think of me.

I am hurt.

I walk around aimlessly everyday only to find out I travel in circles.

I can feel it coming.

I can hear it in every broken smile.

Coming out behind shattered lies of "I'm fine" and "I'm sorry."

Every aching ring of the phone only reminds me of the distance in physical and untouchable miles that have formed between us.

I box myself up just a little more every day.

That box was closed a few moments ago and now all it's doing is turning from cardboard to cold, bitter steel.

The ring around my finger reminds me of what I want but I know that it's not completely rational.

So, "I'm sorry" I stopped talking to you for a moment today.

I just couldn't handle the stress.

And "I'm sorry" I didn't say I love you when I hung up.

I just don't know if I should hold on or let go of that feeling.

The sooner the better you know?

That leaves very little room for a heart break I know I couldn't survive.

I should probably start coming back to reality.

But then I realize.

Life is too short to even care at all.

Carbon Copy

One skinny model walks past the other.

The mask of one is falling apart.

The other is held together.

Neither one knows the others name.

But the one who is crumbling is hiding in shame.

Too long.

I don't do stories.

I do songs.

I don't say yes.

I say no.

I don't laugh when it rains.

I think of why the sky is so sad.

I don't dream.

I live.

I don't sleep.

I wander.

I don't eat.

I don't drink.

I burn up in the sun and turn into ashes.

This is what I am.

Though I know that you hate and so do I, it's something I've learned to live with.

But can you?

Answer me. Will you?

Or is that too much to ask.

How to dance

I let my bird fly away today.

I woke up and heard her chirping outside so I went to see the joy in her eyes.

She was mimiking the other birds and wanted to be free.

I sat there for awhile, I am almost certain I was still half way asleep.

Then I saw that I was the bird and my home was her cage.

She was hopping on the door wanting to join the other free birds.

So I opened her door.

She took a second to see if I really meant it and then saw in my eyes that I did.

So she took flight and flew around my house a couple of times, singing out with joy.

I know that she is going to die, but at least it will be a happier death than if it was just in her cage.

True story.

One day at a time

Sometimes I wonder if "sanity" is ever an appropriate word for use.

In fact the only time I've heard it was when it was coming off the wagging tounges of women talking about some one who has some how miss placed it.

My sanity was washed away and floated down the drain along with the blood that it spilt.

So I welcome you all to the show, though there are no two headed beings or thin and lanky bodies that can bend into unimaginable positions, I stand here mumbling to myself.

You may think that it is all fun and games, but little do you know I am speaking to you.

Of you.

All about you.

You and your hidden passions that you think no one can see.

All the stains on your clean and pressed shirt remind me that it is not I that has lost it all.

Or maybe they remind me that I truly am insane.

But I tend to believe that my friend who is always there is real.

Though I've never been able to reach out and feel her fingers intwine with mine.

The picture that hangs in the corner is shadowed but yet I can still see his eyes shining down upon me.

A smile perks up on my lips as I imagine his, but it is something I will probably sit here missing for my whole life time.

Never to see those eyes or strands on his head again.

Looking up at the red and white stripes that make up my ceiling, knowing that I am stuck here.

All I am needed for is entertaining others, but it is not what I want.

My friend appears out of the smoke that has blown in and I begin to talk of how much I miss him.

She tells me to shut up and to stop complaining.

To let it go.

I reach out one last time to grab her hand but it shatters and cuts me like a broken window.


The sting only reminds me even more of his warm and embracing grasp I once felt.




How he was real and she never will be.

It's over

The last days are always the greatest.

But they are also the ones that hurt the most to look back on.

I'm leaving Paris and moving to California.

I can't wait to be where I know that I belong.

But I can wait to leave somewhere I don't for some reason

I've been sitting here for hours waiting for a voice to tell me what to do.

It seems as though it is sleeping on the plush pink brain inside that is too small.

I'm a little out of tune as I sing because it's asleep.

I have to remember that just because the people tell me I'm useless doesn't mean I am.

The blisters on my fingers tell me stories of pens pressed too hard ripping the paper.

This is it.

My toes dig into the sandy beaches because this is where I root myself.

The waves crashing try their best to knock me down but I am too strong.

Though I remember being a child screaming as they took me out into the ocean.

I know better now though

Everyone now knows my story, but I will continue to tell it.

I think the next part that roles around is marriage and uncertainty

I am not sure whether or not I would rather be hit by lightning or stung by a million bees

They would be shocking just the same.

Bees like honey and honey is sweet so maybe I'll pick that.

But lightning is more forceful and is generated with rain.

I like the rain more so lightning it is.