Hello Beautiful

He told me he would visit after yesterday
What an obnoxious thing to say
Every sentence spoken was like water
leaking into the crevices of my rusty brain
yet he never meant to cause me pain.

I look at him and see a landscape
one which I cannot escape
For he is my sky, my ocean, my stars
but all he ever gave me was a scar
And I cried red tears.

I try to navigate the tangled branches in my head
For that was not the wicked life he led
Somehow he found me in the depths of my own mind
The path to calmer seas is impossible to find
Or improbable.

The sky is shattered by broken limbs
and squinting in the murky pool I see him
his breath fogging up the glass
he writes me a backwards letter
and although I can hardly read the title
I know the story
for he tells it every night at bedtime
"This one is your last"

I wake to see a world stunted by a blank, white canvas
waiting to be filled with swallows in the summer air
there is nothing there
No stone left to make a grave
so today is the day
I will behave

Dead End

Lamps flicker on in sequence,

nudged awake by the dusk that 

settles on a low ceiling of clouds. 

The final whisper of daylight retreats

to the horizon, where it peers

beneath a heavy blanket of grey.

The smell of damp pavement and magnolias

lingers in the air.

Pristine automobiles sigh on the edges 

of a winding road. An iron gate

severs the silence with a rusty yawn. 

There is almost a growing weight

descending on the rooves 

of the two-tiered towers. 

A dull electrical hum floats on the gentle breeze.

A cluster of gnats hovers in the glow

of the streetlights. The crumbling sidewalks are

empty save for the persistent weeds

sprouting up through the cracks. 

There is a sign of movement

as a silhouette passes by a window,

bathed in amber light.

All else is still.

No one could ever find their way through

that maze of cul-de-sacs.

The silence was lonely,

as though the world was muffled by broad oak branches,

their leaves telling hushed secrets on the wind.

Yet getting lost among row on row of empty mansions

felt safe, knowing that dawn

would come again. 

Translucent

Time begins to sleep
cherry petals falling like
petals from a tree 

If Only

The lake
It was frozen
"The ice is strong. It can hold me."
I walked confidently
never expecting the crack
or the plunge
into the frigid realm below
but it was too late
I should have known

New Shoots Submission - Nostalgia

Nostalgia


Her story begins at 8 years old 
when the sun and the moon
of her intangible world
drift apart
Constellations become only stars
and supernovas are veiled
by sepia skies


10 years old and she can hear the stars whisper
They say the sun is a tumor
that it will grow-
it will die-
leaving nothing but desolate orbs
suspended in a cloudless expanse of night


At 13 she is hunted by demons 
Gossip, lies, backstabbing
pretty blonde girls with poison perfume
An aura of gravity eating away at her skin
she is too young to be strong
and she is kidnapped by the entity in the mirror


14 years of age
Her wrists are ruled 
like the essays and citations 
to which she sells her days
Leaning towers loom on the outskirts of her bedroom
daring her to toss aside just one more Shakespeare analysis
threatening to topple 
and make her disappear

She is perched on the corpse of the chesterfield
up to her ankles in cotton entrails
They say she's dug her own grave


15 and high on adrenaline
Ethereal fingers and chain-link spine
she spends her nights
bowed at the foot of a porcelain throne
Ghosts aren't invited to house parties
and no one wants to dance with the skeleton girl

Turning pages of her fleeting memories
she watches herself fasten the noose
that now lingers 
in the back of her closet
hanging among forgotten clothes

Her screams are sirens
drowned by the din of aluminum steeds 
on asphalt plains
"I'm fine" is no longer an arrangement of words
but the mark of a liar
they will never know that she is hiding
behind the whites of her eyes

Her life is a Venn diagram of friends and enemies
Lullabies echo off the cavern walls
falling into the sliver where the circles meet
she trusts them
like the adamant shapes in her reflection 
acid on enamel
the salt stains on her pillow 
every stitch she sews into the holes of fabrication
means
            it's 
                 falling 
                             apart 

So many reasons she was not "a happy child"
yet you ask her why
she doesn't have

nostalgia

Sailor

Sailor

"Come in, Officer. Do you copy?"
"Roger that, Captain. Loud and clear. Any updates?"
"There's a storm brewing. The flag's thrashing like a fish on the deck." 
"And the water?"
"About as calm as a roller coaster ride; waves as tall as mountains and troughs as deep as valleys."
"Captain, do you read me? There's a rough weather system on the way. Let out the sails and watch the navigation lights. Over."
"Sure thing, Officer. It's going to be a bumpy ride."
"How are the sails holding up? Over."
"Bloody hell! The wind's picked up and torn straight through them!"
"Captain! The only way you'll make it through the night is if you slow down! Get the crew to release the anchor! Over."
"Roger. Lowering the anchor."
"Captain, bring the crew inside. Do you copy?"
"Copy. Bringing the crew...Officer! The waves have taken them overboard!"
"Quick! Prepare the lifeboats! Throw down a lifebuoy! Do you read me?!"
"Loud and clear!"
"Captain?!"
"They're gone. I went out on the deck but the rain was too strong. I couldn't see a thing, let alone keep my balance." 
"Steer to calmer seas! Sail towards clear skies!"
"Roger... What was that?!"
"What was what?!"
"There was a crash at the stern, and I'm heading straight for the rocks!"
"Steer clear! Make haste!"
"I can't! I've lost my rudder to a collision with one of the smaller rocks! Now I'm heading right toward a boulder!"
"Brace yourself! Do you copy?!"
"Aye aye, Officer. Loud and clear. I'm hanging on!"
KHHHHHHHH!!!
"Captain?! Do you read me?! Captain?!"
*static*...

Point of View

Point of View

CRIMINAL

I turn the iridescent stone between my fingertips. Once, twice, three times, it catches the light. I smother it in my pocket for fear of drawing attention to myself. "Diamond." The word itself sounds expensive. Funny how a diamond is the hardest substance on Earth, yet it is kept behind something as fragile as glass. I remove the balaclava from my head and gawk at my reflection in a puddle, illuminated against a background of the night sky. My eyes are sunken and my face is hollow, masked by an untidy beard. Despite my solitude in the abandoned alley, guilt and fear brew in my chest, tearing at my rib cage. I am a thief, but what is better? To die a good man or to survive  as a criminal? I stole because I have not seen a sink in weeks. I broke the window because I have not tasted food in days. My dry, parched tongue justifies the priceless stone in my back pocket. I am a criminal, but I am alive. I have chosen terror and shame, but I have not chosen death.

WITNESS

Somehow I can barely hear the shrill sound of the alarm. My heart pounds in my ears and adrenaline swims through my veins. The sound of breaking glass resonates in the back of my mind. As I come to my senses, a dark figure snatches the diamond from the window display of the jewelry store. Judging by its silhouette, the figure is a man. "Hey!" I try to shout, but my voice is frail and weak. As I dial

9-1-1 and inform the police of the robbery, anger sparks in my chest and a small flame comes to life. Who does that man think he is? He is a selfish thief with no respect for the law. I shudder. How has the world come to have such disgusting people? These people are fueled by greed, living among us in a nation of abundance and wealth. The United States is not a third world country. I am sure of this as I fidget with my manicure, easing the tension building in my throat. That man, clad in black, is in New York. If he has money for clothes, he has money to eat. He stole that diamond; he is dangerous, maybe even mentally ill, for he broke that window so confidently. He didn't even hesitate as he threw that brick at the glass, but I paused before calling the police. I am human. I feel empathy, but I also know karma. As I hear sirens approaching, I clench my fists. Feeling the smooth surface of my own diamond, set into a silver band around my finger, I hope they catch him. I payed for my luxury; why shouldn't he? I hope the police do him justice.