All or nothing

Clap, clap. I don't want to do this crumbling and grumbling and stumbling all over my words. Right now, all I've got sticking to my teeth are fear and inadequacy..not the sweetest aftertaste, you can imagine.

I'm out to hit

This is all the poetry I can't fit into conversation
-I hate the way you make this feel.
Because you know there's this one question
I'm losing grip over, completely
and sometimes I think I'd die
to give you that straight-shot answer.
I should tell you I'm tired of cover ups
and I'm sick of how it's never your name
-or mine, but that's a whole new miracle.
You'd think the world would hear right
or give it up;
but all I'm out to do is tell you, somehow.
Would it kill you to know that I..
I think you're more than all I want?
I'm sorry but I think you're the
comet-tailed shadow spark,
the one that hit that mark, head-on.
And I'd apologize for a million other things
-a million other things that I think
make you more like everything
(or more than everything),
honestly..
cause who am I, now that everyone's watching?
And all eyes are on you, no doubt.
How do I get to you, now?
Would it kill you to know?
Cause it's been killing me, nice and slowly

Y'know what,

I think..I really think I had something to say..but I left it all back at "don't worry." Would it be so wrong of me to say "worry"? I'd love to tell you to worry..just because I'm out to win. But it's wrong of me to want to sound so selfish. People never tell you to worry when they secretly want to make you

..worry, that is.

Watch your back, because one way or another..you'll have to. I'll see to it that you do, because this is a pendant of you and how I'm hoping it's a game of me, too. Worry. It's silver, and it's gorgeous and priceless -like that last smile you'll ever catch.

I'd tell you, now; loud and clear, tell your friends, tell the queen -if it's off with my head for this little scene; nothing would make a rotting corpse so happy as to make you worry like you're alive. So worry. All of you, please. Because I'd kill to keep this breathing. And I'm serious.

Some people don't know what they want out of this lifetime..sometimes I think I do and sometimes I think some people won't understand, some people never will, some don't want to, and some shouldn't.

Scream it into sense

I caught the blue light.It killed all need for sleep.
So now what? Now what? Now what?
Now, what?
I'm running out of answers
I could use some of yours.

Purge, for lack of explanation

Lights dim, curtains open. We cut to the chase; a raw, mess of things. To the left are the amateurs who proceed to stutter their lines into nothings -one word is heard, the audience is left unfeeling, the others reeling. She pauses. "This can't be right"; a royal mess of things. The colors flicker before it's back to black and that infamous deadly silence. There are no lines, no cues, no songs on the old piano. It's that infamous deadly silence, cutting through her reserve and slicing into rehearsals. The lump in her throat tells her to shy away from the spotlight into a hard and fast exit, stage right.

The final stretch

Please don't mind us;
we're just trying to keep
a thing called isyus
alive.

Hello, please, neon light district

You've got every inch of silver up in you, to shoot me down..and if that isn't enough, I have this sinking feeling I'll be guiding your hand towards the trigger on that very night.

Pick up the phone

She's out to write, like a soul in torment..with words like butterfly wings. Whatever, wherever, whoever she may gather must be drawn into her, completely. She's out to write, like a man possessed, like a woman in love and a child being flung into reality..before she forgets, completely.

There are no detours, no roads cut off or locks left unopened..all there is, is today, and time, and her lack of memory; none, that is, to spare for ignorant fools' ill-spoken criticisms. We, after all, are creatures of time, subject to regret and forfeit..all she has left in her are words meant to leave a mark (or scrape one or two off her conscience). Words to encompass all emotion, to escape all shortcomings, to ease all hurt and highlight all of that lack of memory..which, in easy comparison to all, are enough.

Fall into fiction

I'm thinking about it; about that night and the words that may have slipped and the times when gravity compensated for my lack of control. I'm thinking about them, and thinking about you. It's cold and raining, and I'm thinking about you. My hair's a mess, I've got one earring, and I'm thinking about you. Coldplay's, well, playing..that bridge in Clocks; I've got a book entitled "Wendy" staring me in the face, and I'm thinking about you. My cellphone monitor's a bright blue, but it's not you..and I'm thinking about you. I'm a little too lonely out here, my mom drove me out with "Gone With The Wind", and frankly my dear, I give a darn..about you? Is there any reason left to doubt?

Because right now, I'm ripping my senses to shreds..I'd much rather come apart at the seams than be this way; pathetic and hardly strong enough to maintain my resolve. I'd sworn to give you up so much more than once, but all I need to do is think about you.

You and your bright eyes and how I would've told you, last night. You, with that feel-good smile, the one that gets me everytime? Yes, you! Yes, it's pathetic (it always has been) and it's true; how it'd kill me if you knew.

Note to self

No more fcuking alcohol.
Ever again.

I'm cheesy; it's disgusting

Tell me when you're here, I can't see past regret. Tell me how I wrote "Welcome to Hell" on the front porch, that night. Look around at all we've done; infinities to dissolve ourselves in, I suppose? Those friends that resemble harlots, screeching profanities like oxygen in the air..the ways we can't find to fix everything we've claimed to misplace.

What's with this world and secrecy? I'm sick of it, and crazy, besides. .I'm never in it for the scandal. But all I've got are a couple of worn out wings and a closet full of cobwebs to keep 'em in.