After a Bottle of Merlot

(Written December 1, 2010, 9:20 pm, at age 23.)

Tears flow free,
And you are me,
And I am dead,
And all is red,
And my breath stops,
And my heart drops,
And I exhale,
And I fail.
And the gap
With your trap
Catches me,
And I see
That I need,
And I bleed
Between your teeth.
You are the wreath
Laid on my grave.
I am brave.
But I am dead,
And all is red.

After a Bottle of Riesling

(Written November 27, 2010, 1:50 am, at age 23.)

A little peanut in my fingers,
A glass of wine on my breast.
A pain or few yet lingers,
A longing ache in my chest.

A furious burning behind my eyes,
A fighting freedom for the truth.
A suspended state of lethargic lies,
A wondrous waste of yawning youth.

A trap laid in full earnest,
A victim I knew to be me.
A delusion fully serviced,
A life allowed to be.

(Untitled thus far)

(Written May 30-31, 2010, at age 23.)

I think in music,
I speak through dance,
I listen with my eyes,
And live by chance.

I taste in colours,
I sing in sighs,
I laugh in truths,
And cry through lies.

I breathe through touch,
I see through dew,
I cease in myself,
And am through you.

Words

(Written April 21, 2010, at age 23.)

With words we break each others' hearts,
We hope the silences will mend -
Until the silences hurt even more.
Then with words we pretend
That a few pieces of our broken hearts
Found the strength of steel
And finally have the unadulterated courage
To tell each other how we feel -
Until we start to speak again,
And realize we're still in tattered parts,
And the only way to protect ourselves
Is with words to break each others' hearts.

Stupor

(Written February 11, 2010, at age 22.)

In a semi-conscious, dehydrated stupor,
My mind wanders.
And finds, as it always does,
You.

Questions begin to take shape.
Answers shatter out of sheer disappointment.

I marvel at the nature of loneliness.
So hidden, so invisible,
It sneaks up and stuns me.
Stuns me into statuesque motionlessness.

Heart afraid to beat,
As it soaks this world in.
Eyes turning to glass,
As they leave this world.

Then I feel a beat and a blink.
And the hollow sculpture of me melts.
Into you.

Liberator

(Written January 3, 2010, at age 22.)

I sit,
    Back slumped.
I look,
    At you.
I burn,
    And I turn to ash.
Yet I breathe,
    And talk
    And laugh.
Lighter in hand,
    Cigarette in mouth,
    I see myself in both.

[The buzz:
    A liberator.
You:
    The liberator?]