Broken and Swimming

(Written April 16, 2011, 12:30 am.)

broken and swimming
in pieces.
a mind floating passively
to the smoky abyss of the future.
a heart struggling to return
to the shore of the past.
each breath paid for
from a finite resource of bubbles
that rise
to the surface of the present.

broken and swimming
in little pieces.
a void carried along
by the current.
a memory of existence surging,
fighting,
by a fraying thread.
something like desire
trying to discover itself.

broken and swimming
in infinite particles.
the sand and the sea
lost
in each other.

(Untitled)

(Written February 23, 2011, 12:20 am.)

Chop me into pieces, and pack me away,
For today is a day I do not want to face.
You can put me together some other day,
When life can offer some semblance of grace.

I am broken and dead, but can't seem to stop breathing.
You are the sun; you could hide me in you.
You can burn me alive until my heart stops teething
On this feeling of insecurity and darkness and gloom.

And if I were to vanish or disappear or cease,
I wonder the world wouldn't thank divine powers.
The timid termination of a toxic tease
Celebrated with cigars and whiskey sours.

Bryant Park Fountain in the Winter

(Written January 24, 2011, 10:18 pm.)

The cold stupefies and mollifies.
The water smells of lullabies.
Some of it dries and some of it flies.
Some of it rests and some of it tries.
The ice codifies a whole body of lies.
The numbness is a bittersweet surprise.
The light breaks its darkest ties.
The air tastes of frozen goodbyes.

Together

(Written February 10, 2011, 11:40 pm, at age 23.)

Together is overrated;
The you and the I were baited.
I try to be you and you try to be me,
And all we feel is catastrophe.
You leave and I think it's right,
Because I have sense and a friend by my side.
Then some conversations feel unwhole,
The silences clang and take their toll.
I shatter and I wonder if you even cracked.
I am steeped in all I always lacked.
You are distant, and I know I am glad.
I am confused at my panic and my sad.
How do I cut off the insanity?
How do I learn what it is to be me?
You are away and I am glad,
You are removed from the manic and the mad.
You deserved better, I always knew;
You deserved simple, honest and true.
I deserved passion, inexorable belonging.
I deserved it all, all of nothing.
So you are gone, and I am satisfied,
That though I am broken and have not cried,
You are not mine and are not meant to be,
You lacked the words and I lacked the melody.
If only I could break my thoughts apart,
I'd know you weren't ever in my heart.
Because you are you and I am me,
And together is utterly unnecessary.

Dibs

(Written January 6, 2011, 3:30 am, at age 23.)

I stuck a knife in my chest above my ribs,
You dragged it in a circle, opened me up and called dibs.
I said what was there wouldn't be enough for you,
You said I could never fall short and you'd be mine, too.

I was a cynic and doubted too much,
You were rightly fed up with my tantrums and such.
I kept my cynicism but started letting go of the doubt,
You began smiling and said trust is what it's all about.

I started to love and started to fear,
You never knew because I never let you near.
I stepped out and did something wrong,
You said you no longer knew who I was all along.

I knew my stupidity had been as certain as a fact,
You said your heart didn't feel intact.
I said we'd get over what had been,
You didn't believe we'd get past the trauma of seventeen.

I asked you to give time a chance to heal,
You said time wouldn't change how you feel.
I started to beg and started to cry,
You tired of talking, then said goodbye.

I stuck a knife in my chest above my ribs,
You dragged it in a circle, opened me up and called dibs.
I was right when I said I wouldn't be able to keep you,
You were wrong when you promised me I would, too.

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.