Busted | Poems that Suck

I weave these ribbons
between the hollows 
of my bones,

sewing together the
frayed flesh that
you stripped bare
in my pursuit of you.

If I replace my heart
with a Cuckoo clock,
and my mind with a 
mocking bird,

then maybe I'll 
sleep during these
fitful nights 
of uncertainty. 

Sisyphus | Poems that Suck

I am assembling a chain,
 you see.
No matter if its fine
 and as
insubstantial as air.

Each moment builds on
 the next,
a determined effort to
 move forward,
to forget you.

This link? I'll forget the
 exact blue
of your eyes, the 
 next the
smell of your skin.

With each link you'll
 fade into
a hazy recollection until
 you become
just another number,

another face in the
 crowd of 
the countless who have
 gone to
die in the crowded room
 (of my heart).

The irony, of course
 is that
each loop is crafted
  with the 
very thing I wish to forget.

And as I try to 
 forget you
I inevitably remember you;
 the blue
fire of your kiss.

It's then that the
 chain shatters
in my hands, forcing me
  to rebuild 
it over and over again

only to rupture in
 my hands
once more, tormenting
 me to
madness.

The Weight of Words | Poems that Suck

I take this dilapidated notebook
 everywhere, even the bathtub. 
  I like to let the hot water open
   my pores, my mind, my heart.
    Between the furious scribbling
     I set it on my chest, waiting
      for the next verse. 

The weight of my words presses
 me deep into the basin, the 
  gravity of 10,000 nights, and 
    I'm thankful the water is shallow,
      so I don't succumb to the burden. 

Octo-Kitty | Poems that Suck

I'd joke and call you
 my octopus because you'd
  engulf me in a flurry of 
   limbs whenever I came near,
    pulling me seductively toward 
                          your mouth.

I was happy to be your
 prey, to get lost in the 
  tangle of your tentacles - another
   love blinded fool - I had no idea that
    you'd feast on my soft innards, then
                               spit out
                                the bones 
                                  when you were through.

Call me a Psychic | Poems that Suck

We'll chance upon each other, 
 some day or evening
  a long time from now. 

By then my heart will
 have scabbed over, but
  still the edges are tender. 

You'll be excited - "it's been
 so long!" - but I'll
  be full of dread, caution. 

I'll regard you coolly, just
 enough detachment to make
  you unsure, ill at ease.

I'll make some cutting remark, 
 veiled in subtlety, then
  excuse myself from your company. 

You'll mull the comment over, 
 repeating it in your
  mind, puzzling together its meaning.

And slowly, you'll reach the
 soul of it and
  know that I'm still bleeding. 

You'll watch me from across
 the room, and I'll 
  know by its focused heat,

But I'm too old and 
 too tired to play
  the games of young girls. 

You won't see me feigning
 laughter or pretending to 
  flirt with some random person.

I'll simply be me, as
  even keeled and placid
   as you knew I was. 

It will remind you of
 those quiet moments we
  shared, tangled in each other,

Doing nothing but marveling at
 the miracle of love,
  the wonder of eachother's breathing.

You'll then be in touch,
 and I'll hesitate but
  answer; no sense of preservation. 

You'll apologize for it all
 and I'll give you
  a halfhearted, watery kinda smile.

(Actions, of course, speak louder
 than words and I'm
  simply mirroring your past indifference.)

You'll realize too late, like
 they all do, that
  you made a huge mistake. 

But it'll make no difference
 to me because you
  had broken something inside me 

That day, way back, when
 I stared out of the
  window, watching a squirrel as 

You stood above me and
 recited a litany of
  why you didn't want me.

And maybe then you'll long
 for me the way
  I did those many months,

The wind blowing through the
 hollow in your chest,
  whistling past the ragged edges.

And then you'll understand, it
 dissolved that warm October
  as I sat in silence. 

You'll know it's too late
 for me, 
  for you, 
   for us. 

It's just now that you're catching up.


 

Fertile Valleys | Poems that Suck

You held my hand as we
 drove through the desert,
  the parched night air like a
   ribbon that tangled in our hair. 

We stopped for a drink in
 what could've been a ghost town,
  had it not been for the neon lights
   wound around and strung between the lampposts.

I got something to share with you, 
 a drink, delighted at the thought of 
  our lips sharing the same edge; it was
   almost as if we were kissing. 

When I returned to the car
 you were standing with three other
  girls - one who was barefoot, her toes
   blackened by the asphalt. 

I joined you, but hesitated
 because I understood that we 
  were in that no man's land between
   something and absolutely nothing at all. 

But you somehow sensed my
 trepidation and slid a reassuring
  arm around my waist, pulling me close
   to you and kissing my lips with tenderness.

It was in that moment
 I loved you because
  I knew I was safe.