Tag Archives: spilled ink

Falling off the fast track

I want so many things
that I tend to lose track,
I forget
where it was I started
and the real side of me
shows its face
and does nothing
but frighten
all the people passing by.


We taste it

when they speak,

like there were more than sound waves

leaving lips,

like forgotten thoughts.

I’m still alone while I listen

and while sadness

brings my eyes to spit

the only thing left for me to do

is call out for help.

Almost a Promise

She claims that she loves me,
like claiming
was really catching
and all I can really feel
is that she’s trying to convince herself
more than she’s
convincing me.

Thrown Back

We see it in ourselves,
like a pale stare inviting us to sleep
while our endless day
keeps rolling us over
and with every flip and turn
the cuts and bruises
begin to smother our skin,
leaving only a reminder
of who we used to be,
someone we once recognized,
but now only see glimpses of
in the windows still dark enough
to catch our reflection.

dare to speak

Dare to speak,
in a time when our voices
are either off the rails
or have begun to trail off
and the meaning has
sunk so far down into our chests
that our words not only drip,
they slip from our fingertips
down onto
the paper trails we leave behind in books.
We’re wrestling with ourselves,
like our hearts
have become
the rope between our lungs
pulling at each other
retracting in a tangled tug of war.
This is where poetry
should be our weapon of choice
something imperfectly splintered
meant to stick it in and break it off,
but we’re divided by like minded opinions
those invisible lines
where passports get cut
from the same trees as textbooks.
We’re choking on all the things
we should have said,
mocking ourselves
to make other people laugh.
Losing control our identities,
we are the individual masses
still trying to come together
by comparing our histories.
We’re looking for our pasts
like a path might bring us together
through tighter hands
where our fingers
have stopped holding each other
and now
cross each other over
covering the things we swear by
the way promises overlap
and memories intermingle,
all woven into
the things barely based on actual events.

I want to hear the words
that never leave your thoughts.

I want to know something
you’ve known all along.

I want to feel the things
that only you can teach.

I want to hear what you’re afraid to say.

Train Wreck

We only joke
when our voices break,
laughing like a shield
as our nerves
give us a different face
and the all the people sitting in the chairs
stay quiet
not knowing what to do.


I walk blind like it didn’t matter,
like the wind would never find me,
never try and take me from my own feet,
but the gist is in the gust
and it
follows me until I fall from my own legs
onto the unforgiving pavement
that’s always
trying to reach white bone.

Poorly Placed

I’ve got only myself to blame,
just the shell
of the man I think I am
standing from a seated position
and wishing on falling stars,
like something great might peak through
and see me hiding these
broken things
behind my back,
like I were capable
of one last illusion.

Image and Memory

I keep trying to remember
who I was when I was a child, but
the blanks in my head
still sound like gunshots
and the scars in my skin
still tell stories
that I can’t remember.
There’s just the overlapping thoughts
that take me back to almost,
almost there,
almost known,
almost a part of me left
where out of sight
means out of mind
and being out of time
means being left behind,
just this walking whisper
still trying to be heard
in a room that’s still rumbling,
like vibrations and echoes might come together
to create an image of sound
that could show me
who it was
that I’ve always been.