It isn't "Ladies and gentlemen please remain seated at all times"
There are no little kids' big eyes
Or adults' assumed disinterest
This isn't your everyday theme park tour ride
I can't take you by the hand
Lead you through the twisted barbed wire walkways of my mind
Point out the fires burning along the horizon, fueled by the ever falling debris
Help you to wind your way around the jagged and twisted outcroppings
With which I am so familiar
I can try, in my lame way
To form words meant to somehow convey this wreakage to you
But I can't inject my thoughts, words, beliefs into you
You have to crave the understanding that it would take
To make sense of my wonderfully fucked up self

55

Am I crazy to count the minutes until I see you again?
You have me completely enthralled with your presence

54

I don't blame you for the hate you feel
She is pathetic
With her crying eyes
And trembling hands
I would cut her out of me
If I wasn't afraid
That there would be nothing left
But rage

50

First a rhythm smelling of blood and sweat
Of people and places you'd rather forget
Of sickly black incense and last night's beer
And "what the hell am I doing here?"

Then voices harsh and passion filled
Sing of little boys whose dreams are killed
Of empty garages where young lovers dance
Forgetting the world in their stale summer romance

And guitars that have seen knives slicing through skin
Unleashing thick crimson silk to stain arms too thin
And shattered old mirrors between thick locked doors
And little girls dancing barefoot on dark and dirty floors

Then the damaged sing too as the song slowly dies
While large, grubby hands slide up smooth white thighs
And the silence, it smothers the last lingering sound
Like the final crushed flower falling defeated to the ground

And all this I hear and all this I see
As the last song plays on my scratched old CD
Each note bound to a precious memory
As my life passes through me

Speak

Clumsy words uttered by a tripping tongue
Thoughts shrunken into parched phrases of insignificance
Emotions caught, stripped of color by cold, strangling, sentences

In speech: beauty stumbles on crippled legs, wiry arms grasping for a sturdy word
Emotion drowns beneath waves of syllables, sinking to the bottom of an opaque ocean
And passion flies on broken wings, falling on mountains of wasted breath

Depend on silence, the heaviest of all art forms, to bare yourself to the world
And rest your mouth, weary from wandering aimlessly in a desert of harsh sounds
Do not smother the sound of life with your weighty words

48

My eyes sting from the stench of the marker that I use to write those words of endearment to you that I know are lies but that I know I must write in order to convince you that I love you.
I would suck you dry before you realized what I had done, so blinded are you in your love for me. I am the parasite in your side, and I know it.

47

I wish that I could take your words and show them to you
So that you could see how petty they are
You would hide your face in shame
And pull out your hair in grief of those letters lost