House of Moratorium

And I grapple with you, monster that burns in me-- You swallow all my thoughts while breathing fire through my hips, and the smoke makes it a challenge to keep my inhale steady, Your rough hands can shut my eyes -- but I suppose fire is better in the dark, so would I really want to see? I am you, and you are me. Abiding in one body, and sharing the same dirty dreams, but damn, if you don't go and make my life harder, you tease. "take me, taste me, unleash me please," she screams. You impatient Jezebel-- with the blood red lips and half-starved kiss, 50 things I hate about you? well, I could make a list. But there's so much power in your touch, too much unbridled power-tripping lust, so I know better than to bite your tongue. I am she and she is I, but when you lift your head, I have learned to stand aside. oh monster, consider it a promise, you will have your time. when, and only when, he is fully mine.

I can only hope that what they'll come to eventually see Is me becoming more of me, And less of a shell, quiet and empty, An echo chamber of my own little hell. Please understand, I wish everyone well, But the moments I want to scream come so unexpected, It's an executed ambush that steals my lungs first so I cannot tell. So as I'm begging for breath, For just a little more space, Watching the darkness sparkle the air in front of my face, I begin to remember I wasn't always this way. Not always the causation of furrowed brows, And the subject of back door conversation, They tell me that they worry, And I suppose I would too if I heard the hush that fell in post-devastation. See, one day it left and never truly came back-- And not one song, no sermon, nor academic study ever seemed to summon it again after that. Filling the silence never worked-- Not the dark whispered tones, The empty laughter, The blaring radio every late night drive home, I t...

If things had been different... Such an innocent phrase, naive, used by both the young and hopeful, and the tired and empty. If things had been different, maybe I wouldn't be the latter. Maybe I would be looking ahead to the shining future of a young professional; "I'm a writer!" She says, with all the unearned confidence of a lamb masquerading as a tiger. But it wouldn't matter how many wolves licked their lips, she would persist. The world nothing but her oyster, her deep sea diving suit comprised of the ring on her finger and a four year degree in a field that doesn't pay unless you never ever stop swimming. If things had been different...I could see it, all of it, steadily waiting on the horizon line. If the affair never happened, if the strokes never struck down my father, if my heart didn't break every day for a decade feeling my mother's resulting resolve and desperation, if they had chosen to to tell me sooner that my conception was ...

Huddled in my car on the first of the year, The blowers turned up high, My face blasted by the heat, but my body won't stop shaking. With no other sound but my heart and its quickening beat, There seems no better time, and I start to scream-- "Why won't it stop?" I look for You in everything, But I just don't see where You are. See, my arms bear the marks but my heart is the scar--Jagged, filthy, And I have no reason to feel this way, No reason to scream at the stars and their Maker. Many have faced worse than I, and their worse will stay, so why won't it stop? I could try to explain, try to teach anyone what makes me this way, But I cannot help them understand, Because, Father, I see you move, but I don't feel Your hand. Why won't it stop? Of all I've given, and I've given a lot, Why won't it stop-- The endless seeking, the internal bleeding, the hole that never really seems to close. No matter how I try to fill it, al...

And I'm walking on all these razors, bleeding from the outside in. Every step another slice, another morning spent wondering how to begin. Do you think if I knew who laid this field of brutal snares that I would stand back and let them win? Not a chance. Would I remain idle as the ones who shattered this mirror escaped with their meticulous plans? No way in hell. But pieces of hell find their way out, I can taste their seasoning-- it's the growing tang of iron in my mouth. So many eyes seem to follow as I walk, They watch, they wonder, they doubt, as I grit my teeth and then simply bite down. Bright smiles and curious faces, My mouth fills with blood, but I don't dare make a sound. There's so much that could be said, and yet my words would be garbled, So don't hunt me for the answers, you well-intentioned bloodhounds. Always standing in the middle, A choking devil's advocate, How does my body ache so much when my heart feels so little? Thoughts...

I'm sorry my heart aches for reasons undefined, And that my thoughts strangle each other within my mind, They can't get out -- can't taste the air,  You're reaching in to let them breathe, But I know they don't play fair. Please, I'm sorry, I don't know if I can make you understand, It's so very loud in here -- but don't draw back your hand. I'm swimming in static...but everything echoes, Every accusation, every dagger, Every "Do what you can, fool, but it'll never matter." I'm not insane, Not even close, But the voices are so loud sometimes I've learned to call them by name. Remorse, she tips my head back and forces me to look in her eyes. Guilt, he's seductive...dark and tall and full of well-reasoned lies. I'm reaching up towards the light, but Bitterness is fast, he grabs my hand every time. Sabotage is beautiful, but in one perfect fist she holds a blade, whispering in my ear, "Take it, you...

This one is for her. This one is for the girl in the spring, staring numbly out the window as the world came back to life, wondering how many left turns it takes to make something right. This one is for every hopeful thought she shot down, and for every conviction that she beat into submission. It's for every blackout curtain she closed, desperate to keep out the light. For the latest of nights, when dawn came too soon, And it felt like bleeding out just to leave her room. She's not the one I'm proud of, she's not the one who made it easy. The long drives, the false hope, the teasing, Pouring lies like fountain soda, Spirit parched for anything of worth. Forgiving of nothing, And deserving no forgiveness, There is no crime if there's no witness.

This is my confession: You're the hardest one to write about. Every time I've dared to try, I curl back in doubt.  How do I explain that you live your life on a beat, When you make me forget how to count? I wish I could tell you I've finally gotten it all down.  I should be penning songs, but here I am with a love letter.. But they're one and the same with you, so I suppose it doesn't matter. You see, my darling, I call myself a writer, but the right words never come without a fight. I can list all the facts until I'm out of breath-- but simply calling your eyes "hazel" could never capture their depth. No, you're much more than that, you're mischief, and hidden fire, You are gentle calloused hands, And a glittering smile. With that low breathy laugh, I just want to be wherever you are. You are quiet talks in the car,  And  my reason to grin as you belt notes at the top of your lungs, Or the smell of the air before it rains and we ...

In one moment I tossed the coin, the next I was asleep, Time never works right when I'm dreaming, even when I'm staring at a clock and believing what I'm seeing. One minute I was drenched in tears on my bedroom floor, I rip them away and suddenly I'm shivering-- it's one in the morning and far too cold, But I don't know if that's why I cannot feel.. help me escape the numbness, remind me what is real. I need heat back in my core. Blink. My body is fire, I will burn that man alive, I want to consume everything he is and everything he can give. Heavy breaths, hard floors, I've never felt this before.. but the room is toosmallandhisteethareonmyneckand-- Blink. I'm crying again, but this time it's different. The world is too heavy, the coin is in the air, everything is changing and I wish I didn't care. My conscience will not give me one second of peace, the silence screams because everyone else is asleep. Little did I know I was to...

there was a year when the earth went to war with itself, the ground opened wide to swallow the pines and creatures of chaos leapt out of the sand. all that they touched was corrupt, bats crawled on their bellies and birds began to fear the sky.  the earth went to war with itself, and nothing was sacred; the Grand Canyon bled from its callouses and lumber cut down men. soil seeped poison that spread like cancer, Redwoods shriveled, fading along with the proud belief in their own immunity.  land swallowed land, forgetting it's purpose; devouring itself to remember. the year the earth went to war with itself, two sides did not do battle for the whole, But the whole lost to two sides.

21 Things I Learned In 2017 1.             If you’re inclined toward having an open mind, don’t let anyone narrow it. 2.             There’s a little voice in your head that will say “I don’t like this”; for Heaven’s sake, listen to it. 3.             You can say no, whenever you want. 4.             Physical attraction counts. Don’t try to act noble and say it doesn’t. 5.             And on that note, it’s not a toy, so don’t play with it.   6.             Honesty is the best policy, but Humility is runner-up. 7.             Empathy can hurt, but it’s worth it. 8.  ...

It seems I'm always stroking the ones with fangs, but I suppose this one reminded me of something feral. Eyes like a wildcat in a trap; daring people to come closer, yet terrified that they would. Nothing to lose but his life, and that makes any creature dangerous. He was everywhere at once, and I got the sense he'd been pacing the bars for far too long, looking for a way out that didn't exist. Well, I've stroked jagged edges before and walked away without ever breaking the skin, how would this be any different? But my pride had never met a match like his anger. Those wildcat eyes were his wall to the world, not a challenge, but a warning: don't take one step closer. Pride can never take a hint, however, and I stuck my hand through the bars. How do you lure a creature out of a cage? Show them something they want. Show the touch-starved your open arms, Show the beaten gentleness, Show the vicious that you cannot be hurt, And show the broken...your own bro...

And I fall in love everyday with the ones who are good, not because they "have to be"...but because they are . Not because of stained glass or a preacher's pulpit, not because they fear the punishment of a misstep, or their father's furrowed brows, but because the colors of their soul don't allow them to shine a n y  o t h e r  w a y I fall in love with wishing I  w a s  o n e  o f   t h e m

There is an art to the unraveling. Like watching a crimson rug unfold down a dark corridor, quickly at first, until the slow stained corners fall flat just beyond your scope of vision. You know where you’re going, and you know how far the walk is. You know the darkness only makes your spine tingle because you don’t know what lies within it. You know hesitation is only human nature, as is the way your head tricks you into believing you can taste the blood that will never wash out of that damn rug. So that’s where you find yourself, staring unblinking into that black corridor. Caught biting empty air between knowing, and trusting that you know. You trusted the rug to roll the exact same way it has before, but not your feet to carry you to the end. There is an art to the unraveling, and a rhythm to your shaky breaths before that first step. Take it, little one, for the darkness is nothing but time.

Spitting fire, breaking hearts, you’ve got ‘em calling you Rockstar. Flirting with ambition, it’s just a flip of your hair, lady, you know how to make ‘em all stare. You’re a calculated wild card, So keep callin’ it how you see it, too smart to ever play fair. Glittering eyes, deep and dark,   They only fear your attitude, ‘cause they’ve never seen your heart, And they doubt your power now, but someday you’ll leave your mark.

  It was just a glass bottle. There weren’t many like it; yet it was not the only one. Its life was insignificant, the lives of those who held it were not. It was just a glass bottle. In another life, it might have held sugar and carbon, it might have heard laughter from the same mouths that drank from it. In this life, it held water and sea glass, and heard the voice of the boy who had filled it. If it had ears, it heard his footsteps on the shore, and then it heard her voice by the door. Until it heard nothing at all. There weren’t many like it; yet it was not the only one. It was not special, not in the slightest. Not until it was the most special thing on earth, when nothing else was its equal. It became special the moment she saw it; it became special when their eyes beheld the enormity of color within it. The old colors of her dress, background to the new colors of the once ordinary glass bottle, now bursting with the lost pieces of shattered cups, sand, bones, and ...

He loved me, but he never said it. He never had to, because love doesn’t take “not now” for an answer, and it doesn’t shut up simply because a tongue won’t form three syllables. I still heard it. It was in his raspy tone, and it was in the way he looked at me like I could blot out the sun. Blue eyes, huge and beautiful, begging me to dream with him. He never had to tell me, the cold wall pressed against my back said it, as I tasted him with so much more than just my mouth. It was murmured in the pressure of lips on my neck, and it was written in the braille of goosebumps up my leg.   It was glittering in tears the night we tried to lay the whole thing down, because the unspoken can scream too loudly. You could hear it in my choked sobs, as I realized, That he was the one who never said he loved me, because he was the only one who did.

The strongest, most potent drug a human can encounter, is another human being. When they cross paths with another creature that mirrors their own good intentions and terrible words. To look into the eyes of someone just as confused and angry, wild and fiery as you are; well it is the most addictive, most easily abused substance known to man. In the heat and power of that moment, yes, it can be beautiful. You can find the best of yourself in that mirror. But what happens when it shatters? The poor soul standing amongst the glass shards is your typical addict. Shaking and crying, screaming and lashing out. Rocking back and forth, sitting in the glass. This is withdrawal, and it is sad.

you wreck havoc in your mind old paths of darkness well defined; sure, you've walked the trails many times but never, it would seem, enough to know your way out. 

We’re the sweet creatures that wrap our guns in flowers and scent our bullets like late August evenings, and beg to be riddled with holes so the last rays of hope can float in. The sunshine burning through our veins, we’re the ones who seek out pain again and again and again. The shot rings out and it sounds like a ballad, or an opera, only we’ve forgotten how to tell if the performers are singing or screaming for the end of what they act like they feel. How would we know? It all looks the same when you’re reading lips with your eyes shut. We are the sweet creatures who are born to be snipers, but we’re not precise, we’re not even picky. There’s no safety switch with us, it’s a two-step tango of target-and-fire. Heaven forbid we get a clue, that the barrage of beauty we run through can leave corpses beside our footprints. Our mouths are guns. Love is every bullet in the chamber. And everyone wants to bleed.