a poem for andrew...3 wks til his return.

Dead locked,
their twin eyes
stung of sleepless tears.

He hated her tattooed,
stained of
promises made on wings,
matching in their Fears,
obvious, like her-ha-ha-ha-laugh.

Of potion yielding boogemen
with travelling vans
that make the black of forgetting
and waking madness too murky
for him to feel anything
but hating her easy.

They both cried
winks of glass
and everything she touched
coiled around her tightly
with attentive gifts.

He knew already.

It was a sharp choice
to blame / each other,
quick, torn strokes

they overhear
late in lone thoughts

blankly searching
for their mirror eyes,
shaking heavy off
their picture frame
lies.

that old unrequited chestnut...

i see you by fire
lit in technicolour
and her
by your side
you spend your time
around each other.

[i would merge
as charcoal to the tiles
by your toes
i hate]

you glisten in each other
and it is a satisfying sting
to keenly borrow
of that warmth with
desperate alliance

i make
to weld
to the two of you

child's admiration
[naivity]
that i would take
the one of you
to be my own.

work in progress..

dionysus lurks
at mid-hours
taunting our blood
with flesh:
games not yet done
for small boys to play.

the head of the creature
his mind, animal
as his gift.

he comes
to tear us,
yet marks his own.

his soapy disposition
scratches raw,
his hubris as grimey
as the surface,
his ideals.

he looks
as stale wine
not a red-drop out of place
but a sour taste
that lingers,
desperation.

what of the woman,
more defiant that he;
the lovers that bind;
the child whose innocence he rapes,
waking frightened
in a wall-less room.
the other, both woman
and child
who plays to the game
fueled by anger////////////I DON'T KNOW WHAT IS NEXT BUT I AM VERY VERY HAPPY WITH THIS NEW PIECE :)

i have done a wonderful job at floating through months as my cardboard cut out character in the book/my life/i was avoiding. half-smile-half-life. now, owning up to myself and step by baby step coming in to my own, i can see how i have wasted. and i can see how frightening the person i am with out a smoke stained veneer is. andrew and i used to talk about choice and addiction and i always had that in mind as i started smoking more and taking anything i could get. he went to jail and i chose to remove myself too starting with a massive line of k to trip away for a while-til i got my hand on my own pipe and then a collection; then an obsession, then an illness. i just kinda stumbled through all the months, one hand clutching my stomach in pain the other tightly clinging to my pipe, or a beer if it was over. the sickness is more in the escape than in the decay of my body, i know that. sicker is how i felt nothing sleeping around on andrew, fucking off life for drugs and empty company. nothing's real, i just kept saying, nothing can hurt me, and it wouldn't- i was cold in all sense of the word. ice queen feels nothing, except maybe that pain in my stomach and embarrasment/fear shitting my pants on a main street because i hadn't had ice for a couple of days and my body didn't know how to cope...

i don't know how to finish this blog...it's not finished yet...

i wanted to forget losing andrew to FUCKING BEECHWORTH (now i hear he's fucking muscles/ and he's going to be a junkie WITHOUT ME he had the fucking ordasity to wish me got luck with WWJD admit it WHACKING UP we just wanted it all we thought we were PERFECT i CHOSE another way I LOST MY WAY but i needed US andrew andrew)and i wanted to forget losing mel I LOST ANDREW AND REALITY. i am terrifed of reality and my mind living in capital letters and strange punctuation.

i remember this. i remember why i tried to escape it.