first week back at school

As I sit in class my mind wanders, staring outside doesn’t dull it, which is my usual antidote to the lull that is lecture. The fog consumes me and my mind turns to dreams and creams. Milk shakes, banana milkshakes and blue, green, pink cotton candy that dyes your fingers, my fingers, while I dream of the personal male Moulin Rouge that is baseball games, a pair of baseball pants and I’m speechless. I can’t take notes on what Pop. Culture is because my craving for tobacco and nicotine has taken over since I stopping the drinking of the Holiday break and the pop of my gum is the only thing keeping me from reaching into the worn track jacket of the red head in front of me to steal his Marlboros. So I sit popping and pushing, pushing my bruises so that I can feel the pain that you spoke of, that took your mind away from learning.

Later….
Sitting on the side of the bathtub waiting for the bubbles to consume me waiting for steaming water to soothe away the pain from the re-pushed bruises and the eternal broken heart that has spoken out in the from of bruised ribs. It hurts to breathe, it hurts to think. Maybe I shouldn’t wrestle boys when I’ve drunken a bottle of red to myself or otherwise.

Jokers to the right

I wonder if my tired eyes reflect all the pain or if I just look tired. Radio waves and songs pulse through my veins and arteries. I cry to the tune of When a Man Loves a Woman and shower to Earth Angel as I search desperately through dreams and strange beds to find my own angel, but as I rub their backs so they may sleep there is nothing near the remnants of wings and most would never dare wear a halo. So I steal another moment, another shining star in unfamiliar lips so that I may continue breathing and continue lying to myself about how bad it doesn’t hurt when someone else is holding me together. “There’s nothing wrong with me loving you.” At least the sweet and wonderful life continues even when I can’t face the daylight that builds muscles on my legs and blondes my hair. Once again left searching, dancing, running, writing for something familiar or totally new so that I can remember nothing and make new memories to the tunes of Al Green and Steeler’s Wheel.

one good day

Nepenthe on a winters day that I can wear a t-shirt and jeans. Drive all the way down the coast for a glass of wine and three-way salad when all I want is a three-way as if it will give some meaning to this meaningless heart wrenching, Christmas eve crying break. I won’t, in fact it couldn’t. So I return to the car dessert-less, deserted to Shoobie do wop wop and Blue moon playing on the radio, to write about perfection, a perfect happy, and the sea was shining as small waves passed for whale spouts. I was too ashamed to use my crap digital camera for the man next to me had a vintagely beautiful camera. The couple next to me was drinking too much to wine to the point that he was professing his love and she was responding with the fact that one side of her neck was much tighter then the other. Wine maybe an aphrodisiac but it doesn’t make you stupid, if any thing it spurns and spurs creativity.

Lets get out of here before it gets dark and the magic begins and the illusion continues.


“ If I know its fire why do I let it burn my hand?”

windy roads

Sometimes you just need to follow the lion the witch and the wardrobe. I never did see her face but the twists in the road undid the knots in my stomach and straightened my hair. Things were shining and as much as I thought of him I was starting to forget what he meant any more. I pushed him and pulled him to the point that he turned his back on me and jumped off the metaphorical bridge that our relationship had become. I drove over the bridge to look over the edge to see him there flaying and floating below, and maybe I pushed him to this point, so I laugh because it maybe my fault that my love is drowning. Easy enough, run to someone else who is quick to turn his back and jump from the same bridge.

weather

Oh the twists and turns a vacation will take you. Expect the unexpected, but then what am I to expect? What am I expecting? She comes like a tornado, a tornado like you’ve never seen before, you don’t know the next turn and the inner turmoil is unfathomable until you can get to the calmest center. I’ll never forget that mirror, I never left the validity but I also never looked back in the mirror. I couldn’t take it, see myself, couldn’t see who the reflection was anymore. So there I was breaking my heart, seven years bad luck, breaking my heart, breaking the mirror. I’d like to tattoo a broken mirror on my whole body. Breaker, heart breaker, addicted to love. Oh to end the breaking, mine, theirs, hers, the looks of hurt are beyond the importance and its snowing, angels, hearts, snow balls and angels.