Letter (Random Excerpt)

For no one,
oh no, I'll never disappoint you. I feel this dream moving inside of me but I can't feel the life and I think that kind of confirms everything. I've never been more awake than the day I realized the truth that no one really has any friends. And maybe I'm a little lonely, maybe I'm just looking for some peace of mind.

It's getting quiet again. I can feel a black haze falling over me, it feels like death, and smells like it too. Lillies and wine. I'm watching the curtains falling over every day.

I'm waiting, eyes closed, slowed breathing. The scent of a long past gently touching me. Pathetically hoping that tomorrow everything will feel okay. I had only wished.

Still I dream of it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=M5yQ8JJ8R9E

Dying.

My pieces weave delicate patterns
Encompassing moments that brought them.
Splintering my own fingers.
Dying.

Every last note
a minimal composition
accented to a heartbeat
and playing along.
A peaceful penetration.
But dying.

Every breath drawn
Every breath released
Every breath that rises above,
twisting innumerable smoke streams.
Evaporating ecstasy.
That move you farther away from me.

Dying.
Under leather skin
from the whispers, gasps,
a smile.

And seeing the length of the skies
against the shortest moment of our lives
and living again, just one more time.
And then now,
Dying.

I wake to the sound of jazz playing in some distant room. I wake to the waters that covered the outsides of my eyes and dried. I wake to the breeze, to the heat, to the ground shaking under my feet. I wake to a morning now far off. I wake to a stranger's heartbeat, I won't ever hear. I wake to voices long since forgotten, replaced by some familiarity. I wake to an aching that never seems to end. I wake to this room, empty, with some awkward view of oceans I'm too small to sail on and of forests I may only drift through, maybe once. I wake to silence that hungers me. I wake to an inch of a swallowed whole that clings by nails that dig the flesh and cut the bone, but it's the only piece of this wake that I know, the only broken edge that stabs the eye and allows the canvas to survive.

Dream. Too Far.

The day has gone blind. /She falls all over herself. /Lost in everything, /it's some impractical dream. /Losing sight. /Only soft scent on the horizon points to some--/is it destiny? /No. Just something. /Some daylight. /Warmer than this/ recedes.