Xanadu
 

I am stubborn like my life depends on it— but honestly I can’t control it, in this life i’ve been manipulated made fun of talked about hurt, most of all, hurt. forgive and forget? not always the case, not easy to forget when empty promises and abandonment is thumping on the inside of my brain, like a second heartbeat going through my bloodstream not allowing me to forgive— and especially forget.

Throughout my life I’ve been dyed, others’ tones diffused onto mine, bleeding their ink onto me, staining my unscathed hands. Dispersing into every wrinkle, under my nails, beneath my skin. Scrubbing, scratching, breaking through the surface. Yet they are still dyed with only your remnants– No matter what I attempt, my natural tone is shrouded, embedded with a foreign medium. As time goes on, one can only hope Your tone will wash out and my precious, unsullied skin will begin

As it exits the tree, the tired, lifeless leaf sinks… Slowly, soundlessly, as if the exhales of the passersby were just enough to sever its sickly stem. Nearby, squirrels desperately dig through frosted-over foundation. Gangly grasses share with gratitude their final waltz in the wavering wind, before the merciless November falls. Fallen branches break, under your selfish stride — As you approach the lingering leaf, soundlessly, a hopeful breeze catches my cracked frame, and

An old, rotting crate, sitting untouched in an attic. Covered in thick dust, while the rain seemed erratic. In the darkness— it sat. Not a person came up. Awaiting to be seen, but there wasn’t any luck. Curtains obstruct the flow of moonlight, preventing drops of glowing bliss. There was no joy to be found, and joy, it did miss. The homeowners had arrived chirping happily about their day. Footsteps trodding on the hardwood floor while the rain poured harder without delay. The

Someday when I least expect it. Like a car driving by on a long empty road in the countryside, secluded from the busy towns and streets, surrounded by the hills and fields, the occasional house, peaceful. The cows feeding on the grass, cornfields so tall and vast, the perfectly shaped white puffy clouds adorning the sky, dainty flowers growing adding splotches of color, the sunset on the horizon covering the immense green hills with a warm orange glow. Until the moment when a

Clouds stretch across the sky; below, water stretches an equal distance. At the edge of the water is grass – and at the edge of the grass is desert. Orchids open in the sunlight, but cease to exist when the air is bare of hospitality, white winter spirits flying by. The many tangles of one’s hair could so easily be gone with the simple snip of a scissor. The bits and pieces dead and littering the floor. But would it be cruel to remove such an imperfect feature? To end it like

Seated at the dinner table erect cautiously averting your gaze. Silverware scratches softly against ceramic plates. The mechanical motions of your mouth magnified tenfold. The weighted obligation to speak staggers me as we fumble through greetings in a drunken stupor. Tripping face first into phrases coated generously with barbed wire. Limping away at strained speech carelessly stepping towards spoken mutilation toeing around the edges edging Landmines. Conversational— Concea

Slowly led out from our cage, the blaring motors that were our age. And grassy meadow with cooling breeze, with warming sun and minds at ease. I finally reached your field of violets, I think I like this Symbiotic Silence. Suddenly thrust upon your stage, struck with fright at your young age. And blinding lights with thousand eyes, with sweating palms and another prize. You and I stand together— Motionless. I ran off stage, the sudden violence, I couldn't take this Symbiotic

She stepped further and further away from the assortment of items; napkins, plates, forks, all of these, used and forgotten. The small stuffed rabbit continued to gaze forward. Talking, laughing, joking, eating; people peering at menus. People sitting down to begin their experience. The family calling for a waiter because their child broke a glass. Pieces pierced the shoes of passerby – Pieces shattered ubiquitously. The small stuffed rabbit still remained, the thin pink ribb

The fall air blows whispering through my hair sending a chill down my spine, Chilly, 33 degrees windy not sunny dark and cold, A void light colored, yellow perhaps of hope, like a light at the end of the long dark tunnel, Your laugh soothing my brain, sending a chill down my spine a good chill, more like a warm chill, a whill? I don’t know but it soothed me, oh how I wish it were real how I wish you were standing in front of me laughing for real— in real time with me, You pro