"i'm eleven, (she) is nine"
part of the { cymbal crashes & silent ashes }

it is raining outside this morning.
i like to (watch secretly) the
storm drain because i

know how he feels
to be r a i n edon
the storm drain is my friend. i asks him
one day,

sixyearstwomonthseightdays ago(i counted)
it was my birthday (mommy and dadd forgot
again)
and i asks, "storm drain, has anyone ever stepped
on y o u?" "yes" "does it hurt you, too?"


"yes"



"storm drain?"
(the rain is making poundings against the windows
tttapptapttap like my (sister) on the dance floor in (her) pretty
black
shoes
shiny, like a penny i found once
(top drawer in my dresser under my socks) that is where i keep it;
the shoes used to be mine

but i tried to make taptapings
and they


came
out as clunkclunkings.
so daddy took them and gave them to (her)
(the pretty one)
tapppttataptappttap
i n e -ver- liked the sound of the taptapings of the shoes



i like the taptapings of
the rain better
but the windowsill told me it was

be

cause
i didn't like my (sister) and
that i wanted the shoes back
so then i made whisperings of tears and the
windowsill won'twon't talk anymore.
(i think it is my fault.)



(i think this because
the floor told me so, and) the floor is my friend, too.
(she) thinks i am not nice,
my (s i ster)
and daddy thinks so too



but
the
storm d
r
a
i
n
ttaptaptttappp taptap t t a tapp tap
made an echoey cursing sound
"bullshit."

mommy and daddy,
they says that word alot and my (sissy) says
it's not
a nice word.

the the storm drain he says
it
because he is having angry with
my
mommy and dadd

y

so i guess i am nice.)



it took a very long time for storm drain to answer
and he maked a sighing sound that was filled with big taptaptapttapings
and he says, he says


"yes?"





"i'm sorry."






tapttappptaptap
taptap




t
a
p

"good"
part of the { cymbal crashes & silent ashes } collection




mellow electric guitar fills my room
love lyrics leave me to assume
the reason why exactly daphne loves derby
i lisen alone on a friday night; it's almost five-thirty
i look out the window but there's nothing to see
it's dark and now it's just me and this cd

i ask, do you like to dream?
i ponder in between sheets frayed at the seam
and wish it were your skin
as i lay here in pleasant isolation within
acoustics in blue, awaited verses to pursue
how i want this dream to come true






as the sun drifts to sleep and i'm here in the dusk-light,
tell me, do you drink coffee at midnight?

"get dressed"
part of the { vetements } collection

i like to know that i am not alone
as i reach for you under
the covers.


i think i hear your parents coming
(let's hide)

"the wine"
part of the { it's a leave-alone kind of love }




murder.
we pick flowers for no purpose
and look up to see love
(nonexistant)
as though something is waiting
up in some inverted sky of poppies
bold
simple
cups
of
sanguine
(drink up)
radiant fires aglow in her hair
anger? love? hate?
the simple questions we ask of ourselves as another
heart is hung at half mast
oh, the mournful vernal vespers,
we gather
by white lilies, sharing one another's breath
in silence
deep
alizarian violet
velvet
crimson
cold tearstained grass
on our backs
naked
lying in a field where we speak, sighing
another day, yes, dying
just one more glass implying
that we've already drunk too much
(sipsip)
sweetsharp taste
of grade to drape
over a lonely night
(without you)
is this on purpose,
this slow
soundless
torture..
you obviously do not remember me
from those nights we kissed
for if you wanted to kill me now
you would know
to force me
to drink
my own guilt
(i daresay far worse than poison, dear)
and now the pointsettias wilt
hushnow
(drink up)

"denim"
part of the { vetements } collection

why do stars explode?
it's like your voice
it's the sound of swoop-swooping curls
on your shoulder
bare
like our
bodies

.whisper.
and maybe you can hear it too
kiss me, and maybe you'll feel it
like the humid air that separates only our breath
or the feeling of denim
and what a pair of jeans looks like in a heap on
the floor
next
to
yours
?

"dusk and dying"
{ part of the sundays spent collection }

i like to watch how you walk
while i am unnoticed
how your jeans crease and how they fold
and make scattered lines over
the denim,
the way your pockets move with your
hips with every stride
that you take,
hems trod upon by an old converse
shoe.
i like to laugh at how you would wear your
hat on backwards
to impress me
just like i wore mascara
as thought it would have improved our
relationship.
i like to watch how the lines in
your face change over time,
how you shirt wrinkled up near the
end of the night,
grass-stained
from rolling down the hill
at the park
with me
before
the
sun
went
down.
i wish we could go back to those
days.
at the park.
after school.
in my room.
in your room.
because now i can only go there
when i'm asleep
and dreaming
about what could have been the
most famous romance novel ever>
(but twilight has arrived.)

"look"
{ part of the sundays spent collection }

yellow sundress in a vacant wheat field
amidst the daises, who
gently flow
in the breath of vernal air
beautiful
like her sunhat that folds her ears over
streaming sepia waves
cascade
down
the
clavicle,
highlighted in quilted sunlighted
between the trees
shaded with a paisley
shawl
of verdantesque life
regardes, la,
elle danse entre les abres
avec une
sourire,
mais
pourquoi?
le ciel devient gris
like my cold eyes
how they complement each other
as though
a
fated pair, les deux,
like her eyes
are
destined
to close



while




we
















kiss.

"concrete"
{ part of the semi-emo collection }

back against the wall
cold.concrete.
you've cornered yourself
purely out of selfish emotion
and now you've let me
break down the walls of your citadel
i've torn you apart,
you explain.
deep.
cold.
concrete.
feeling.
through the veins
chills.
cold.
concrete.
i've taken your city of heart
by force;
you are defenseless.
i cannot silence you, for, i myself
am speechless
and you put words
inmymouth, words of guilt
so that i choke on them
in attempts to swallow tears
but you are not watching my eyes
because you are avoiding my gaze
and you make me feel so
cold
(inside).
unfathomable.
endless.
hurting.
i lay in a heap on the floor
with the Weapon in my hand
and i cannot bear
to watchany longer
and i wish that my heart
were made of the
cold
deep
hateful
concrete
but i must live with this flaw
that you remind me of day in, day out
and we lay here
in a perfect silence
and wait
for each other
to speak.




it never comes.