A home for two.

Here,
Surrounded by slimy walls,
And gravelly asphalt journey-trails
Made up of my aspirations;
The highway made up of where I came from
And where I'm going:
I sit patiently.
Here,
Amidst the hustle and bustle
Of a thousand groaning nobody's
I sit patiently.
I watch the hours, the days,
The very months tick by
Without so much as a pseudo-throat clearing.
I count the cracks in the sidewalk
And the bricks in the dilapidated cardboard houses
Across my vision,
All the while waiting patiently
For you.
For this is a loveseat,
Made for two,
Stained with the bloody tears of my cries
For you.
I will wait on, as the days wax long
Until the moment of anticipation becomes the present
And you sit in this loveseat that I call
Home.

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Distant Heartbeat

The world swims quickly by
As I sit stagnant,
Un-thoughtfully packed into some nook, or crevice
Of this storybook.
My heartbeat lies asleep
Somewhere in Tallahassee.
I can't even hear my heartbeat
It's so far away.
Unlooked upon,
I will close my eyes and
Spend my time
In something comparable to rest,
But how can I have true rest when my heartbeat
Lies elsewhere?

Entanglement I Deny You.

One innocent mistake,
A moment of ignorance;
Clouded-brain action.
One mistake.
But oh, mistake,
You are not innocent!
You are scheming,
Sadistic dreaming,
I see your eyes,
The hateful shine and
Gleaming.
My gaping wounds
Are bleeding in my soul.

I've lost feeling,
The healing wind of touch
Is denied.
My eyes- Those fountains of grief
Leak like a water fall.
The teary water falls.
The simple desire calls,
The one moment of relief,
The cold blade glimmering with
Sadistic lust for my soul.
I deny it,
Hatefully despise it,
But oh, steel,
When shall I be loose of your hold?

The Eighty-Second Transient.

There she stood,
On the foggy border of
Transience and Paradise.
The former not quite behind her,
And the latter not quite ahead.
She could see in the distance
The shores of Jordan,
More than foggy in the distance.
Resistance to emptiness had destroyed her full-ness.
She stood there
Surrounded by empty chairs.
Eighty one to be exact.
Eighty one travelers who had
Waited their turns
And crossed the distant border
Never to come back.
But they had left her
Alone,
Waiting,
Infinitely longing
For the day of entrance
For her,
The Eighty-second transient.

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