Canned Dreams

Spaghetti dreams
that I can fly,
I can fly,
I can fly
far away.

Hoops and engines
drowning in a
sun red,
for which
it was I
who bled,
tomato sauce. (Of some sort.)

If I could
but only fly.

I can fly,
I can.

If I close my eyes
and dream
and dream.

No cans
gathered,
to get in my way

to block out
a ray.

I fly.

Surely I must.

Containment

Afraid

of all this hope
of finding out

fearing

caught with the sensation
that's clawing away

scratching

scraping

tearing at my inside
with every ounce
of bitterness
it can muster

afraid

of the crash
and
the void

which fills my space
so perfectly.

Twisted

Strange
how you twisted
in my hand
as if
to bind yourself
to me
for eternity.

But you did not
mean it.

Strange
how you're twisting
in my hand
as if
to break yourself
free
from me.

I am not

The thought that you aren't.

Transfixed
in this nowhere place
where time is stationary.

Because you have made it so.

A single point.

And how you along the way
have simply become
the observer.

With a thought
singular
consuming.

Not that you are.
Not any more.

No.

This time one which says
you
have ceased to be.

Scattered

What I long for
is to be
released from my own skin,
to tear her apart,
scattering
across the continents
so she cannot be
put back together
and I can find escape.

Life On One Level

I like to pretend
that the life I lead
is the one that I chose.

And I did choose it.

Chose it because
it was safe.

Still

all my questions
and uncertainties
remain.

And I want
some surprises.

And I want
some excitement.

And I want
the life
I might have had

if only I hadn't been
so afraid.

Raging in silence

There is
a devil raging inside of me,
only she has
a pretty voice.

And can wear pretty clothes.

You know the ones,
those reserved for perfection,
those above you and me.

Believing the lie.

So far from pretty when bones
jut out
from all angles

and small is no longer small enough.