MAKE IT STOP

It was the night before christmas

frontal nudity is the summons to a pavlovian response that means nothing to you, and you jump up in an utter reliance that some sort of human and animal impulse will kick in and the genetic imperative will make you a member of some group, any group, therefore validating all the choices that you knew were wrong and absurd and very vapid and shallow. you perk up because you feel you have to and you mingle saliva with this person you don't care for, and what seems to be affection quickly dissipates into sweat, bad breath and regret. the windows make themselves into pools of potential suicide as you pretend that you will want to see the other body again and you just let yourself go to this place that brings sleep, and sleep betrays you and laughs at your nightmares. there is nothing that can make this rational, or even bareable. and it goes on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on

arrival

nothing quite like it,
that hollow feeling of coming home, at night's end, at dawn's birth,
sweaty, tired and alone.
the silence is haunting, and the echo of your own footsteps wanders through your head like a maddened train.
out from the cold, and into your blanket of safe sentimental songs,
legless and drowsy, but nevertheless alone.
there's no rain in here,so why are your cheeks wet?
salty sting of loneliness.
hum to yourself and try to hold back the tears, pray for that comforting sleep that will never, ever come.
maybe if you go out again, it will pass on.
perhaps a drink or two, or a dance or a night with someone new.
you know it won't do. love doesn't come when you close your eyes and twirl.
it stays locked away, where you cant reach.
it's a stranger in your world.
something has to happen, you say, something has to change.
hold your breath and cry.
because you are trapped in this equation, if anything you know this.
you must.
and nothing will release you.
not the cold, not the bed, not the dawn, nor the dusk.
another night stretches its arms, around your aching head.
you can still feel, you can bleed, you can claw your eyes out.
but there won't be any solace. not yet.

ONE NIGHT STAND

What story can i tell you now,

That you haven’t heard before?

Should I tell you how I’m lucky, misunderstood?

Maybe shed a tear, and roll into your arms, be inside you one more time?

What excuses do I still have in my back pocket

To justify the waste I’ve made of the life I live?

I can’t even call it living anymore…

I’ve run out of excuses, of hesitations, of explanations.

I’ve flung all my crap at the mirror.

And I’ve laughed at my own face.

Shame? That I do know.

Perhaps I could tell you about that as you stretch

Your arms over your head and let your breasts slide to your side.

I could tell you about wanting to die everyday, mortified

Of being who I am.

Could I convince you with that?’

Would I want to?

Or can we just skip over all that dreadful nonsense

And just fall asleep already?

Then, tomorrow, I can creep out, and disappear,

And you can wash me out, as you cry.

In your bed.

The bed is too warm. I can’t leave. Not now.

Feet touch your legs. Too warm, I know.

Little yawns like purrs

From your meadow mouth, make me smile.

Sometimes I smell your hair.

Dewey tropical fruits or whichever flavour you buy.

Or is it just your smell anyway?

The end of this dreamless night is here, and I want to make it all start again.

Not a single beat of my heart, because I’m so scared you’ll wake up

To call me a cab and send me away.

Eloise, if I may…your name is pretty, even if whispered

Very slowly. I touch your lips with mine, and back on my pillow

Embrace that taste.

Randomly counting the cobwebs in the corners, hoping you fell in love

As many times as I did last night. Maybe if I just do

Nothing forever, we can stay here, and sleep, and wake up, and then

Do the same again.

Coffee? For me? I would really rather have tea. Okay, I’ll stay in bed.

Orange juice is fine, do you know the number for a cab?

Remember what I said last night? I can’t hear you

From the kitchen. You want what?

Me to stay? I giggle to myself and then hum, pretending I’m nonchalant.

I sink down into the bed, nod my head, in love, in here, I want to sing.

I dream instead.