When I Am Still Awake

After a night filled with whiskey, brick and cold-

The roof made a hiding spot, a ladder paved in gold.

No one touched me, the spirit stared;

The cement lined walkway dragged me there.

I lied.

My beloved ones believed;

And my make believe life – for its death I grieved.

But there was the sun; a comfort and a creep,

It knows me too well,

When I greet it, it weeps.

S.O.S.

They call me a wreck-
I just supposed my ship was lost...
Trying to find peace
And a boy with hair like smoke
(billowing and whispy)
Who always got the best of me;
and I drop like an anchor
Whenever his light is on.

Afterwards

It was the salt of earth that gave way
The bitter morsels that couldn't hold me
And to that earth I went.
The holy mother was waiting, arms crossed
There were no heavenly gates,
Only Peter sitting on a milk crate
Crying for his heavenly father.

But You're Married.

The first time I saw you
In the sunlight your
Eyes an icy blue
More than I can remember
And your little blonde hairs
Glinted between your brows
As did that platinum reminder
That i wondered if it reminded
You of anything anymore.

December

When I lived in Storrs, on a hilltop, a consignment shop
Was the only trap door in my city of chains.
Ancient hairdryers and homemade blankets and students
Would leer too long on me. I wore bright red lipstick
Tucked my long hair back and smoked hand rolled cigarettes
To ease the pain and waste the time. Cocaine had a
Special place in my heart, my food for my lack of
Finding a home to call at least a house. I rode the bus
Around town over and over again with my headphones on
And my brain plugged into what others were saying, wishing
Someone would talk to me. Leaving there with my head
Held low and my psyche beaten I thought, this is the
Only place ive ever known.

Suicide Note

The timer on the oven always makes me sad ‘cause
I constantly set it and it’s five minutes fast.
And I pick up the phone with no dial tone but I shrug off the
Call ‘cause they never are home.
And im tired of running out of spit,
exhausted of talking for the hell of it
the days of the week they never change names
and my timecard is different but the paychecks the same.
The yellow pages sit on my floor, hysterical with pity
I have no one to call. I haven’t done Laundry in ever so long
that nothing will fit no matter what I try on
And a table and chairs just aren’t enough
When the table is empty and the time is up
And I’m angry.

Don't you know

He is a charmer by being withholding-
-you will suffer to feel him above you.

I pity you, darling, I do.
I pity you.