The Tear Collector

One window and one door
and a table with a vase.
A collection of teaspoons,
some ornate, some plain,
await to catch my tears,
collecting every last one,
in the vase on the table.
Never leaving this room,
dedicated all my time,
much sadness to catch,
nervous to face outside.
I don’t know what to do,
my vase is overflowing.

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Hanging On

Hanging at the corner of the street,
cigarette hanging out my mouth,
eyes hanging open and stinging.

Someone is playing the saxophone badly,
notes farting out of an open window,
the half formed song hangs in the sky.

Autumn hangs in waiting close by.
I am hanging on its every word,
waiting to make a decision.

12/09/2013

An equal composite of all of our fears
bad reflections in your eyes corner,
it ended where your breathing began.
Caught sliding in an angled glass hell,
far too small to be saved by your God
and too lost in sleep to really care.

A Cloud in a Cardboard Box

Soft sobs are muffled,
he has lost his way,
he has lost his friends,
a lonely blue cloud
in a cardboard box.

He weeps and weeps,
praying to be found,
sodden with sad rain,
his little face so glum,
blue fluffy melancholy.

He sings soft songs,
comforting himself,
embracing himself,
his weak arms hug,
squeezing pain out.

The box opens up,
sunlight rushes in,
arms reach down,
he smiles so hard,
he has been found!

To be held like that,
he wept so hard,
from heaviest blue,
to the lightest white,
his soul is now clean.

Axe Grip

Your blue thumb nail
and painted face,
dancing moonshine breath.
Porch dreams
your hands wander,
stop touching me never let me let go.
Stubble,
cigarette echoes,
lost between my legs.
Axe grip used,
hay bale nightmares,
face down,
next time the back seat.
Ditch,
morning sun touched,
screamed hoarse,
half left.

A Spider’s Design

The spiders had crept inside
hiding from the approaching winter.
Weary and hopelessly sad about my appearance,
they agreed to help me.
I smashed my skull with a hammer
and molded my face into a more appealing shape.
I let the spiders crawl over me,
spinning a web to hold me new face still
while it healed.
I barricaded myself in my room,
a web of bandages peeking out the window,
at the world,
waiting to be reborn,
in the spring.
Behind the wardrobe,
under the bed,
in the corner of the ceiling,
they always lurked ready to apply more web.
We hid in the dark,
they crawled in my mouth,
I had moved on from just my face
and trained them to redesign me from the inside out!
Slicing fat away and removing bone.
stitched up and bound tightly,
healing.
It was no surprise to me that when the webbing was removed,
they had redesigned me
in their own image.

Pensive, Over Coffee

Exuding unexpected lost heart
as the rain slowly creeps in,
under half finished conversations
and into a dirty polystyrene cup.
Now sipping coffee tinted water,
watching tracks made down glass.
Thinking hard in soft thought,
examining my cuticles and scabs,
remember to never forget you,
the battle of wits is lost for today.