The Shut-In

In my room:
two rotary phones,
no dial tones.
All connections are severed.
I have no leverage,
no blackmail, no chainmail,
no links whatsoever.
The rain falls in cold, solid bars outside of my window.
Beside my bed:
a jar full of keys,
of mysteries,
to doors left open or kept shut,
that can't be bribed
from their hinges, or their convictions
about lost loves.

Dead or Alive

The last thing that you need
is the first thing that you get
And baby you need me like
you need a hole in the head
And I wantchawantchawantchwantcha alive
But I'll takeyatakeyatakeyatakeya dead
I've got two eightballs for my eyes
but you still seem so surprised
that I gotchagotchagotchagotcha alive
Then I knockyaknockyaknockyaknockya dead

Shipwrecked

A wreck, adrift,

Sink or jump ship...

I'll drown my thoughts,

if it suits me,

I'll cry mutiny.

All of my relationships set sail,
hit the rocks,
hit rock bottom.
I'll let the wind fill my lungs
if I can't.
I'll let my whims fill with wind
if I want.

A Little Ditty on "Love", Loathing, and Denial

Self-sabotage is a clever and unfulfilling device for me. Instead of letting myself be vulnerable, honest and open, I distance myself by "swallowing" my emotions. I act heartless, unaffected, unfeeling and, ultimately, inhuman. The following is a short poem that I wrote on the subject:

I haven't even got half-a-heart to tell you that

I haven't even got half-a-heart.

Selfishly, I ate it.

A Poem

In the centre of my pale moon-face,
aglow with sickness,
two craters -
two sunken eyes.
It takes a little longer to reach
your gaze,
at the end of a long, shadowy corridor.
It is a little frightening to look
so deep into mine.
Dragged in with the tide,
and down by the undertow.