sore teeth.

so far down, anything will do. grabbing at things lost and then remembered, as if you never were and never really could be. when you lose yourself in brick walls and empty phone calls, loneliness sets in like an old friend, resting on your shoulders like a mink. all the while wondering what your name is, because it seems that even God has forgotten. you will not dress up today. the only understandable things are written words and past memories... memories that are completely separate from your life now. your pride chokes your throat shut, while your mouth pushes your frustration out. and what are you left with? sore teeth. very sore teeth.

the greatest trick ever played.

at the end of life, we find ourselves shocked at the ceasing of our breathing. did we never sense the edge of finality set against life, stretched out by the endless ticking that is Time?

we have been fooled. all of us.

we beg for the unmoving, unchangeable.

welling up with happiness for the surrounding beads of light

that scatter themselves across the velvet of my life

drowning in a sea of absolute horror

as i realize the world is getting this much older

fading tracks of winter's ruts

find themselves,

comfortably,

residing in traces of lust

set aside like notes on a table

the special find their hearts have nothing to label

fifteen pictures thus document my life

1 of an ocean

and the rest are lost

left, without a trace

as my hair fades into the divets of my shower

flowing freely

lost forever

untitled.

how does one become so lost between that tiny space

i forget what that feels like

but sore ankles and free screams against the forgiving night

that is something i remember

you wish for mirrors on your eyelids.

planted between ringing tones of protrusion and subtle notes that scream "hear me"

bring it in, don't let go of the capabilities of your mind

set loose by stinging thoughts of normality and compliance to unwritten rules

strap the buckle across ambition,

replace with inhibition

pace yourself to the sinuous feeling of settling into place

it is hard to match your shining eyes when my

bones are back at a table removed from the room, soaked in humanity

someday fabric will lightly tug against the traces of my skin,

and my fingertips will be appreciated for the thoughts they can imagine

and my fingernails thrash at cutting edge danger

waking you up from the glassy box that occupies your all

a girl of little shoes.

now that i am girl of

little shoes,

i sit

cross-legged and convinced that it

will be better in the

morning,

just like mother

used to say

melting into carpet like

spilled water

no longer appeals to the

spotlight of my

frozen eyes

entranced

lost

in the metal strings

vibrating with them

clicking against my ribs

i am an overtone

lost in the ceiling with the spotlight

for now i am a girl of little shoes,

a girl who treads

lightly where

many have been before

and after

and left