Shattered and Broken

Shattered and broken
My eyes on a token.
Slap it down on the table
Our problems like they're a fable.
Shattered and broken
You never heard what I had spoken.
You talked of her agony
But you forgot, that once was my decree.
Shattered and broken
I, in so much pain you had woken.
My walls are those of battle fields
Like from long ago when they used sheilds.
Shattered and broken
I started to open.
But you couldn't resist
Even when you knew I'd insist.
Shattered and broken
That seems like my life's slogan..


J.

Stats

So as his call resonated in the air and the vibrations of the mishap of his extremities rippled through the floor, I felt the emptiness of those drawers upstairs, the hollowness of the thick new carpet, and the lightness of the cold warmth in the large abode where no one really seemed to reside. Except for the hard, cold marble that had once seen only the cracks in its design and, until recent years in its lifetime, nothing below my curious nose. And the ever so long repetitive call tone that I'm so used to hearing, followed by the obnoxious greeting that once would've been cute but now even the robot lady knows the kind of person that it represents, doesn't compare to the automated messaging system that I rarely heard but that brings an army of emotions with the memory of the inverse of the last one containing three not so robotic words that everyone can predict but three words that no one knows the feelings of. As the purple and green and pink and blue an red and orange seem to swirl in my eyeballs and paint the hell I see while my adrenaline that was quickly pumped kicks me right into its pit with the shaking for days and screams so very loud yet I still can't feel my toes...

J.

Untitled III

I sat as I had seen the beautiful girl doing and thought of what she might have contemplated at this odd angle so convenient, wondering if the thought about solving the problems of her world as I did mine.
And the girl I want to be is "very conscious about what [she] thinks about." And as we stand, crowding toward one another, she softly lifts a wish into the air that the girl would come to that point in her life and I truly, deeply yearn for her to lift such a wish for me. Lightly, gently, slowly into the elements.
With the shadows dancing across his face in my peripheral vision, teasing my thoughts as to whether or not he was entering them, snapping my neck back to reality.

J.

Come In With The Cold

With the snowflakes dancing around, not quite falling, don't you wish you could be one of them?

Prancing cheerfully, typical (yet incomparable) beauty, and a uniqueness you can't create.
So quick to grab your attention. But right as you set your focus on one, it disappears with the violent wind.

The perfect analogy for you as you sit looking out the window where your mind seems to wander as you're stuck here. Trying to stay warm but it's all just so cold... 

J.

A Rhyme Out of the Psychotic

Hannibal the cannibal is fascinating.
Maybe because she's procrastinating.
She knows how love hurts.
You, she doesn't want to desert.
She closed her eyes and breathed.
With exhaust, she's been bequeathed.
The pain, you can see in her eyes,
But she always has on a disguise.
You had it once but you lost,
Somewhere in the very last frost.
Everything wasn't turned around.
Now, absolutely nothing sound.
This poem is getting tiring.
Maybe it's because she's desiring
The right words to tell you,
That "forever" was with who?


J.

Untitled II

And I couldn't stand to look into his dark, deep eyes so I hid but it was all a game to him and so unbearably cute but I really couldn't stand it. And he was so playful and I adore him and miss that part of my life (which is probably why I reminisce so much I suppose). Embarrassed? No, not at all. Impressing? I'm trying as hard as I can to hide that I'm trying.  I get to be the me I wanna be with him and I can be a kid (like he told me I could be) and stress free. Like biting and running around like we're the only ones on the ground and jumping up and down as if at any moment a star could be ours. But I could have a grown conversation and I feel like I'm wrapped in happiness in his world. Only to soon find out I'd be quickly unwrapped from any kind of happiness and left out in the cold...

J.

An Unexpecting Victim

An unexpecting victim
of the powerful stream of love.
I drank from it.
I can't tell if it's potion or poison.
Maybe one day I'll know.
More of the water exuding through the pores of my skin.
Basking in the sunshine of happiness.
Bathing in the love.
Until the leaves start changing colors.
And the stream freezes over.
An unexpecting victim
in a dark alley of twists and wrong turns.

The winds of feelings and change.

Flowing through my hair.

The line from that song..

"your hair looks so good over my shoulder"

playing slowly in my head.

Pictures of my hair over your shoulder dancing through my mind.

Like the leaves dancing around the stream.

An unexpecting victim

of these goosebumps I'm getting.

I can't tell if it's the cold from the frozen stream seeping through the soles of my shoes

or the thought of you, in all of your wonder and amazement.
Everything I wish I could see in my reflection when I look into the stream,

I see when I look at you.

I feel you when you look at me.

Something I've been missing.

An unexpecting victim

of happiness brought by thee.
And you let the stream sweep you off your feet;
not expecting to be a victim
until you hit the rocks.
And then everything hits you.
But you're mind is like the gizzard of a bird.
Filled with rocks. Trying to digest everything.
But humans don't have that.
So it doesn't work.
Try hydrogen peroxide; your parents lied to you.
IT STINGS.

J.

Momentary Mute Messages

The "OMG! What on earth is he talking about!?" in a terrified kind of way. With the "Eek! I have no idea (but I'm secretly [yet completely obviously] glad I'm not you)." conversation in about ten tremendously loud heartbeats with solely our eyes across wet rags and soap suds. Or the "I LOVE YOU! Say something." and the unreadable (so maybe it's just wishful thinking), "You know. And you know the deal." blank stare. Followed by the fishtale headspin the human brain is painfully capable of because that deal was never agreed upon. All within the split seconds of my slightly delayed (yet still fairly quick) reflexes that make my neck snap around the moment the chance arrives after meeting your beautifully cold eyes. And the "Can't you see I'd just like you to leave now?" glare which is entirely a one-sided conversation for it's obviously not reciprocated. Or let's go for the looking down because you're trying to hold back tears but desperately trying to send an ESP message with "-.-. .- -. / -.-- --- ..- / .--. .-.. . .- ... . / .--- ..- ... - / .... --- .-.. -.. / -- ." which reads just like that because they never get the message. Maybe it's the "I really adore you and I know my eyes can't smile but if they could they would be grinning. I like this." while your mind is racing like a Nascar driver at Daytona. And all you can see back is "You're cute. *twinkle*twinkle*" which is nice but.. Well, but. Mostly it's the messages behind your own eyelids that are so unclearly clear. I know that doesn't make sense and if you think that it does, you're wrong because it doesn't. It's not supposed to make sense. The loudest silent messages are the ones we always never want to hear. And the ones we laugh about crying about. Along with the ones we smile at while our heart is shattering into a gazillion small huge pieces. Those messages.


J.

Rotting

Tree branches scraping across windows; making wretched noises that sound like scared, hurt puppies. Perhaps occurring in the same place where squirrels are in possible danger of taking the same descent downward that I would be obligated to take if ever I were engulfed in beautifully painful flames. But that's only a hopefully unlikely 'if'. In addition to a fallen dead cat that he claimed was a dog (but I know better. Plus I went (in sorrow) and checked the repulsive site, but shh). It's poor dead body broken and wet; it's rotting process being sped up by maggots (like you) and flies. Lying defaced, denied and disregarded like the trash from Whataburger lying next to it, sharing the same rock. That, plus the torture I endure almost every night I manage to brokenly crawl to the door of the place I once loved. Now when I get in it's like I'm, no, I AM trapped in a(n)  horror movie inescapable life. Called my own. But someone manages to lock the door on my every attempt to escape and only when I can (literally) no longer go without oxygen do they unlock the door and allow me to gasp in the hot Texas air that feels just about as choking as his hands did around my neck one time. Only he kissed me and apologized; this hateful air is so much less apologetic. Along with you. In my dreams. And seemingly out of them (I don't dare say in real life). I hate that my memories are being contaminated like the pollution that makes us stay inside for recess contaminates the air. Or like the water will be once the cat's rotting corpse eventually slips into the pool at the bottom of the currently silent waterfall. Silent. So unlike my tears that seem to be taking the place of that waterfall; running along my contaminated cheeks that will hopefully become clean with help from the dark purple and pink pills. Or perhaps I'm just as hopeless as my scratched window (maybe even like the squirrel that may fall off); trapped in that land of horrors; or rotting away with only maggots to be close to along side that white and orange striped back on a rock at the bottom of a waterfall.


J.

Sugar Plum Princess

As you lay your head, crooked against rough, green pleather, the sun's rays seem to lay their hands around your cheek and caress it like the too rough hands had done so gently. 'And visions of sugar plums danced in your head' but it's not that time of year though you wish you could be the sugar plum princess through every season. But then the light appears too bright in the stereo-typical interrogation or worse yet when you've lost all your marbles. But the light doesn't help you find them, it just reminds you that people are convinced you've indeed lost them; but you actually know where they are, they're just hidden from the spot-light somewhere else and you won't tell anyone, shhh.

J.