The Sky Calls to Us.

I walked over the endless stones and sand on the edge of the water barefoot.
My shoes in my bag resting at the back of my right hip, my camera slinged hastily over my shoulder, bouncing against my ribs.
I stared out at the large expanse that seemed completely unending.
You jumped onto the stone wall and looked off into the waves breaking.
"It's so smooth." You offered into the air.
My eyes find a palm sized, perfectly rounded stone underneath the fallen tree trunk, bending over, closing my fingers around it. I turned offering it to you. 
"Like a stone." I replied, because it somehow connected.
You nodded accepting it, turning it over in your hand, rubbing it slowly with your thumb. 
I lost your eyes in the waves again. 
I traced your sight to a glowing object underneath the formations of waves. 
"It's like a double sun." I heard your detached voice announce. 
Startled, I turned around, "What?"
"Shining, around each other like the double sun." You continue, as if it was common knowledge.
I stare back at the glowing orbs. 
The waves carry in seaweed arms to hide the soft glowing from sight.
There's a large ship on the face of the body of water growing closer.
I glance at you but you're on your feet before I can register a question.
I follow you swiftly down the shore to the edge near some sort of pipe.
There's some muttering concerning shutting something off, the pipe, I assume.
Your hands work quickly pulling the knob, shutting it, faster and faster.
There was yelling, from the boat that seemed too close for the distance we put between it and ourselves not too long ago.
That's when it happened, when you lost your footing and something spurted in a clang of metal and black, thick, dirt tasting liquid. Oil.
All over my face, my skin, but my bag and camera were safe near the wall. 
I dived in without thinking, hearing your protest before water filled my ear with a thunderous roar.
Somehow I got it off. 
Somehow we were pounding the sand under our feet, sweeping up my bag and camera, turning up a grass covered path and onto hard concrete, suddenly.
I falter to a stop and shove my camera around my neck, securing it to not fall off.
Pushing my toes off from the hard road and speeding up to your back, watching it flex with every stride you make.
I can't tell if I'm breathing, I must be, because my voice falls out my throat slamming words into the air, glancing over my shoulder as our wet footsteps trail our path and the boat is barely visible through the thick trees.
It startles me, making me inhale too sharply. 
Eventually it disappears amongst the green shaded leaves, and a house rises on a green hill. 
A plump woman sits on the outside watching us speed up the hill onto the porch, she brings us inside, sitting us at a kitchen counter.
I drop my bag under the seat, resting my camera on the counter after unhooking it from my neck.
I catch my breath and she goes on like we were there all along.
It's unknown but completely familiar.
She asks me something and you answer quickly, watching me put my head in my hand.
Then I hear you saying you thought I would have drowned when we saw that boat.
She laughs, loudly, filling the room with warmth.
She leaves, after putting a pie on the cooling rack with the other food. She's calling to the younger ones, and someone else.
I shoot you a look and comment on who lost their footing first, really.
You say something as I watch your eyes flicker.
You pick at a sandwich, swallowing bites without missing a beat.
You stop, aiming a smile at me. "Well, what would you know of water?"
I can feel my blood boiling with pride.
I am the sea.
I sit up staring straight at you, "I was born in the ocean." I say, smirking.
That smile spreads over your face.
I watch it fondly.
"Of course."

Something's Gone Terribly Wrong..

There's a soft hum of regret.
I crawl into the back of mind, curling under thoughts of that us.
It hasn't left me yet.
I can still hear your voice asking me that question.
Snow reflects that first I love you.
The cold makes me whisper your name.
I wake up in a twisted bundle of sweat and screams while the moon spills over my memories.
I hope you'll remember.
It's so hard to go forward when I want nothing but to recede into the sea.
I can't shake this fog that clouds everything.
It's so much clearer when I sleep.


I thought I had you figured out.

Look this way.

I can't escape these haunting dreams.
You ignoring me abruptly and my fidgeting is relentless as I pretend I don't notice.
I'm so busy, there are so many other people.
I hear your name daily, I held back so many things..
You stopped hearing me too soon...
It was beautiful...
I know I can't ask anything of you because I let you down..
But it was so lovely to know you...
when you pretended I mattered.

The Longest Shadows Ever Cast

I could see the outline of the sun behind the green of the leaves spotting shade on my face.
I could see you focusing on something in your hands, sitting on a makeshift seat, squinting your eyes as you tried to understand.
There was a warmth in the air that swallowed me whole, and a sweet smell of earth.
People bustled about, paying no mind to me as if I was merely a ghost. I began to move my feet steadily and found myself deep within the trees until I came to the top of a leaf covered cliff. 
I remember running past the blurs of coloured branches. There was a rush of blood and a zig-zagging of trees.
I remember your hands pulsing through the air with momentum, and light trodden footsteps following my own. 
Leading you on a never ending chase. I remember your intense dark eyes and furrowing brows.
Your thick silence that made me reach for something inside of myself that seemed to be missing.
An odd silence that held my attention, as strongly as you seemed to neglect my own, in an overly nonchalant kind of way.
Where is this leading to? I hear myself ask in my head. I feel my body only from above and see the way it pushes up an incline, sitting at the very top, under shadows of shrubbery. 
So where did you go?
I watch myself sit alone and realize your circling ever so slowly. 
I think of how I should have said those words, but what words were those again?
The ones I don't understand how to translate into spoken language.
But if you had forgotten why would you still watch me like that?
If you had forgotten why do you keep silently slipping into my unconscious, leaving cryptic messages only to acknowledge me absentmindedly later?

Just because you have ammo doesn't mean you should shoot the gun.

"You're the most annoying person I've ever met.
I can't stand you anymore, no one I know would put up with your bullshit and everything."


I can't stand me anymore.
My dreams haunt me through out the day and I can't shake them.
They're the only time I feel real. 
Not too much of a girl, overflowing onto an over critical world where no matter what she does it's still not good enough for you.
Because pursuing my career seems a bit ironic to me when I'm disappearing too slow as it is.
It's so hard to stay warm when the cold is coming from within.
Meeting outside forces and crushing my very existence into a huge doubt.

Paint the black hole blacker..

I wonder if I enter your dreams still.
The way you haunt mine.
The way we're always in the forest, how we're always running towards something greater, and unknown. 
The way those dark eyes are analyzing my facial expressions. 
Those large hands that scrawl out sketches, quick and thick.
I wonder if you absolutely despise me, I wonder if you're focusing on the wrong points as I am.
As we do so often to each other.
My gap rips open more daily, you're name repeats it self slowly, quietly, in my head, forever on repeat.
So quietly, as if I say it too loudly you'll never come back.
Maybe you won't anyway. Maybe I finally did what I really didn't want to do with you, of all people.
Maybe you're laughing, drunk with some pretty thing that is rich enough, well enough, to be with you.
I wonder if I just showed at your door what you would do.
But I'd need an address for that.
Silence produces no dates, or times, or places; it produces haunting images of you, saying things that I never answered the right way - infuriating you.
I wish I had someone to babble endless metaphors to, I wish you were still here.
Love ruins everything.
So I'll sit here, scrawling silently in my numerous journals, chalk full of stories, and poems, and letters to no one. Illustrations of inhibitions and plant life.
I'll breath in this cold, with no hope of warm words.
I'll numb my brain and my body because if you're gone, I've got nothing to lose.
I don't understand what I was holding on to, maybe the thought if I saved you from her you'd still stay, but we're the same & you can't see the difference.
What's stopping you?
The only question you proposed that swims into every waking moment of my day.
The fact that this is all too complicated and you deserve better & I did the good thing by you.
But I want to be selfish.
I want to have you.
I want to lose myself in those woods with you.
Drink out tea.
Slip into the sea and get lost between the horizon and the stars.


I've got nothing to lose....

Holding on for dear life.

'Are you?' He asks.
I can't imagine what the words were that he just sent towards me. Excuse me?
'You holding on for dear life over there?' Trailing off as I held both my wrists with both my hands. 
Making sure I wasn't floating away. 
Solid.
Secure.
Anchored down, if only physically to these bones.
There was some discussion and laughter interchanged in the warm salty air.
My tongue tastes like blood. 
Previous drunk and long nights full of talking too much leads to the biting of lips and the tongue nervously, without noticing until the blood is seeping in. 
Spreading the taste of old dirty pennies between my minuscule taste buds.
I forget what my voice was saying.
So I forget what he's referring to once again. 
I'd be a better ghost if only I was invisible.
I drowned my vessel in tea and water.
He keeps shooting me odd looks.
I keep listening to the wrong voices.


The silver diet sprite can, sits bluntly on the table, bubbling away, hissing softly. Blue dotted snowflake designs sprinkled on the background.
Winter time; time for Holiday[s] cheer. 
More beer.
More fights.
More too many close calls on his part.
This winter won't be proper.
I hear questions of my return to Eastern sea-lands.
I don't have answers.
I wish I did.
I wish I had infinite dates of anything and everything, all through out the pine encrusted mountains.
I'm slipping between here and floating just out of reach.
I keep forgetting my cues and people think I'm an airhead, if they don't know me, or a stuck up bitch.
But I just don't want to say the wrong thing.
The crazy thing.
The thing about staring into the black abyss of the ceiling every night and praying that shadow that keeps flickering in the side of your eye will go away.
The white light that is too low to be a window light leak.
Because when you look again it's gone. 
But they're there, slinking in the day light, too.
You're really just thinking too much, too fast.
S l i p p i n g.


Hazy days with black spotted wings covering my eyes.
Oh, these iridescent lies.

New moons and old leaves.

You left me staring into the face of autumn alone. Elipses trailing behind you, never looking back.
I inhaled the sharp cold winds that had been spreading over the current week that I forever dwell over within annually.
Although I say summer is my favourite, or sometimes Autumn, the cold of the winter winds that slice my ribs and leave prickly scars is what makes me feel at home.
I've been banging through this increasingly cold dying world, bruises marking mistakes and long nights, fuzzy with black patches of overly loud and unnecessary laughter. 
Too loud and daring for me, overflowing onto his smile, drowning his own laughter out of audible planes. 
But it is mine. 
But I'm above the me that is laughing watching her let her body relax, disgusted with the shape of those arms and that core.
My right hand always flies up too late to pad the mouth shut with a light touch. The too tightly clutched thin lipped me stares at the loud television, focusing hard past the moving coloured shapes as I float down.


These weeks have drawn together and there's talk of winter festivities.
And no words from you.
I think you saw I was wrong. In all ways, I suppose. 


Those voices will probably never go away, you told me.
It made me want to scream at you.
Right in your face.
Those voices inhabit all of your heads, you hypocrites. Why am I the only one who points them out in public?
Why do I not refrain from quieting those voices when they invade my voice with an unstoppable force?
But people think they're brilliant words, spilling from my over worked mouth.
What an odd thing to say, they'd laugh with me, of course you'd think of such things. 
As if that was the proper way to think of such common place oddities.
Especially for me.


Because those voices quibble loudly where you can't hear, where I can feel them audibly vibrating inside my head.
I pipe up and am immediately hushed.
I think of the voices you told me about that you argue with.


We don't talk the same anymore, I let us grow distant. You admit, defeated, over our black and white discussions. I don't know what to say to make you stay, but stay at the distance we've always held so perpetually parallel. Where I'm cold enough to keep shrinking while I pick at your words and make you snarl so you can't see what's really going on.
But you wanted to cross our lines. 
You wanted to wrap your darker skin around my bare, translucent ghost like being. 
My overly large parts I say need to be sliced off with a butcher knife, I could sew myself up, I add distinguishably, factually to you.
I name off bones and muscles and joint types and names of the smallest bits of me.
You say you would hold me.
With that dark hair and those heavy eyes, you say are boring. Not like yours, you seem to be in wonderment of these spotlighted things. 
They change, blue, dark blue, green, grey, flickering between them all, whenever I stare at that blonde girl in those pools of still opposites. 
She turns to the left, right, tip toeing on her short legs to see a merciful glimpse below her waist in the high mirror.
Our eyes meet again. She looks blank, I feel the gap rip open.
I realize yet again we don't know each other.
I realize I'm not familiar with the way her face contorts, in what seems a way too unannounced fashion.
I thought that was more of a smile, scrutinizing the whole of this surface.
I stare at her accusingly and tell my voices they must shut the hell up. I must be so plain. He says I'm so predictable and laughs with that smile.
Like he knows me oh so well. He's quite pleased with himself when he watches those phalanges shake and announces there's no nutrients, your muscles are eating themselves and you almost fell over again. 
But you were drunk so he's not that worried.
But you're not even close enough to be good enough. Not even close enough to anything wrong, you're just pathetic.


I want to tell you it was actually me, driving you madly insane in love & realizing my foolishness for letting any of you fantasize a stable, solid future with such a creature as myself.
I think about something for so long and  hard, turning it this way and that in my head that it eventually happens, with out me actually doing anything.
And when it gets close, I realize it's not as neat and orderly and planned as I had wanted, it's a mess.
I throw a temper tantrum and I want order.
I want things to go the way they are supposed to and I want you to god damned listen to me instead of pushing your words further into this capsule of memories on these too-wide shoulders that you shake in anger.


It was actually me in your head saying, that girl, those thoughts she has are pretty strange.
Who wishes to slice their skin open and see the gleaming, pink insides, plucking at tendons like piano strings and holding bones as if they were the railings holding her up on the fun-house stairs that turn into slides much too quickly.


I hold the bones of the tops of my hips hard. Indenting my fingers, through what seems to be my skin, but is merely a mashing of fingers and skin, and yellow fat postules that must go. 
This winter will be cold, she digs her sharp nails into my sides and shakes me softly at first, growing increasingly faster and harder than I can control.
This winter will be long, with hard winds and stinging wet bites on my uncovered face. 
This winter will drive me into an oblivion. 
It will be dark and house bound, unless I can find proper clothes to trapse around in with my camera.
I will pick more fights. He keeps begging for the admittance of my knowledge that he's not leaving, nor ever breaking this off unless I do first.
I just want to see how far I can push, because, in all honesty I know it's better.
I'm not a downer, I'm not pessimistic, I'm realistic. And logical, for you all. 


If you did not have me to save you from, us, to be honest, then you'd all fall.
Down, down to the ground.
Ashes and all.