Tag Archives: love

Everything

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Old habits hang like nooses
brushing against my throat
against my thoughts
tightening across everything that I’ve become.

I’m sorry that we fight like this
but fighting is what
everything has taught me
to do.

Sometimes I want to break down like an old car
because of everything that has built up
but Father would be disappointed.

Sometimes I feel that everything
I work so hard for
is for nothing
even though I still cling to it
like a rabid junkyard dog
mauling an old bone
growling at the sun.

Let’s be honest
being human is terrifying
but you can’t show them
that you’re weak or afraid
not anybody
not for one second.

But I can talk to you, right?
I would like it if I could talk to you
about me
about you
about nothing
about everything…

it helps to keep the sinewy rats away
from my soul.

Mom’s Not Going To Be Around Forever

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She sounded good today
strong
vibrant in spirit
not like last time when she was weak
distant
sick.

Sometimes you don’t think that she’s going to
get any better

You called her from work
because you had so many things to do and
places to go after just like
every damn day
so you wanted to make sure that at least
you called
you made the effort.

But you’re miles behind on work.
You can’t stay on the phone
for too long you have a meeting and
a list of lists to accomplish.

You just wanted to say high but once you
have her on
she sounds so happy
she’ll talk about everything in her day
-the doctors, the medicine, the treatment, the cats.

You start to feel rushed because you have to go
and she can go on and on about everything.

But what else is she going to do?
Who else can she talk to and how often do you really speak to her?
She just wanted to hear from her son.
She just wanted to fucking talk to you
because for most of her day
she just sits around; is too weak to walk anywhere
and has nobody but dad to talk to when he’s not at work.

So when she says ‘I love you, son.’
you realize that one day
you will have done anything
just to hear her say that
just to hear her voice again
just to have her there
for just a little bit longer.

So when she starts talking about the flowers
or the birds in the yard
you don’t say that you have to go
you don’t rush to goodbye
you don’t hang up.

Instead
you find a chair
sit down
and you listen.

Beautiful Quiet Melody

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There was this girl at school
Quiet Melody
was her name.

She used to hide in her hair.

Long and black it was
like a raven’s back
and she used it
as a curtain
so that nobody could see her.

When people addressed her
Melody would wave sheepishly
distantly
as though from another planet
and not say anything at all.

She had this favourite spot
on the floor
that she would stare at.

I often wondered
what she thought about
when she did.

You see,
she had this face
that could pierce your heart
it was just so beautiful.

Thinking back,
it was a real damn shame
that nobody
ever told her that.

Empress In The Elevator

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In the elevator
I spotted an empress
and I would priest for her,
doctor her pains,
soldier her wars;
I would do many,
mighty things
all within the span of
30 seconds
-then she was gone

and things returned to
as they were.

The Dweller 11: Enter Sweet Sophina’s Night of Heaven Deep inside of Hell

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I was not dead, well, still half-dead but still here above ground. I had simply passed out from the overall strain of whatever I was doing which I could not exactly recall so it must have been very intense. For how long I was out for I wasn’t entirely sure but I had awakened to hands shrugging my shoulders with increasing intensity and so crossed my arms over my face to shield myself while shouting, “No! Get away from me, you Haggard Wench!”

Calm, cool hands brought my arms down gently and I ventured to open my eyes to find not the easily excitable (and extraordinarily insane) healing bag-lady but Sophina knelt down before me, peering into my face questionably. It was quite the contrast. Sophina looked so much more outer-worldly majestic than at any other time that I had seen her. It ached to watch her, even for a moment. Black dress, black lipstick, black hair, large black eyes and a white porcelain face from a dolls from a dream that you would not want to ever forget faced me and I somehow knew that she was not here to harm or terrify me, not this time.
‘Dweller.’ She whispered.

I gazed at Sophina as an artist would a fine painting. That she was here seemed nothing short of a miracle and reinforced what Jacob had said about her being my keeper. I still did not truly understand what that entailed but I didn’t have to, not right then. I had never been so close to her and I had just opened my eyes. That in itself was its own reward. The question of why Sophina was here or how she had got here did not seem too important at the time. The fact was that she was here. I felt as though I was staring at heaven, a dark heaven filled with impossibilities to be broken.

I reached out and touched her face. Sophina did not back away, instead her eyes grew with curiosity so I caressed her and she let me, even leaned into my hand. There was such sadness in her there that I did not see before. It was breaking my heart to look at her but would only break it even more to turn away.

(Excerpt from ‘The Dweller’ Chapter 11)

On Writing A Novel

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There comes a point in writing a novel that you get hooked on it, fall in love with writing it. You have to. You need to. With all the countless hours that you put into it with all the times you go over it down to the finest detail drawing it out filling a cork-board with post-it notes on what to change next run through sketching out each character down to their flaws -without that compulsion that love that obsession it’s just not going to be the same and you know it -without that you should just put it down put it away and go do something else because you know it’s just words then -it’s just words without spark or feeling and you’ll suffer through it you’ll suffer until it comes to you -you’ll pound it all out again and again until it arrives because once it does this thing that you’re working on? It comes alive and it becomes important to you it becomes vital to you it in fact

becomes everything.

How I Open Doors For Hipsters

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I open doors for hipsters
when they’re on a bike
and I’m in a car.

You had to get it just right.
Timing was everything.
It wasn’t easy.
I don’t think that most people would
appreciate how much of an art form
it really is.

The hardest part was getting close enough
to be effective
without them noticing.

First off,
you had to drive an unassuming car.
It couldn’t have looked like anything from Mad Max
or something equally as menacing.
The doors had to have heft
but not enough to lag when attempting to open it quickly
and the longer the door the better.
That’s why two door coupes always worked the best.

Routes were easy to pick.
Universities and downtown areas
were always abundant.
Otherwise anywhere with coffee would do.

Targeting them was even easier.
Visual assessment was Fast and Furious (Vin)
thanks to the beard
the absurdly large sunglasses
the sweater vest
the knitted cap
the legs rotating the pedals like an
awkward malnourished chicken.

The key was that
you needed two people
that were able to really work well together.
Team spirit, you know.

“Look, look, look! There’s one there, see him?”
“Short ginger fuck that dresses like Kanye west? Yeah, I got this.”
“He’s gonna get it good.”
“Fucker’s going sailing without a ship.”

You rev up beside him
closer…closer
maybe just a little closer
and then WHAM!
You had to really lean into it
against the wind and
manage to close it afterwards
with you still inside
but it was worth it
every time.

It didn’t take much
as we weren’t trying to murder anybody here
a slight little light maiming would do.

Feeling the impact of the door,
the vibration, the moment of reaching out
and connecting on so personally a level
even the little squeak the hipster FUCK made
as they flew off the bike towards an unforgiving curb
was absolutely enthralling
so rapturous that
everything was hushed afterwards
like the crowd before erupting to a winning goal.

It felt like God was watching.

“Right into the fire hydrant, Damn!”
“Fuck yeah! Blame the media, Hipster, blame your MOTHER!”

There was nothing quite like it.
It gave you shivers down your spine
and made you want to do it again
immediately
but most times you couldn’t as
once they caught on
the fun would be over
so you waited
until the time was right
and you always knew when that was.
You just knew…

and when it came
you picked up the phone
and called your buddy
giving them a pick-up point
with the advice:
make sure you aren’t followed.

Then you get behind the wheel.
You slide on the leather gloves
turn on the engine
listen to it purr with eyes closed
feel the rhythm the heartbeat of the car
feel one with the car
your doors will connect today
they will…

then crank up the Insane Clown Posse.

Now you’re ready to start hunting

AUTHOR’S NOTE: This poem is not intended to offend anybody but Chad.

Heartbreaker

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She didn’t just break your heart,

she stomped on it
purposefully
against the curb
then set it on fire
with a blowtorch
and a mad grin
until it was well done
eating it
afterwards
at a fine restaurant
casually piercing it with
silverware
between long sips of
red wine
and tossing the scraps
to the dogs
while laughing
maniacally
at the moon.