Dancing With Skeletons

The stars shine brightly tonight, reaching down towards Earth
The ages-old rays reflect off a broken picture frame
Illuminating the shards with light that took a million years to get here,
Underscoring a situation where no one's to blame.

The last remaining light is eclipsed by the planet's churn.
This gloaming casts a shadow, turning the horizon blue.
As the sun burns out, I feel the exhaustion of another day hanging on
And we held on for so long that the ache became all we knew.

As Mars flashes his warrior's glow off the car's hood,
A ghost makes its way through the mist and woods.
All sorts of creatures mingle in the thickets of my mind,
while midnight dawns, clouding up my eyes.

A crescent moon marks that the heavens have already moved on.
Its phases have crawled by so slow that I'm still dancing with skeletons.
Tonight, it's reflection off the lake seems extra pale
And I pray that the morning rain will wash away your smell.

The High Art of Killing Your Friends

A hand comes down
Into this deep, dark hole.
Clawing at the ground
I try to take hold.
Earth sticks under my nails,
Soil fills my mouth and nose.
Whoever put me in this hell
Didn't go deep enough.
I haven't seen the sun so long
That its radiance is painful.
I can't see the savior,
The Samaritan's kind soul.
All I know is that hand,
The blessed lifeline,
Has dirt under its nails
And is as soiled as mine.

How Young Lovers Die

It's getting colder outside.
White flakes fall all around,
Covering everything in white,
Making us look like brides.

We share one last embrace.
I feel the heat on your cheeks.
The tears still freeze on your face
But I won't let it ruin this day.

Just don't leave me all alone,
Give me somewhere to call home.
Keep a place out for me,
Somewhere only we know.

If only this snow would disappear
And turn into a churning river,
We could sink to the bottom
And stay this way forever.

The Wedding Album

They stood frozen to the spot
Bound by duty and shock
With their hands on the smalls
Of each other's backs.

A glaze pools in their eyes
From the flashbulbs
Whiting out the lines
Wrapping around their faces.

She's trying to look her best
In a second-hand wedding dress
As her makeup withers in the heat
And the beating won't stop in her chest.

"She got rid of so many of them,
Why should I be different?"
He says inside his head
And fidgets with the ring on his hand.

Standing so close together
No one could have guessed
This was the moment
They started pulling apart.

I Sleep With A Gun Under My Pillow

Her lips are on fire.
Tonight is an exercise
In laying waste and leaving
No one in the wake.
The room full of life
Is relegated to spectators
Caught in the crossfire
Of innuendo and sultry looks.

Her soul screams —
A monster chained,
Aching to be free
From the prison within.
Tearing at the walls,
Passion floods the floor
Twisting with bodies
As they move to the beat.

Her blood curdles
And lust lines the veins.
There's no more running away,
Because there's no safe haven.
Her mane covers my face
The scent is full of pheromones.
From this new paramour,
It's a smell I will take back home.

Her tongue has soured,
Spitting the sweetest venom
Anyone has ever tasted
In a God-forsaken place like this.
Pulling her willing victim closer,
Assuming the position,
They exhale, breathe deep
And move in for the kill.

Blood & Orchids

Several mourners gather in a line,
Their fingers stained with colored dye
From the paper flowers they put at my side
As their way of saying goodbye.
Then the earth will take me home
To the place from where I came
And this elaborate procession
Will be nothing more than a grave.
Soon the rain will turn the reds and greens blank,
Weeds will frame the headstone,
The wind will blow the little faux roses away,
And the vines of memory will become overgrown.
The recollections will blur and bleed into one
So that the picture is out of focus.
Where everyone will have their interpretation,
And have its own unique coat of gloss.
After years they will get their own set of flowers,
Taking the story of our lives into the night.
But the wild orchids that grew from my burial
Will keep on growing in the sunlight.

The Fall of the Internet

Remember the Internet? Right now, you might be saying to yourself, "Of course I do. I'm on it looking at these words." But I don't mean this thing we call the Internet. I mean the Internet of a bygone era, the Internet Al Gore created, the one used for communication and knowledge.

The Internet has become a shell of itself. Knowledge gathering is reduced to the highly convenient, but incredibly unreliable, Wikipedia. Communication has devolved into the high school politics of Myspace. Ask the majority of people who use the Internet what they use it for. Most will say downloading music or movies, email and porn.

So the Internet turned from a useful tool to a glorified TV. I will admit that it is convenient to have so much entertainment at my fingertips. I like to download music instead of going to a store and it is nice to stream videos of people being stupid on YouTube while I'm at work. But I feel that we've devalued the Internet and taken its possibilities for granted.

I think the thing that has devolved most of all are the wondrous communication tools: chat rooms, email, blogs, social networking sites and the like. Chat rooms quickly moved from the next evolution of the telephone to a device for sex and pedophiles. Email is now so pervasive that it is available on cell phones and has basically quit evolving. Blogs still have value in that they allow instant eyewitness updates of news, but most are used for what I am doing now — a daily bitch session. The social networking sites are convenient because it is one big cluster fuck of friends that can be stayed in contact with despite time and distance. It also allows for some sort of individuality. But it can also be exclusive and used for bullying. Plus, the sheer number of "friends" that use it for completely juvenile purposes as propaganda, sloganeering and motives for promoting themselves and their personal relationships (see users whose names are "I love ___") is idiotic.

Every once in a while, I'll see what the Internet could be. I can find a well put together site, get some research worthy sources for topics I'm interested in, download PDFs of recent medical and sociological studies or get breaking news from around the world seconds after it happens. It just makes me sad that I have to pilfer through a virtual swamp of refuse to get to it.

Sure, what I am typing now is only serving to further gum up the internal workings of this mystery that is cyberspace. But at least I am aware of it and that makes me feel better.