Bitter Apple

Bitter apple spray
keeps me from chewing the wounds
that
you have unknowingly inflicted.
What hurts worse?
The sting of the spray,
or the ripping of my heart in two?
It's hard to say.
Both are sharp, deep sensations that cut deep into my flesh,
my soul,
my fortress.

And here I am wondering,
is this just a petty plot for revenge?
To end things on your terms?
Or am I just not,
as I have never been,
good enough?

Tell me true,
don't speak in rhymes.
I want to know.
Am I just a memory for you?

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Leech - Chapter 1

“Do you think we'll still be friends?” Laying out beneath the cooling September sky, sprawled across the playground equipment that would in just a few days hold hundreds of children, the two girls pondered their futures as they stared out at the endless sky, full of stars, full of hope. Their hair twined together on the slide they lay upon, a commingling of dark and light. Amy had always been the classic idea of beautiful – blonde, slender, blue eyes with just a hint of mischief. The complete opposite of Christie. Christie was dark. Olive skin, blue black hair, and grey eyes. There was nothing remarkable about her, nothing to accord her any of the attention Amy had ever gotten, except the fact that Christie had hit puberty at about 8 years old, and her body was that of a woman's. A strange, unfamiliar woman's at that.

Amy and Christie were as close as friends could be, and were about to venture from this area, the playground and school they knew so well, to a larger, scarier world—high school. The question lingered in the air between them like the fog rolling in from the river. It wasn't so late at night, a quaint sliver of a moon just barely topped the trees that separated the school from the old stony brook. The question went unanswered – there didn't need to be an answer. They knew their friendship would continue, more or less, as it had for the previous thirteen years. But questions needed to be answered, and the pressing urgency was only furthered by the beeping of Christie's watch, telling her it was time to start the walk home.

“What I mean is...” she hesitated, trying to find the right words to complete the sentence “Do you think the baby will change things between us?” Amy shook her head, the only indication that she had even heard the question. Christie rolled over, and started to get up. “I'm here for you, you know. I always will be.” The words were mumbled, the way a fumbling lover would speak. They were not lovers, nor had they ever experimented, even though so many of their peers had. Amy just nodded, and continued to stare at the stars above. So much had changed that summer, and so much would continue to change.

Christie pulled herself away from the playground equipment with a large shove. It was hard for her to get up. She was overweight, “fatass” as her peers often shouted. But she still maintained a modicum of dignity as she began her walk home. It was a short walk, one she had taken many times. She wasn't worried too much about Amy's safety – Amy lived on a property bordering the playground.

But thoughts crossed her mind as she followed the old stony brook path home. Thoughts of things that happened to girls who stayed out late. She wasn't too concerned – nothing like that happened, at least not in her neighborhood. It had always been a relatively safe place to live. Sure, the older kids got a little rowdy, and occasionally someone would be busted for having a drunken party while their parents were out of town. But Christie felt relatively safe. She kept her eyes forward, and continued to meander along the path that bordered the small residential road. The trees weren't much to look at, but they kept her mind off of more pressing things – the fact that her best friend would, in a few short months, be a teenage mother.

Her attention was caught momentarily as a car skidded to a halt a fifteen yards away. She could hear two voices, one male and one female, arguing intensely with one another. It happened occasionally on this road, two lovers parting ways. Christie wasn't concerned, but pressed herself further against the treeline, trying very much to blend in, to give the quarrelers some privacy. The woman jumped out of the car, slamming the door. She was shouting in a language Christie thought may have been Russian. A fanatic for languages, Christie always found them fascinating, but she couldn't place her finger on this one. Something Slavic in origin, definitely. The woman started tromping in her direction. The man, shouting at his companion in the same language, shortly followed.

Christie froze in her place among the young pine trees. They were headed in her direction, but she didn't think she'd been spotted. Her watch beeped again, inconveniently so. The woman scanned the area, following the sound, and started shouting at her partner in English. “See? You scare everyone! Go away!”. Christie stood still, frozen in time. She didn't know whether to turn and run, or continue on her path. Continuing meant passing right by these two very hassled strangers.

“I didn't mean to scare anyone!” the man shouted back, indicating a nod in Christie's direction. Christie nodded back.
“You do, though! You do!” and the woman stormed off towards one of the houses. Christie, now alone on the street with an unfamiliar man, was beginning to feel uneasy. He shrugged his shoulders in frustration, and headed back to his car. Christie released a breath she didn't know she was holding. The car ahead of her made sputtering noises, and wouldn't start. Christie approached the car, and hesitated, but continued to walk past, turning her back to the stranger and his plight.

“Don't suppose you know anything about cars, do you?” The man sighed and removed his hat, running a finger through his locks as if to relieve tension. Christie turned around, midstep, and wobbled as though on an axis that defied the rules of gravity of the Earth itself. Her balance wasn't always the greatest, and every move she meant to be graceful always turned odd. “Cars?” She asked, as if not comprehending the words.

“Guess not.” The man was standing beneath a streetlight, and Christie took in the full view of him. He was taller, maybe a high school senior. His inky hair was longer than her's was, which was something of an accomplishment, and pulled back into a ponytail low at the base of his neck. His eyes, though she could not discern the color, were glittering in the light. Respectably dressed in a turtleneck and khakis, he looked harmless enough. He was one of many out of a generation trying to emulate the yuppies. Perhaps he was drunk. Christie didn't know, and didn't want to find out.

“My dad's a mechanic. Try hitting the starter.” She mumbled, and turned around, continuing her trek home, her watch beeping incessantly. The instant she turned around, she knew it was a bad idea. Quickly, almost too quickly, she felt him rush behind her, a hand over her mouth. “You're the one I've been looking for,” he mumbled into her ear. It was the last thing she remembered before darkness took over.

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Mortal Coils - Part One

"There was a time once, when we had it all." He whispered this to her ear as she rolled over in her sleep, sliding an errant lock of hair away from her peaceful features. "A time once when you and I could have had this...all of this." He looked around the room, seeing not the grunge of dirt from years gone by, seeing not the glowing eyes of whatever pests had taken up residence in the abandoned storeroom.

He thought of his family, the one he had forged unwittingly with someone he convinced himself he loved, someone who was eating him alive from the inside out. He thought of her family, made of many more tenuous strands, much less solid than the bonds he had forged but somehow more valid. He then thought of them, and the history they shared.

It was not just a history of this life, but the one that had come before. And the one before that. From the instant they had seen each other, something was there, reminding them of each and every instance. It was very much, he mused, like a near death experience, except instead of his life flashing before his eyes, it was every life, every moment they had or would have together. But for all of his seeing and knowledge and forethought, he never could have imagined that.

Stroking her arm gently and feeling the flesh warm beneath his touch, he sighed softly. How to reconcile the two different ways of life? He, the man born of a heritage that was supposed to be bound to walk the earth, tied down to a family - a family he wasn't even sure he wanted. And she - she who he had always thought was bound for a life of complicity and domesticity, she - living the life he thought he was destined to have.

It was rare, these occasions that they spent together. Rare enough that they even got a glancing moment in which to say hello. As they lay upon the mattress that held years of dirt, dust and god only knew what else, he contemplated it all. Was it worth it, to see her like this, the only way they could? To meet in the back storeroom of an abandoned building on the worst side of town, to risk not only their lives, but their hearts as well?

He could not deny that she crossed his thoughts regularly. Nor, when asked, could she deny the same. But a shadow of doubt crossed her face every time they embraced and the cold hand of reality touched his heart every time he felt her tremble and shudder beneath him. Though they were together again, nothing could ever be the same.

It had been years ago that she had broken his heart - not so many that the hurt had subsided. Not so many that the passion had died either. But laying her next to her, his hand on the hollow of her chest feeling her heart beat through the thin skin of her torso, he could not help but let his mind drift to all the wonderful things that could have - should have - been.

"You were to be mine, my love." His breath caressed her ear with each word, his words, in turn, caressing her heart. A connection was there, one that could never be severed. She stirred in her sleep, a peaceful respite from the arduous passion they had just shared. "If only I had known....if only I had told you. If only you had known.....we would be together."

It wasn't that he regretted his family - he loved his son with every fiber of his being, a son that had his eyes and his laugh, his mannerisms and his smartass sense of humor. It wasn't that he regretted his wife, either. She was as good of a woman as any could ask for, and had picked up the pieces when she had broken them. But there was always, somewhere in the bowels of his mind, the longing and desire for more.

His arm tightened around her, causing her to shiver and curl into the hollow of his body. She was larger than he was, but colder, always colder. She was a creature of the daylight hours, and always retained so much warmth. Until they made love. Afterwards, she was always cold, unbearably cold. Closing his eyes, he did the best to soothe her discomfort by pulling the ratty and worn woven blanket further above the two of them.

He did the only thing he could do; he listened. He could hear every heartbeat, every breath, every movement. If he tried and concentrated, he could catch glimpses and flashes of her dreams, the dreams she had when she was within his arms.

A flash of red crossed his field of vision, a voice - her voice - crying out in the night. She was having nightmares again, but no audible sound escaped her lips. Nightmares of being caught in a place that was not quite here and not quite there. She was pregnant, in her dream. And alone. Her eyes were filled with tears and she was calling his name. He came to her side, but in her dreams he looked quite different. He was but a shadow of himself, perhaps another figure from another life.

"It's you," her dream self stammered through very obvious pain. "What will it be this time, my savior or my slayer?" He looked on through her dreams, watching her in labor, and a child - their child - born dead.

Her dreaming voice drove deep into his heart. He hated to think of himself as the source of any of her pain. He didn't know what had occurred to make her run away, and resented the fact that she had run away from him. It didn't matter that she was young, so young, and so very very scared. He didn't like the thought of her in pain. And much less did he enjoy the thought of her in pain and so scared she was unable to reach out to him, the one she had promised to spend the rest of her life with.

That was, of course, in the past now. Their lives together were beginning to start over. He slipped into her dreams once more, into another scene in another life. They were dancing together, their bodies as entwined as their hearts. She looked up to him, her eyes glittering with tears of joy. She held him tightly, grasping as though the world would slip away if she were to let go.

He tried to shut out the images he was receiving from his lover, images and thoughts he knew were wroth with pain, jealousy and greed. He saw them, as they were in this life, in the situation they were in now. He saw them - each with their respective families. It was an odd circle of loves. She had hers, and he had his, and they, among all else, had each other. They did not have to sneak off to this horrid place, in her dream.

They cherished each other, as lovers do. Freely, and without the jealousy and petty anger from their respective significant others. She openly embraced him in this dream, and again, she was heavy with child. He knew it was his, but he was not frightened by this, or scared, or even regretful. He felt as though a wrong was set right - though their "family" had not begun the way it should have, nor had it progressed as it could have, it was on course again. He sighed again, pushing her unrealistic dreams from his head and opening his eyes. It was wonderful to hold her, but not so wonderful that he could see every thought inside of her mind.

She must have felt him pull away because she stirred in her sleep. Her hands moved up, wiping the remnants of grogginess from her deep gray eyes. "What is it, honey?" She whispered in a husky voice, emerging from the cushion of safety that sleep had afforded her.

"Nothing." He smiled, a strained smile at best. "Go back to sleep, my love. Go back to sleep." His fingers ran through her hair, doing his best to soothe her into dreamland once more. But his efforts did not work, and she propped herself up upon an arm, looking at him with concern.

"I was dreaming again, wasn't I?" She asked, her voice wrought with concern. He nodded and sighed softly.

"I don't mean to do it, you know." She shook her head, averting her eyes with what could have been shame.

"Don't mean to dream, or don't mean to hurt me? You seem to do both without regard!" he snapped.

"I would give my very life to be near you always, you know that. I would do anything to right what I have put wrong, and do anything to regain the kingdom that was to be ours - yours and mine together." She whimpered the words.

He snorted in disgust. For all that he loved her, he hated her too. He hated loving her.

She sat up, and glared at him. "You don't believe me, do you?" She shook her head.

Mimicking this gesture, he stifled a laugh. "How can I believe someone who left me in pieces? I love you, my dear, I truly do. But what we were to have, and what we have now has no bearing on how I feel. What does is these silly dreams you have for you and I. These silly dreams keep hurting me, only reminding me of what could have been."

"There is a way," she said, cautiously choosing her words, seeming to ponder each one for an eternity before it left her lips. "A way I could be with you always, a part of you always. A way that I could be yours forever, without hurting you or your family."

He knew instantly what she was thinking of, and shook his head. "No. Completely out of the question. "

Before he could stop her, the knife was already to her throat. The warm blood that ran through her veins was upon him. The heartbeat he had, only moments ago felt through his fingertips was creeping up through his body.

He looked down, horrified, as her body started to fade. The blood seemed to move of its own accord, snaking its way around his arms, his legs, his naked torso, embedding itself within him. Patterns began to take shape, vines and animals and all manner of life and being. A voice pulsed through his mind.

"I would give anything to be a part of you, love. Including myself. It was not a promise I made lightly, and like as not, you have all of me now. You may not have believed me in the past when I told you that I loved you. You may not have believed me in the heat of the moment when I told you I would be with you always, one way or another. You even believed me when I told you I would not, under any circumstances, bring harm to you or your family. But you wanted me as much as I wanted you. And this was the only way."

Her voice inside his head. Just one more damned thing to get used to in this fucked up relationship of theirs. Now he would have to find a way to undo the damage she had done to her mortal coils, and bring her back from a land beyond reach, a place deep inside of himself that even he feared to tread - his heart.

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Wide Awake For Days

Close your eyes to block out the pain
and I'm
seeing red again.
Curl up into yourself and hope it passes quickly
but it won't pass quickly
IT WON'T PASS QUICKLY!
Stagger to your feet, little girl,
stumble and stagger
and fall once again
before pulling yourself to your feet
How can I face you?
HOW CAN I FACE YOU?
I'm just a girl.
Wipe off the make up.
Take off the leathers
Pull off the disguises
I'm just a little girl.
Whimpering, alone.
Simpering little girl.
But I'm not a coward.
And I won't back down.
I don't care if you aren't on my side.
I don't care if you're 20 years away.
I DON'T CARE.
If I have to fight you fuckers,
these little thoughts in my head
one by one by one
And pluck them off
Like the fleas on a dog,
I'll do it.
I'm not that strong.
And I'm not that knowledgeable.
I'm not well liked.
And I'm not pretty.
But I am determined.
And I am insane.
And I know how to use
What I've got
To get what I want.
And what I want
Is to do the best
With what I've got.
I can do this.
You wanna make a bet?
Place it on me, motherfucker.
Because I stumble.
And I fall.
But I come back with a vengence.
And I am
One.
Motherfuckin.
Pissed.
Off.
Bitch.

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Inconsequential

You think you know me,
or you wish you did.
So certain you can see right through
the eyes that stare.
You think I'm looking in a mirror,
you think I only see myself.
How do I tell you that
you're very badly mistaken?

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Inconsistency

Push me,
Pull me,
drag me around.
Lead me on,
and pull me to the ground.
Every time I look at you,
my heart is filled with pain.
Every time i hear your voice
it only fans the flame.

I wish I could love you,
with the ardor that I feel,
But the pain you cause my heart,
is only far too real.

Inconsistent lover,
that's what you are to me.
You know I'm always here,
and that makes me easy.

An easy choice for you,
when you're feeling down.
But when you play these games with my heart,
it makes me want to drown.

Not drown within a bottle,
not drown within the sea,
but drown within the burning rage
that's taking over me.

Rage because you hurt me,
not meaning to confuse,
rage because you make me cry,
when all I do is love you.

I know I need to stop this game,
before it gets too late.
But when the heart begins to yearn,
it's myself I begin to hate.

The fire that's inside of me,
will never go away.
But I must say adieu, my friend,
because I cannot stay.

Goodbye, my heart's desire,
goodbye my dear old friend.
You may not have my body,
but I'll be here in the end.

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Your Voice In the Night

Cold in the night,
So cold without your touch.
It feels like everything I ever do or say
can never be enough.
I want so badly to be that person,
the one you hold so near.
Why can't I let myself surrender
without a fit of tears?
Grab me, hold me, pull me to the ground,
Sometimes the melody is the only sound,
the only sound I can hear.
Let me hear it one more time,
Just to keep it for the road,
the journey that's ahead of me,
is a story that's already been told.
Let it come,
like a flood,
let your voice carry me home.

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Thunderstorm

Tonight is a night I could use a good thunderstorm.
Shake things up,
burn them to the ground.
Tear it down, limb by limb
and watch the bark peel from the trunk,
destroying,
creating,
revitalizing.
Strike after strike the lightening hits,
and somehow it always misses me.
One bolt,
then two.
Three,
Then four.
All around me the wind rages on,
and your voices, all of your voices,
swim inside of my head,
crying out for my attention.
You can't have a rainbow without the rain,
Or so I'm told.
And you can't have a good forest fire
Without a thunderstorm.
Let the fires burn.
I'm ready.

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And So It Goes....

Counting the miles until...
...3....
2....
1....
I see you again.
And it all comes rushing back,
all the hurt, the pain, the sadness and...
yes. The love.
He's got your eyes, you know.
Your eyes and your laugh.
Your smile and your mannerisms.

Butterflies make a yearly migration.
It may have taken longer than a year,
but I'm so glad you fluttered back into my life.

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Fruitless Harvest

Squeeze tighter and she
might just disappear.
Her body deep within your
private embrace,
Explain why she wants this
so much?
Strip her down
and view her bare,
are we speaking of the soul?
Or the flesh?
Lead her deep out to the wood,
and harvest the lust
contemplated this season.
Over and over
her cheeks begin to flush
.....And then she wakes up.
Again.

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I Promise I'm Not (THAT!) Crazy

Want a look inside my head? I promise I'm not that crazy. Just a list of things I could say in no specific order. Poetry? Prose? Who gives a fuck anymore? It's here, it's out. Take it for what it's worth.


I love you.
I hate you.
You annoy me.
I'm slowly falling apart.
I'm slowly falling apart behind my eyes.
I'm slowly falling apart in front of your eyes, and you don't seem to notice or care.
I hate it when you say there's nothing you can do.
I hate it even more when you say that you don't know WHAT to do.
I hate to admit to anyone that I am infatuated with them.
I love you.
I may act like a hardass, but I need affection.
I want your affection.
I need a hand...can you save me from myself?
Just let me self destruct.
I want to hurt you just as bad as you want to help me.
I want to sink teeth and claws into that pretty little skin of yours.
I want to rip you apart limb from limb.
And I want you to cuddle me,
and whisper all the things you want to say
but can't usually admit,
all while I rip out
Your amazing throat.
I want you.
I need you in my life.
Baby, don't go.
Why are you looking at me like that?
Well, I've gone and fucked that one up. Again.
I'll never grow into myself.
I will never accept responsiblity.
I will never be happy with myself.
All the therapy in the world couldn't cure these feelings.
Just learn to deepthroat life, and we'll all be okay.
Because if you can choke down life, you can choke down anything.
Let it slide.
Let it go.
Let me have someone else.
Let someone else have me.
Will you watch?
Give me a hand, I'm drowning in myself.
Give me a hand, I'm drowning in your eyes.
You feel so warm at night.
The smell of you on my sheets makes me cry.
Not because I don't love you,
But because I know like everything else in my life,
eventually you will leave me, too, if by your choice,
or God's.
Everything expires. I just help it along,
and it will always come to a point where,
you aren't good enough, you can't take enough, you're not
young or pretty or skinny or lovely or smart
or talented or funny or amusing or even just right
enough for them.
Because everybody loves you when you're easy.
And when you put yourself out there, when you put IT out,
You don't have to open up your heart,
and you don't have to show any real emotion.
You can giggle and laugh and flirt and touch
with only the slightest efforts. And you're good at it.
So damn good. Because when you see the desire burning in their eyes,
You know in that moment that they want you. They want to tear you apart.
And use you like a trophy. Another freak fucking lay on their fucking wall of
shame/fame. And that's all you are to them,
But your smile smolders with a nearly dead ember when you realize
that they will never know your secret. That you've stolen something from them.
A photograph in your mind, a glimpse, a moment of time.
Everything you touch passes from spring to winter.
Do not pass go, do not collect money. Go directly to death.
Because everything you touch falls apart.
But conversely, everything you leave falls apart too.
You're like duct tape....no, too redneck.
It's like a threesome. Yeah. That's it.
It's like a threesome, where you've got two guys,
who are scared as all hell to be in the same room with another dick.
You're stuck in the middle, between these two, and you're the only thing holding them together. Anything more transparent than you would be disaster. You're just right. They fit just right. Perfect fucking match.
But when you leave, all hell breaks loose. Because there are two guys. In one room. With both their dicks out.
Face it, chica, you just fuck things up in general.
Are you talking to me, or yourself, or him, or her, or someone else? I don't fucking know anymore. At this point it doesn't matter.
I want you to mark me. To claim me, to make me yours in a way that you haven't even done yet. I want you so badly that I wouldn't give two shits if you carved your name on my ass. So many have done it before.
The names, the initals, fade after time. But catch it at just the right time,
when the air is hot and kind of
dry. And the scars spring to life, and all of a sudden
You're aching for them. No, because of them.
And the painful reminders of youthful indiscretion
flash before your eyes, and on your ass.
And you want nothing more than to be taken over,
owned completely, controlled, used, claimed. And then held.
But you know you're never going to get it.
Because he's just not that into it.
And you can't really find anyone who is.
And you wonder, for a moment, what life is like for the people
in the car next to yours, as you glance down into their window,
and kind of smile to yourself and know that they're not even close
to as miserable as you are.
Let go. Just let go.
Sleep, perchance to dream.
What the fuck, Shakespeare, you didn't know one GODDAMN
thing about dreaming. I've dealt with things for years that would make
your pansy little bardic ass scream in terror and run for the nearest gallows.
Dreams? Yeah. Fucking right. I'd kill for a dream.
Instead of the shit that I'm "blessed"with. Fuck you, buddy.
Embrace it? You don't know what the fuck you're talking about.
Fuck you all.
Speaking in cryptic bits, dead languages, pieces of metaphor and stories.
I don't need the dramatic bullshit. I know what I am.
And I know what I do. And I don't give two shits how you can help,
or how you want to factor into my other self. You had a chance.
But it's past that now.
It's way past everything.
And it's past my bedtime.
I love/hate you all.

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