The girl stands in the crowd Everything moves around her but she is- So still. A little lie A small smile The truth Pain. A bird is singing in a dead tree. She used to sit and listen for hours To the piano in the empty room Sometimes he let her sit next to him. He used to hold her hand And run away from the waves with her. The snowflake lands on a child's nose Causing the child to cross her eyes to see. Trying to see By looking Differently. Her hair is pulled back so elegantly A stray strand ...

The cocaine housewife is the type of woman Who has upon her dresser A photo of her three picturesque children Perfect for their two dimensional mother. And in the middle of this dresser is a picture of herself Before her unfortunate habit. Her Pearl A joy and yet a constant reminder of what could've been. She could've been happy. Oh but she was happy now. The cocaine housewife does not want to tell bedtime stories to her children For she has told them to herself too many times that it breaks ...

A silence clung to them like a damp, moldy blanket. It was both suffocating and foul. Disgust between them came from all the secrets that had festered and made them ill. But was it out of fear that they were silent? Silence does indeed grow more powerful in the presence of fear, but no. Such was not the case between these two. A weariness and apathy held dominion over them. Such weariness can only come from years of struggle without resolution. When two become one they cannot be torn apart bu...

They chattered mindlessly like a swarm of locust, and indeed, they were a plague unto humanity. They threw back their heads in a harsh cackle, their sharp, pearly white teeth shone brightly in the flourescent lighting. Everything about them was cold; their laughter, their straight, dead, platinum hair, their flawless skin (burnt to perfection) and their Aryan stare. They were a prime example of the perfectionist beauty in our technologically advanced culture of graphic human beings, paper thi...

I can see the trees behind the trees More clearly than ever before. My soul is thrown through some divining prism; As a ray of sun through a rain drop, Or a flourescent light through glass. She kneels, I swear she kneels, And gives away her precious kisses On her knees, But only to the steeple. Tears that burn No tears at all. Tears in apathy, No fears at all. Through the grey clouds Everything is clear And she feels warmth breaking through. The clouds part and that same warmth, That at firs...