cheapexposure

You may know me by the color of my eyes, or the way my breath is heard over my tongue. I do not whisper to you my name,    (you might forget my face,                but never my name) I am blinded by the cold juggernaut   of wind coming from the coast, bringing sandstorms. I floated by in dreams-       You may know me by my twitching ears,     or long, slender fingers – making friends until they had to go.             Ceaseless, careless. The walls fill with shadows consumed by internal light and clockwork pistons. You may know me by the warmth of my heart, or the slow tapping of my heels.

I played it in my head. I changed it a hundred times but I never found the combination of words that ended with her saying, "It's okay. I'll be fine without you." Now I'm breaking when I never wanted to hurt her. Now she's shaking and I haven't heard a word from her that she could finish without an awful flourish of feeling that I knew would come. "The sun is setting. I guess I'd better be going now." And I'm regretting every second that I'm not around but it's no use fretting, burned bridges are no friends. Am I forgiven? Are you forgetting all the things I threw away? I started walking. Seeing how far I could go on these legs.

I've been away, in a haze, for days                                   reaching out. Banking hard left with my left hand wrapped around the streetlight. A screaming shadow on my heels. A leap and a frantic grasp for the thin, weaved wall. A metallic crash congratulated me as my hands found hold and my lower half slammed into the barrier. Flying hand over hand more times that it seemed I should need to.           

The aching subsided and melted through his feet into the long blades of Grass sprouting out between his toes. He was a monument. Feeling his way across the railing he found the steps And followed them down until he was submerged. Reflecting now, and with plenty of time to do it.  Why? Because I must be god.                                               Why? There is no one else to do it.                                  Why? Because I am alone.  Simple. As the water lapped at him he mindlessly noted The tightening in his chest. With no regard paid he slipped far away Into darkness and day and love and dismay. He stay the

Forget me not and the moment we shared (hot breath that cold night              in doors                    apart from ourselves separated by nothing but it was not as close as we wanted)     when everything was beautiful.

I'm just a bread man with bread arms And bread legs. Made from spoiled milk And bad eggs. I'm burnt to a crisp on the Outside and soggy in my soul. I'm lined, inside, from side to side with Bitter green pustules. I'm aging Ungracefully and I'm susceptible to hot air. Oxygenation and indoctrination. I break myself and eat of my flesh And cry, whine, into glasses to subdue My guests with the quick onset of Death. The poison in me arrests their Chest of thud and breath. But I'm just a bread man so the troubles Of this terrestrial bubble do nothing but Muddle my notion of right and wrong. For you what does it do? Tell me the tru

So this is what it feels like to be lied to and prodded Like a cattle getting throttled for a few bucks. But once they've killed all their golden gooses What excuses will they have for their ugly ducklings When they're the only ones on the playground. I've been doubting for a while but I've been busy Even longer. I'm no stronger but I will shout louder. Stop hiding behind your podiums and throwing money At your problems. You can't throw enough at me To make me go away. We turn a blind eye to our brothers and divorce from Our children. When did we get to the bottom of this? "We're not cynical, we're disillusioned. There's a Differ

When you told me that all I needed was suddenly Superseded by a player from my past's theatre I fought For a shot to flee responsibility but you cornered me. And you brought him in despite my grim demeanor. You beleaguered me with a man so weak he couldn't Speak. But words were something my dad never had. He rolled in pain and I strained to maintain a vise on My tongue. He ran away when I was young and I didn't Wish to waste the rest of the youth I have left on this pest. I'd climb the stairs, my nerves rubbed bare by the clanging And banging of the pots and plates I was relaying to the Broken monster I now sponsored in his life

A tired transient trekking on was met face first by the light of dawn. Squinting, his eyes we're silver slits sitting inside an endless pit. In his pack was a white washed cloth wrapped around a holy cross. It was silver and held by a bit of twine but the vagrant adored it and though it was fine. He reflected light off the cruciate onto the cloth that adorned it And sparked wildfire memories as he leaned over the smoke and breathed. Lucid visions from the past, the kind you forget and the kind that last.   On the road again he rebuked his load and traveled alone, bare and bold. Eventually, his burden returns, larger than before; his m