Inception

He's the beginning of every page,
the opening curtain, grand
master on the world's stage

We all play, all eyes on him;
born in sin, a blank slate,
Mona Lisa's smile like a child,
no denial written on her face

Balancing on a tightrope,
in the hall passing love notes
starry-eyed, love-crossed
walking down the boardwalk,
hand-in-hand, me and you;
an inception inspired,
sparks flying out of a live wire,
the start of something new.

Canopy

Close enough to almost touch,
too many sleepless nights
in the forest after dark
gazing up at the sky
through a space in the trees,
a canopy,
shading in the lines 
where my scars
are written in the stars

Drowning in a pool
of tears,
found a place,
my fears can't 
touch me here.

Too Much

Do you know, when you have told me to think of you, I have been feeling ashamed of thinking of you so much, of thinking of only you–which is too much, perhaps.

Shall I tell you?

It seems to me, to myself, that no man was ever before to any woman what you are to me–the fullness must be in proportion, you know, to the vacancy…and only I know what was behind–the long wilderness without the blossoming rose…and the capacity for happiness, like a black gaping hole, before this silver flooding.

Is it wonderful that I should stand as in a ream, and disbelieve–not you–but my own fate?

Was ever any one taken suddenly from a lampless dungeon and placed upon the pinnacle of a mountain, without the head turning round and the heart turning faint, as mine do?

And you love me more, you say? Shall I thank you or God? Both,–indeed–and there is no possible return from me to either of you! I thank you as the unworthy may…and as we all thank God. How shall I ever prove what my heart is to you?

How will you ever see it as I feel it? I ask myself in vain. Have so much faith in me, my only beloved, as to use me simply for your own advantage and happiness, and to your own ends without a thought of any others–that is all I could ask without any disquiet as to the granting of it

May God bless you!

Your B.A.

Robert Browning

10 January 1846

Exceptional

Going to build a castle
on all the ruins they
left me in, a new
religion for everything
I stand against

Sadistic worship
paying more than
lip service, I'll take
the pleasure with
my pain

True love is exceptional,
two or three times 
a century,
they say,
free falling through 
the stratosphere,
elements colliding
in my headspace,
the catalyst 
a driving force,
a Titan,
a godsend 
falling from heaven
with a message:

He amuses her,
she is in love,
he is pure
and she is sure
this is nature's 
invention

Inspiration takes
a toll, every
pearl starts out
as a grain of sand
on the shore, 
an exacting price
for your soul;
nothing in the 
world is worth
more.

Best Friend

Standing right behind me,
whispering in my ear,
long black hair falling over her shoulder,
telling me everything I wanted to hear;
she was everything I wanted to be,
she was perfect,
all bones, no claws,
the sweetest voice I ever heard,
walked next to me down the halls,
met me in the bathroom after lunch,
always kept her word;
all the other girls only knew
that when they asked, I already
had something to do

She knew everything I was hiding,
red lines between a gap in my thighs,
her dark eyes looked a lot like mine,
took everything I threw at her without complaint,
sneaking in my room every night
when the numbers kept me awake,
we counted together, up and down both sides,
her hands, my ribs, her fingers, my wrist

Counted through every set, every rep
all night in my bed until the only
color left we could see was red;
gone in the morning,
but she always stayed,
she stays,she's
my best friend.

Hideout

Hood up, head down
sneaking back in to
my hideout; empty hands
at the end of cookie-cutter
wrists, a black star fading
on the side of my hip: remnants
of the life I've lived, the price
I paid and what it cost me,
the sacrifice I made and
why I lost it, too young
to be this exhausted.

Time has only been
kind to my soul, the 
weight of countless years
in my bones, catching every
stone they throw, never
outgrowing the places we
go to hide, to cry, to write;
giving in to the chase when
it's our life at stake,
something to do for 
it's own sake: exist.

A Real Cinderella

To Josephine,

I love you no longer; on the contrary, I detest you. You are a wretch, truly perverse, truly stupid, a real Cinderella. You never write to me at all, you do not love your husband; you know the pleasure that your letters give him yet you cannot even manage to write him half a dozen lines, dashed off in a moment!

What then do you do all day, Madame? What business is so vital that it robs you of the time to write to your faithful lover? What attachment can be stifling and pushing aside the love, the tender and constant love which you promised him? Who can this wonderful new lover be who takes up your every moment, rules your days and prevents you from devoting your attention to your husband? Beware, Josephine; one fine night the doors will be broken down and there I shall be.

In truth, I am worried, my love, to have no news from you; write me a four page letter instantly made up from those delightful words which fill my heart with emotion and joy.

I hope to hold you in my arms before long, when I shall lavish upon you a million kisses, burning as the equatorial sun.

Napoleon Bonaparte

Spring 1797

September

It was over before
I knew something
had started,
bullet wound through
the chest, left me
broken-hearted; 
curled up on the bed,
all the voices in my head,
bleeding through a
a white dress

Never saw through
all the charm,
had me backed
up against a wall,
fed me lines,
played with my mind,
led me on,
then let me fall;
it was my first time

Your word was law,
dazzled by design,
those lips could
never lie,
you caught me unarmed

I should have
known better;
now every time
I hear that song,
I go back to 
September

It was my fault,
a fatal mistake,
didn't recognize
the sound of heart break;
it was never yours
to take

Gave you my soul,
slept in the cold
with the wolves,
you didn't even know

You lived in the light,
I come from the shadows,
needed the life line 
I saw you throw

This is my life,
my world was hidden,
there was no key,
you were already in it,
had me eating out 
of the palm of 
your hand, a stranger
familiar with my 
own land

There were high seas
and high adventure,
tall tales and
new endeavors,
the waves always
pull me back to 
September

Couldn't sleep,
didn't eat,
you were all
I could see,
coming in clutch
right before you 
leave; no forever,
only together, 
a mind locked 
in September.

Crimes of Passion

Little birdies talking,
heard them chirping in the trees,
singing him praises,
throwing stones at me.

Talk of the whole town
painting me red; only
one question: was it
time well-spent?

Waited until I was sleeping
to put a gun to my head,
caught me off guard,
left me for dead,
and bleeding.

An enemy's enemy becomes your friend...

He put the knife in my hand,
tore the rib from his side,
licked the blood from my lips,
his fingerprints the only evidence
indented on my thighs.

Two lives, one night
forever intertwined.

Confession

Someone call crowd control,
this man is on beast mode;
takes up the whole stage,
an impossible act to follow

Has me on green
when he does his thing,
screaming his name
when he goes extreme

I'm at his mercy,
crawling on my knees,
killing me with
those black tees;
if love is confession,
he's my priest,
begging for
forgiveness
after stealing
from his tree

His garden is Eden,
sipped the wine
straight from his cup,
heaven on Earth,
I'm never leaving

He's a life source,
an icon for the ages,
my daily bread, 
divine inspiration

If there's a line,
you know I'll walk it,
toes in the sand,
no hesitation,
leads me straight into
temptation

I cannot fight,
a sweet surrender,
the hunt is over,
I found the treasure,
slow burning through
September.