Frozen Heartbeats

Jesus wept.

c   o   l   d .  .  .

the feeling that permeated the heavens.
not an angel's heart beat as the light flickered

just in time to hear a whispered

y   e   s  .  .  .

and gunshots.

intravenous

for C.A.W
Je t’aime et
tu me manques.

i.
it’s a cold day in hell, and i
am running out of steps.

dites-moi porquoi
la vie est belle;
dites-moi porquoi
la vie is gaie.

the children singing in the street
should go fuck themselves,
life isn’t beautiful
and the gaiety is dead;

smooth and shiny,
like my skull,
but dead.


ii.
i like to sit
and watch the roses die
because I,
then, am not
the only one dying
at youth’s zenith.

if you could call this,
youth--
ithinkthe
CHEMOburned
each drop of childhood
out of me--

and i saw the catheter
drain it away.


iii.
the doctors left me
dead; don’t let
frankenstein’s monster
fool you.

walls

the walls were compacted sponge; harmless should she desire a concussion, but lethal to any breathing soul; for light and hope were sucked in, like bad chakra to a dream catcher.

strictly business, limbs were bound by hydrocodone chains and thick restraints. They feared her ability with the plastic dinner knife; looking at the carved ridges in her arms rather than the fresh ink on her heart.

it made no difference. cancer won the coup d'etat; her soul was fading like the paint on the walls.