there's two sides to every story, i guess. or maybe that's just an excuse for schizophrenia...

sonnet #1: 'to a girl on a bus'

If i were the mirror
that holds her reflection
Or maybe the pillow
that whispers her dreams
If mine was the heart
that did know her affection
My envy would cast
no more emerald beams

on the other hand...

'kick the dog'

would you like to throw the switch
stick around to watch me twitch
do you really have the nerve
to follow every curve
you throw
at me
you say yr only
throwing things
AWAY
but you know and i know
all about yr
accidental aim
would you be so cruel
to a horse you couldn't break
to a dog that would not follow
would you suffer
birdshit in yr hair
just to have a bird on yr head
wouldn't that be clever
and everyone would say
look look look look look
now there's something you don't see everyday
and all the world would notice
all at once
like a bomb going off
an a-bomb
attention-bomb
a flash of insight
for the center of attention
the middle
in all things
always playing the ends
against each other
to watch them fight
always watching
sitting on the edge of the pool
afraid to dive in
jealous of the noisy swimmers
angry at yr inhibitions
fear and distance
are yr birthright
yr inheritance
you killed the only thing worth saving
because you were afraid
of coming too close
to escape
the last of a dying species
asking only to be held
and wanted
you killed it
with yr flaming arrows of spite
with yr panzer of neglect
jealous of the light
the light that let you see the truth
black heart hate
in the mirror
that showed how shallow
were the waters of yr fears
and still you were afraid
of revealation
the face in the mirror
incongruent
to the faces you paint for yrself
you'll never see the light
staring out at the world
from the portrait on the wall
you built around yrself
to keep away the prying eyes
and bleeding hearts
that ask so much of you
and so very little to be shared
but it doesn't take much poison
just a drop
when it hits the vein
you let my heart do the dirty work
while you pretended not to notice
while you fed yrself on the lies that are yr life
where now will you turn
when you cannot trust yrself
who will take the blame
when the finger points at you
who will be yr scapegoat
when indecision cripples reason
who will be yr sacrificial lamb
offered to an unbelieving god
at the altar of yrself
and who will light the bonfire
as you lie upon the funeral pyre
and who will mourn yr passing
and sing drunken songs
and celebrate yr life
and feel empty and alone
and abandoned
and betrayed
but you
and
you
alone