searing anecdotes

i do not hold these words to be true;
they singe my finger tips.
i drop them, leaving them forgotten on the floor until,
piled up, they bulge out of any crack ready to snap and
let loose the flood.
don't mind this blood
dripping from my melting hands onto the frigid kitchen floor.
this is the end,
there is nothing anymore.
while my veins drain out,
the violin swells, playing out life's magnificent score.

these shadowy forests always leave me empty.

I shot this white-haired ghost
then watched its splotted skin bleed nothing
except white air that floated up into the sky.
It died, or maybe it already had and I
just dissolved this apparition into the ground.
Either way, it cried as it tumbled towards the soil.
Before it sank, I felt its sharp eyes pierce my hand
with warm longings.
I ached to hold this phantom's illusive hand
and I felt it thank me as it went.

Mr. Mountain.

If you love this mountain as much as you say you do,
why don't you marry it?
Sleep with it, be with it, lay down & dream with it.
The Japanese girl that stares at you through her window
braided her hair &dug an eye out of her doll
so that no one would take her.
I think you should give her a talking to.
You're surprised how able I am to resemble a monster, but
nobody told me you would turn into a saint.
Keep running, boy. Keep pretending you don't see my face in the violet sky.
Keep running and
your hips will pop, your knees will buckle,
then you will keel over & die.