you are cordially invited to the formal dance being held in the ballroom of the sunken ship

good evening miss, good afternoon sir. can i interest you in champagne or maybe some paint thinner? tonight the chef recomends the shards or glass. would you care for a rose or perhaps a knife to remind you of our romance. it wasn't supposed to be like this. we were never meant to live so meaninglessly. 9 to 5 reminds you of the stale air you choose to breathe in so effortlessly. you gave hope to the corporate machine. are you content with simply being recycled? noting to show but a gravestone worn by the rain. your soul flickers and dims. like every dream you let slip through your fingers at the sound of compromise. careful now! or you will become the skeleton in your own closet. safety and comfort haunt your every step. are you content with being recycled?

plan b

call me a heritic. call me a traitor. all Providence has ended. onward to the primative. everyone for themselves(this shouldn't be too hard for us, we've had our practice with it already.) these hands can craft salvation. we looked redemption in the eye and ran. now this mind must concieve a new way in. don't let them see you falling. don't let them see you crying. you can do this on your own. i was finding my own path. i was doing just fine too, with the exception of the blood on my hands. then Your voice called to me. it took me away. outside of time. i saw my life in slow motion. start to end. every word and every move. i cringed as i saw every mistake grow and cast a shadow over me. i watched as every failure ran its course an dmet at Your hands. this is what You had in mind. every action stripped of its meaning. nothing i do can change You.

staging a knife fight at my favorite seafood restaurant

this is the face of a free man who has never tasted his liberty. constantly pulling the dead to shore. blank expression. eyes fixed on the clock overhead. greed caught my eyes with its beautiful flare. lust swept my heart away with its intoxicating romance. all hearing blocked out by the sweet harmony of gossip. intricately produced curses are the only taste on my tongue. the vast intelligence of pride has captivated my mind. monotony started the spark that consumed all my passion. these three walls are the only home i have ever known. the door is locked from the inside and i'm trapped with the key in my hand. this key has always been written on my hand but all i will ever do is stare at the doorknob(in self-pity and disbelief.)

we all have to give up our dream of becoming an astronaut sooner or later

remember what you mother always told you. find safety in reason. society cut out your heart and gave you meaning. shotgun shells took the place of the cross around your neck years ago. fists raised in the form of grenades. addicted to placing a tangible handle on everything your eyes could not explain. paper money. steel coins. economy. science. wallstreet. debate. anything to give you the upper hand. relieving the sting of the unexplainable. your words never defined truth. true love wasn't born from intellectual strategies. time spent pouring over empty pages that will never bring redemption. will you wait for silence and mercy to bring you home?

teresa falls up the stairs, teresa falls down the stairs

i can't remember when this began. but i know it hasn't always been this way. i used to know your voice. i used to know patience. i used to know peace. slowly my insides took over. telling myself i was my own. taking back what never belonged to me. such a simple, fearfull beginning. a little here and there. creeping like a theif at night, wearing black. leaving Your will shattered on the ground. i turned off all sense so i wouldn't have to feel shame. now i wear white and i come at day. stealing with no regret or fear. i know i can't keep this up. larceny is leaving me wearing thin. pieces of me that can not be returned. if i'm yours, take me! i'm so sick of sailing after my own ambitions. only to end up shipwrecked in the middle of the ocean. why can't i trust you? i can't trust your hands. even though they are the only ones that have held me. your palms scream of love!

fight

Flourecent light pours into the patient's pupils and reflects off the spotless white tile. blue and green pant legs speak of authority and gravity. the young man brushes his brown hair from his peircing, silver-blue eyes. he tightens his mask and covers his skin with latex. with scalpel in one hand and anesthetic in the other he prepares to enter the tense and quiet room.
Intricacy and delicacy dominate his work. extreme attention to the minute details have made his steady hands the most trusted. the ornateness of his work makes his young heart feel alive. steel and blood meet as the artist perfects his masterpeice. in a matter of seeminlgy no time at all, he signals for the clamp and puts the final touches on his patient.
Glistening, cold beads of sweat spill down his brow. he slowly exits the room and wipes his head in triumph. his diligent hands wear no lines of defeat. fingers move to peel the blood-stained plastic from his hands. young heart slows, almost to a stop, as he looks at the clock and realizes that his work here is done for now. slowly and hesitantly he opens the door and walks out into the still and mild night.
Hands grasping coat, his young eyes notice the palm trees on the beach swaying in the gentle, warm breeze. no signs of life on the city streets, with the exception of the young night commuter. all the lights dimmed hours ago, but his legs are accustomed to this travel and his eyes are accumstomed to the light of street lamps. entering the hall, he searches his pockets for his key and closes his door behind himself, as if by accident. empty picture frames line the walls of his desolate, one-room appartment. dust lies heavy on his bed as he has found a dearer friend in the couch. in this silent and solitary room every single fear comes true.
Thoughts shift to the wretched machine that stares at him from afar. his worst enemy and most hated appliance beckons him to draw near. everything within tells him not to give in but in a matter of seconds his legs pull him closer. he tries all he can to escape but the door moves further away with every step. shutting his eyes, he holds his breath as he expects to see the number that haunts all his dreams. the same number that he always saw when the machine called to him, the same number of patients who had died in his care, the same number of true friends he had, and the same number of risks he had taken in his calculated and safe life. fingers slowly uncover his fearful eyes and he gazes in astonishment at the number 1. he falls to his knees and tears quickly fall into a puddle on the hardwood floor. a hand was stretching out, contact was made to prove that someone cared. to prove that he was not alone.

empty houses under investigation

i am the one who can turn snow red with blood. i am the one who can snatch defeat out of Victory's jaws. i am the one who dreams in nightmares. i am the one who can turn a rose into ash. capillaries surge with life. as blood rushes from heart to veins. but once knife finds jugular that once good system is the very death of me. i am the only one that can manage to find death in life. i am the one who turns flowing water to dust. i am the one who finds sympathy in the shadow. with my every movement i turn shallows to depths. i could take the light out to a dark world. but i will stay here and outshine every other light. all this light is blinding me. i am the one who puts poison in the ground water. i am the demolitionist. i am my murderer. turning truth into deceit. my death awoke the same time that i did.