King of the bathroom.

Elliott Smith plays in my headphones
Walking up Ossington
On my way to a party.

"All your secret wishes,
Could right now be coming true.
And be forever, with your
poision arms around you.
No one is going to fool around with us."

Hypothetical over compensation
of the weakest links
described between you and I
at a party

Who's worse off
Who knows the most
Who's depression cuts deeper.

Muttered attempts of
confidence slither through
your sorrowed tall tales
of life's hardships.

Take another sip
finish your whiskey
and hope he shuts up
long enough
to put his hand up your skirt.

At least for a moment
you might enjoy
this night out
with strangers.

The atmosphere is bumpin
20 something year old's
with short shorts and
cropped shirts
 Leaving little to
the imagination.

Maybe im old fashioned
Maybe im just fucking old.

Go into the bathroom
to take a nip
finally feel like this
might be bearable.

"Your going to be my girl"
Some skinny dude looks up
for the first time his face
isn't hovering over
the bathroom counter

Sniffling out statements
King of the bathroom
We stumple onto the pavement.
Wondering through the crowded 3 am
streets of Dundas West
and make our way
to Euclid.

COFFEE AND KETAMINE

She walks up to me

Black hooded and

5 foot nothing.

Long strands of black hair

Swallowing her face

As if to protect her.

Eyes thick and dark like

She has been hiding for

The eternity of her short life.

“I need to show you something,” she whimpered

“I need you to understand something”

She takes me up to her

 3^rd floor apartment.

The outside lobby smells

 Of cats and weed smoke lingered.

The apartment walls lined

With sayings of self hate

And distant flickers of happiness.

We drink our coffee

As she injects ketamine

Into her arm.

“Does this bother you?”

I shake my head no.

Tears fall down her face.

She lies on her bed

Tells me stories of her life.

Broken down memories

Never good enough for anything.

Only bits of laughter

As she falls into

A ketamine induced haze.

Eyes rolling back

Snot dripping onto sheets.

We take a break

Drinking our coffee and ketamine.

day dreams.

She tends to heroin addicts

He writes songs in the basement

Haydenish sounds sneaking

Up the staircase

Both lost and hidden

Inside of dark corners

Pretending they can

Stand in the light

He dreams in the morning

Of packing lunches and

Bus stop walks

Waving little hands

At the back of a big yellow bus

She unwinds in the morning

With her first glass of wine

“Yo, we would make the dopest kids” he tries to engage

She just wept leaving salt stains on her pillow.

Midnight Lakeview

Instead of hiding in stalls

In the darkest parts

Of Bloor St. bars

He drinks coffee and

We order pie

I’m drawn to him

Like most are

To a rolled up bill

His eyes still white

Instead of red

And glazed over

His words aren’t slurred

We laugh over

What we might do

Who we might be

But it’s all real

His mouth moving

Unveiling stories 

Without a hint

Of beer on his breath

He tells me I’m pretty

And takes his last bite.

We hold hands at

Midnight, in a booth

At the lakeview.

Bipolar Lunch.

It’s so close yet I never go…

The apartment is small

and reeks of stale cigarettes.

The walls are lined from floor to ceiling

with precious treasures all within arms reach.

Her favorite chair faces the television

split into four screens

that watch the in’s and out’s

of her buildings entrance.

A small glass plate sits on a small table

over flowing with cigarette butts.

The filters are all lined

with traces of red lipstick.

She tells me about her ex’s and

how she lived in a women’s shelter at my age.

She pulls out her wedding albums

and asks me to look through them.

“This one was in the 60’s when I married my cousin David.”

“Wow you look so beautiful.”

She read me passages from the bible

and we drink tea poured in cups

that were buried under old papers

in her china cabinet.  

Discussions of conspiracy theories

over dusty green tea.

She told me about a man

she had met the day before

outside of Tim Horton’s.

They shared a laugh

over a Benson and Hedges.

He worked as a manager at the Metro

at College Park and told her

to come in and get some coupons.

She pilled me up before I left with

bags full of bags

and some tattered clothing

hoping that I could give it

to women in need.

I walked with her to College Park

where we ate a bagel

and waited for Frank.

“ I want to have an affair with him” she laughed.

Frank came and gave us some coupons.

I thank him for helping my aunt.

I told her how funny she is …

She replied, “ many people tell me I should have my own TV show”.

We both laughed.

1602.

I got off the streetcar and walked along Dundas

until I hit 1602.

I pulled up a stool at the bar next to my friend.

“Bourbon please”

The bartender was nice 

and kind of skinny which I like.

My eyes wander and notice a girl behind us

staring at me.

The stare burns a hole into the side of my shaved head.

I like the feeling.

Mild bantering, bar stools scuffling

and the clinks of glasses cheersing.

It’s a happy place, not one of those lonely bars.

This place is different.

Rings of condensation form after every sip and

sit on the old worn wood in front of me.

The girl behind me comes to pay her bill.

Listening to my conversation ….

“Sorry to interrupt “ she says

as I am babbling away about my confidence levels…

“but you got it”…. She smiled

and let me know she meant it.

“Im Sarah” I red faced told her

with a half smile.

Finding it hard to make eye contact.

She laughed and told her friends…

“ Can you believe it!!, her name is Sarah!!”

Confused I just nervously laughed

and tried to act cool….

“ I swear you look like this other girl Sarah…

who when I see I do very naughty things to”

All I could do was be my awkward self.

My temperature rose and I was wondering

if it was actually possible that it was this hot in the bar

on such a windy, cold winter night…

“ If my back wasn’t out

I would have bent you over this bar

and told you...

I was going to put my dick up your ass…”

“ wow, that would have been amazing”

“ My name is Bobbi” she said.

Smoke and Mirrors

Red lined scars
holding dark spots
like bruises on skin.

Messages inside thighs
encrypted codes
that read about
your warn out insides.

Attitudes and observations
sunken anticipation
disrupted by
unforeseen circumstances.

Knotted up stomachs
irregular heart beats
head hanging in hands
peaking through your fingers
all you see is
smoke and mirrors.

Joker

Cold bruised broken hearts
melting into nothing.
That feeling you have
involving sweat soaked hands
clutching rib cages
hoping to hold the bones
tightly.

When the pain turns to numbness
you know you have finally
done it right.
Brain holes
chunks missing
from the weekend.

Desperate to be accepted
placing yourself on the outside
watching it all crumble
like a joker
smirking sideways.

Head Shakes.

The pursuits that are laid out
 in our dreams
always seem to blend
with our reality.

Its dark when you are here.
Maybe its all the same.
Except that its different when
we lay together.
Its different when
we wake together.

Your words spilled out
from your tongue
forming sentences
that always sound
like lyrics
to my favorite songs…

Empty truths…
playing games
in my mind
causing uncertainties
that flash between
what I want and
what it is…

Maybe we will never know?
This blurred tie
that snaps back
every time i let you go.
You come back in.

It seemed to big to run.

Your sadness
blossomed
behind rain infested
windows.

Hearing mundane voices
accompanied by
amber lit cigarettes.

Gathered bunches
of kleenex.
Crumpled pieces
of paper.

Words made
into sentences
still left me
with nothing.

life is a trap.

We all experience life
through our ears
my life is a trap.

fires.

A fire burns
inside my stomach lining walls
urning for something more
living up to
whatever it is
I thought I wanted.

Times
memories
thoughts
keep changing.

Assumptions of who
I thought
you were
are fading away.

Time clocks
are ticking
yet we are
standing still.

Staring at the walls
drinking alcohol
to forget
to re hatch
the truths
buried within.

listen.

Sincere closed lips
opened up.
Unzipped.
With tall tale stories
of broken, worn out, dreams.

That played out like mazes
on the back of cardboard boxes.
Twisting and turning
throughout minds,
mind game facets.

Ink and Needles.

They only saw the bad parts
the forbidden thoughts
the escaped realities.
Hearing yourself speak
over and over again
in your alternate personalities.

Feeling pen on paper
feels good again.
Watching ink flood
into lines
seeping out thoughts
embedded inside minds.

I used to be angry
at a time when
anger used to mean something.
When words
easily spilled onto paper
messily scribbled
outside the lines.

Ink and needles
needles hitting
needles pressing
into skin.
Making pretty
coloured pictures
making permanent
designs.

Describing emotions...
Describing emotionless
drives.

sunshine.

SUN RAYS
INVADING SPACE
INSIDE HEARTS
SPEAKING VOLUMES
THAT LEAD TO
DUSTING OFF KNEECAPS
FROM FALLEN GREY SURRENDERS

other side.

The moment began with
seeing stars in the daylight.
Your voice held tight,
to the insides of my ears.
putting songs on repeat,
feeling dirty tiles under my feet,
blankly staring outside open doors,
trying to remember what it was like
on the other side.

I send my love
great distances.
A steady controlled stream
calmly spinning
embracing faces
slowly surrounding
all your good parts.

Truths whisper more frequently.
Reality has been a hard thing for me to deal with.
Taking breaths.
Wondering minds.
Time pressured, my existence.

Letting the wrong ones go.
Changing mentalities.
Learning to live,
Less chaotically.

Adventure awaits.
Excited anticipation.

Solemnly sitting
with custom disguises
that are hidden in napkins
neatly folded over knees.

Hand holding
lip locking
nervously twitching
with
half smiles
and
broken sentences.

Looking down
onto
chipped polish
and
flushed faces
buttons popped off t shirts
exposing open holes
like secret passage ways.

Somehow making your mind
stop time.
and changing thought patterns
that are moving distances
from
where you once stood.

colour schemes.

Feelings of being beautiful
taken away
always on the outside
wishing I could be
something better.

Make shift memories
skewed visions of reality
I thought I could
I thought I was different.

Moments hit
time pending bruises
never totally giving up
their colour schemes.

Waiting for me to realize
waiting for me to
step inside
and finally shed
the weight.