Lana Simpson:

She said she would protect you
from your nightmares,
but it takes present
arms to rock away
the demons
clawing from under your bed.
And they've come back.
Back to replace every body
of a teddy bear.
Every vice between finger.
You still remember
how her hair feels.
Nose buried in the back of head.
You still remember the smell
of sleep filling the room.
You've forgotten
how it feels to sleep
[without her.]
It's all a set.
Just a pillow lain on bed
under head;
body on mattress,
under cover -
mirroring the warmth
you fear
you'll never find again.

SKECH185

I'm harvesting silver linings with the same hands that strangled “Hangman” dating/
Tattooed in the a thousand deaths in silence and yes this is your painting/
(I)Learned to smile years after it could've blocked a gray cloud daze/
Amazed at how the sun hits the corner of my eye... and dies every time I turn to side/
Unflinching as lightening strikes/
But proved to be a fat lady with a scale in her hand/
That forgot to pay me attention, blind to the man made mountain on which I stand/
Pregnant with bad dealings, so my 40 acres is walking away/
Parallel to walking that became that very hell the walking arranged/
Bell rings. Hearts barking to stray but feet are too dumb/
To acknowledge what the barking is saying/
So I'm slain public on this carousel/
Can I borrow of tea? 'cuz mine fucks with me through glass and pants/
I'm ready to start a revolution, got a rock and a window, but too stenographer to smash the glance/
And if I had a penny for every... I'd bury the every within me/
Cough up enough for double cheese burgers and murder every vag thats friendly/
Happiness offends me... in its absinthe-acid-crack-hit madness that matches everything I say just to partially kill me/
But leaves a vapor trail that makes my dick hard but that's Disney in the city. In the shitty inner city in a sense he doesn't crack/
Don't look at me like I think the world/
It became a badge of honor to chase fleeting breaths/
Foolish as it is, I was in lockstep with the vapor/
As if to catch it would make a solid string attached to whats left/
But it doesn't so I cater to an all consuming photograph/

Blind eye turned to the shadow behind the aura. Animate collage/
She's scrap book beautiful but her worlds rotoscope at most I hold/
A script where; Our hero dies in her arms and the almost is perfect/
And “Perfect” is the almost doesn't matter and that manner shapes its host/
One day I'll find the Secret of Silence, master the handling of palms... fingertips/
Producing vibratos to calm theories of muted ghost lingering/
See part of me hopes the truth is hidden within the gaps in her teeth/
Leaked through sighs as whispers to bridge this distance or further justify this sentence/
Oh, what have I invented now? Eyes roll. Horizon darkens/
And maybe we're mere marionettes to stars plotting. The hand slips away/
“Such a shy object.” Cameras pan. Chromatics shift to gray/
Pyrrhic victory, in its joyous smile. “F Words” flower/
Who knew a question mark could fix the day?/
Or maybe our heroes song is wrong, then again we don't see the world spinning/
Perhaps by the time its on we're gone/
Depend on whose pen sits in a sentence can be a prison/
Flipped coin to a how a breath could be an eternity he lives in/
Flippant at any evidence of an insincere instance/
Victim of self imposed living through guess work/
Knowing the answer and it often fits so coffin to the heart strings SKECH “works”/
All thats left is a face to scared to state the obvious or settled in something with less worth/
To our anti hero: replaying a series of unfortunate events that mimic love/
Whose only smelled its scent upon thoughtless phrases
Said sparingly/ randomly/ I hope you have a happy life... Fuck you/

Lana Simpson:

I've noticed that you never sleep.
Hands pressed
in the same place her fingers
used to meet yours.
You still rest
with your phone
clasped in palm -
guarding the message
you wish would come.
The message that's still saved.
Locked
into memory.
Indented deeper
than your restless body.
Laying languid
in the darkness -
wondering how
time could fill so much space.
And then you turn over
on your side
so that your heart is less
exposed
to the elements;
to the ceiling
that could come crashing down
at any moment,
and you probably wouldn't feel a thing,
but the ooze of memories
seeping from your arteries.
You tried so hard
to keep the air out
of your veins;
but to no avail.