Leeches. Leeches everywhere. Not covering every centimeter of every surface, but everywhere I go, I always see a few.

I walk to the bathroom and there are two on the counter top. Flip up the toilet seat and there is one on the other side. Back in my room I find them hiding in plain sight on my computer monitors, and behind clothes and other things disorderly strewn about the floor. I don’t find any in my bed.

I make a point to visit as many places and rooms I can just to see if I can find any leeches there. My car, the garage, I check the refrigerator, not for food, but for leeches. Everywhere I go, I am greeted by the presence of a few leeches preceding my arrival.

They don’t seem to move. They are like movie set props, maybe they only exist in their own reality, but I know they are real. I don’t dare touch them. I don’t disturb them, but I don’t trust them.

In my backyard I can see them, those little black dots on the trees. They are lined up in a convenient path. One tree, one leech; onward they go into the vanishing point of the forest, and I follow their trail for over an hour until the woods’ dominion ends, giving way to a house with washed out yellow siding, dehydrated moss, and speckles of dried mud.

I walk in and I can hear something toward the back end of the house. I walk up the steps that bear a deceptive familiarity, and enter a large bedroom with two partially blinded doors that appear to lead to a balcony. A little bit of light slips into the room, enough to see that none of my companions are with me in this room. I don’t remember seeing any leeches since I’ve been in this house. The sound of a repeating, almost grumbling motion is coming from beyond those doors, so I beyond them.

We are on a deck, looking out, fifty feet above a canopy of treetops. While out there, everything is soaked in green, up here, everything has a yellow tint. There is rocking chair in front of me. It’s a drunken device, and it can’t make up its mind on its balance; continually threatening to keel over in each direction. From the back, it almost appears that a giant leech is slumped in the chair, but as I approach it and swing to the other side, I see an old man instead of a giant leech.

I stand directly before him, and we look at each other. I’m not sure if he sees me. He has two tiny leeches on each of his temples, and another where his neck meets his chest. I can’t seem to maintain eye contact with him. My eyes act like an enraged bee, swooping in at all different angles, but breaking off just as our pupils touch. I eventually drop my gaze and climb up to his several times before I manage to hold it. As if it were the draw bridge to my mind, the lower half of my jaw drops. I’m gaping as if I’m about to say something, but I know I have no words. Still I try to muster, but as I motion for speech nothing is heard except the sound of birds and their chicks chattering in the distance.

I keep trying, but I can only produce distant chirping. An exposed window, my mouth stays open, and I realize I can’t move my tongue. I feel something there. Just as I’m about to try to swallow my hand in an effort to rid my tongue of what constricts it I look back to the old man. The chair remains, but he’s gone. Meanwhile, half my hand is in my mouth, and I don’t know where I am.

Leeches. Leeches everywhere.

To Those Girls

To that girl over there

I don’t think you notice me.

If you do, then you notice me

hiding away behind the whites of my eyes.

So I won’t get to tell you, but if I could, I would.

You’re annoying me,

because you’re so pretty that I can’t help but stare

And when I turn away and look at a wall

It just makes my eyes dry up

Thirsting for just another glance.


To that girl I know

But I can’t tell you

Because you’re my friend

And I fear I’ll only run you off

Your legs are a rumor.

Starting from the end

Crawling up from your feet

Each inch a varying story

Obsessively, I’m just looking for the truth

But rumors are endless

And we can’t find the beginning

Yet there they are

One long rumor

I’ll never find the truth.


To that girl I just met

Did I ever tell you

That the most beautiful thing on a woman

Is her smile?

Of course I didn’t

But now I am

Maybe because it reflects everything

I never will be.

Maybe because if I see it

I think I did well.

Maybe a lot of things

I will never know.

But your smile in particular

Makes me forget everything around me

Except how lovely, that face

The person behind it

And how much I’d love to, in the future,

Keep you smiling.


To that girl I’ve known

Since before you were a woman

Remember that summer

Lou and I went on a road trip

The story of getting lost at cliff side

And the winding yellow brick road

Looking for Oz, we said

These days

I’m unsure that story actually happened

Or if that is just what is happening to my eyes

When I watch you

Floating, sifting, each step taken

As if all those perfectly placed curves

Were rewriting history

And I’m sorry that you’ve turned me into a lecher

But if only you know what you do to me

But even in my head

I try to stay on my best behavior

You corrupt me.

Please continue.


To the lady on the street

With the long brown hair

Layers of bristles arranged like a wildfire

For a second I gaped

A few hours from now, I’d have forgotten your face

But for a strong moment I thought

Of a world with you and me

And no one else.

Everything I’d do to make your happy

Just like those long locks

Bringing out something deep

Majestic from your eyes.


To those girls

Intoxicating women

And the thoughts I’ve had

Words I’ve kept

Have a few

thought dumpster – 5/9/12

We all have them. Poisonous thoughts that come and go like supervillains. When they are around, they do all they can to slaughter our defenses, and dismantle our hearts into ruins. But they are garbage thoughts, the need not be shared with others, but discarded.

I guess you could argue this isn’t true discarding, but I am going to try creating a thought trash can, of sorts, and see if getting these thoughts that I know better then to ever bring up to people out of my head helps me conquer them. Thoughts I don’t want, I offer you to the dump.

Of the many things I could say… I wish I weren’t invisible.

Maybe it is because there was a time when I felt like I mattered, was cared for in some way, like not only could I be seen, but it mattered that I was. And after everything, to have that completely stripped still rattles me.

There is no greater weapon against a man then to make him think he matters before you make him vanish.

When things began to deteriorate, I was invisible.

When things broke down, obviously, I was invisible.

After most things have passed, there are others, but I still remain invisible.

I’ve long accepted that I’ll never really matter in the way I had wished I did. In the way that it sometimes felt I did. On some level, I will probably never get over it, for all sorts of impossible reasons, but that doesn’t really hurt.

Yet, being an invisible figment of some collective imagination, well if I let myself think of it, yeah, it causes me pain.

And now, if you would please excuse yourself, weak thought, because I don’t want you around here anymore.