Describe Nearly Drowning

I want to slit slits into my neck
So I have a reason to believe I will be alive after this.
Ironic to think,
That two little hydrogen atoms,
lighter than air
can make the difference between the oxygen we breathe and
the stuff we're made out of.

Ironic to think,
Of what's slowly killing me now,
is essential to life on this planet.

To inhale the ocean
is like getting to become one with nature
before she destroys you.

What Your (Work) Desk Thinks About At Night

I am cold back here,
but at least the view is nice and I can be left alone.

The woman who sits with me, we just had our one year anniversary together in October. You can tell she enjoys the time spent back here. Reading.

She's got some FANTASTIC taste when it comes to books, not like the other desks that drone on endlessly about Alex Cross or, Heaven forbid, Kinsey Millhone.
No, I get to read literature. 
Homer, Dante, e.e. Cummings, Anais Nin, John Steinbeck, Betty Smith, Patti Smith....
Hell, This girl got through Nabokov in a week!
A week!
This chick is amazing.

She is, however, alone.
stuck in the back corner, under the air conditioning unit, next to the window.
Like a forgotten lunch pail, hiding in the back fridge for months, untouched.
Until she is barraged by her supervisor, about a mistake she made in a call,
about some paperwork she wrote up wrong.

She ends up thinking she's useless during these times.
She is never rewarded or acknowledged when she cleans up a coworker's mistake.
Never rewarded by going above and beyond helping every customer she talks to.
Every secret payment she's made to a strangers account, out of kindness.
She believes she's useless at this job. When, in actuality, she's the best rep I've ever seen.
Everyone makes mistakes.
At least the sun shines on her.
Always alone, but never lonely.

Maybe.
Because she sometimes leaves tear stains on my varnish.
Sometimes, she hides back here during lunch.
Unable to leave for the break room, no. She only leaves me when she really needs to go to the bathroom.

You can tell how conflicted she is when she hides back here. In her fort.
I can hear her, try and make friends but nobody seems interested.
She pretends to follow football so she has something to talk about with her boss.
She read all the AA books so she has something to talk about with her supervisor.
She even read a goddamn Alex Cross novel so she had something to talk about with her coworkers.

It all adds up to her. Sitting here, day after day, alone in her corner cubicle.
wishing for a friend.

I want to hold her.
spread my maple-wood desktop around her body.
use this L-shaped body like arms and cradle her.
To speak to her in the language that she gets.
That she wants.
"What did you think about this character?"
"How was your drive into work today?"
"Where do you want to go for lunch?"
I want to be her friend, tell her that she is not invisible.
Her heart doesn't have to be so hard when she's back here.
I promise you are interesting, I promise people like you. If you could only get over your anxiety and break out a little at work.
I promise that you're not weird.
You are okay.
I promise.

You can sometimes hear her mumble softly to herself since no body can hear her in the back corner cubicle, staring out her window.

"I am cold back here,
but at least the view is nice and I can be left alone."

A Houseplant is Dying, Tell it why it Needs to Live.

My love, you can't die and leave me here alone.
You're the only reason why I can live in this prison.
You breathe in my little carbon deaths and breathe out life sustaining oxygen.
Your beauty is unmatched by every monochromatic object in my cubicle.
Can't you see how important you are to the tiny world around us?
I would be so lost without you, Christmas Cactus.
Who else would I croon my sorrows to? Share my joys?
I have no one else except for these plastic troll dolls.
But they don't have what we have, baby.
They wouldn't understand.
They're not real.
Please.
Don't leave me here.

Write a Love Scene From the Point of View of Your Hands

Everything is full of warmth here.
New places to discover, temperatures and textures.
mostly smooth, but sometimes whiskery.
beards feel scratch, scratch, scratch!
while glasses have sharp edges around the frames.
Let me undress your eyes for a while.
oils from the forehead bubble into beads of sweat.
skin forever soft.
safe.
All is full of warmth here.

Hard calluses bump over the pads of me
reminders of broken hearts I tried to mend with hard work.
Always working? Never works.
Stick with what you know, hand over hand.
good, now interlace the fingers, let them waltz together for a while
where it's quiet, let them rest. Stay a while.
Have your palms come face to face
and kiss a little, make them get clammy.
All is full of warmth here.

Write a Bathroom Wall Limerick

I once took a shit in this stall

so thick and firm it stood tall.

It balanced on end,
that shit didn't bend,
But fell over and scraped my left ball.
_______________________________________

Here I sit broken hearted.
Came to shit but only farted.
Later on I took my chance,
Tried to fart but only shit my pants,
And now I learned the true meaning of sharted.
________________________________________

There once was a hooker from Devonshire

She said her name was Desire
So I took a chance,
and asked her to "dance"
Now my penis feels like it's on fire!
_______________________________________