But in a way,
it didn't even feel like a week.


It felt like
             years
             and
             seconds
             at the same time


                                       …you know?


Everything felt
so right
and it felt
as if we had known each other for ages,
but at the same time it felt
like everything was over in a split second.


I guess…
that's what love
does to you, though.

The sound of thunder
            is washing against
                        a sleepless horizon, again…


And while days
            and miles and minutes
                        and all of the waters of the North Atlantic
            separate your body from
lying next to mine,
            painting the perfect picture of
                        soulful symmetry that I’ve been
            craving to know for the longest time,

for even half of a fickle moment,
            if I can hear your heartbeat against
                        my ear and feel the warmth of
            your body against my back

and the embrace of your arms
            wrapped tightly around my frame,
                        banishing every insecurity from
            the corners of my mind…

If I can feel grounded in your presence,
            even for just a moment…

And know that I’m not a puppet,
            rigged up as a marionette by my own emotions,
                        strung out on bad dreams and decisions, they’re just
            bad schemes that I’ve never learned to fight off,
or dry off from these damned
            depressive states soaking into my skin
                        like dollar store sanitizers, leaving my
            skin burning, and my soul yearning to
be clean from the agony that others have
            left behind, I just want simple peace of mind,
                        so that maybe, when the sun isn't shining and the sky is overcast
            I don’t start drifting into the past,
and I don’t lose myself again…


If I can feel grounded in your presence,
            even just for a moment…

Then maybe...
            Just maybe...
                        The sound of the thunder
                        washing against the horizon
                        won’t keep me awake at night…

Sometimes I
feel like I’ve given
you too much control
over my heart and
head, while I’m
just lying here,
in the dark
waiting for a
response that will
probably never come
and answers that will never
lay my worst fears to rest.

But for
some reason,
I can’t stop saying
I love you, even
when it feels a
bit hollow as
it echoes out
of my lips.

But I can’t
let you hear
that I’m doubting
the things between us
because I know just how
much you’ve given up
for me and just how
much of my heart
I’ve given up to
you.

The world is too loud for someone with fragile ears like mine.

I can hear the words you don’t mean to say,
the stories you don’t mean to tell,
the lies you thought you could hide,
and these things that aren’t meant to be heard
drown out the song of the universe with a dark static
that sometimes just makes me wish

that I was deaf to the world.

I’d rather give up hearing the sweet sounds
of the birds chirping in the pre-dawn hours
than have to be assaulted by things that I never wanted to hear,

and I’d rather have to read the words on the lips of people
because I’m no good at listening to what they say
and if I make a mistake while I’m guessing
then I can just blame it on my ignorance
and that’s something that seems to be okay in this world.

And even though ignorance should never be an excuse,
I’d be more than happy to have a healthy dose to myself,
because anything has to be better than making people out for who they really are.

I feel…

blah…

Like someone’s drained
the last bit of emotion from
the well in my chest and
I don’t know why,
but for some reason I’m feeling
hurt that you’re kicking me
to the sidelines,

even though…

I told you it was fine…

My chest feels tighter
than a fucking corset,
but I’m not complaining
because I’m worried that
if I do, you’ll just redirect
that anger and frustration
of yours right back at me
and it’ll only get worse
from here on out.

But am I just supposed to
go against my nature and
bottle these feelings up,
concentrating them into
the very poison falling
from my lips, until we
both drink it,

or maybe I just drink it,

and fall apart even more
than I already have…

Blue lips,
pale skin,
and a hand me down noose,
whose lips poisoned whose,
or are we just drowning in the doubts?

Your lips,
your skin,
and a persistent lack of faith,
my lips poisoned yours,
and I think it’s time to escape…

Fuck you.

You’re gorgeous.

Look.

Someone’s definition
of beauty is never based
on their own self-image.

If it was,
we’d all be spending our
entire lives staring at ourselves
in mirrors thinking,
“God damn, I’m a hot mother fucker.”

But instead,
we find our definition
of beauty written at the
corners of the world and
on the hearts of the people
around us.

And I’ve found my definition
of beauty written
in your smile,
in the way you breathe,
in your eyes,
on your lips,
and in each
and every
“I love you”
that we share.

You’re not exactly what I’d call a friend
and I didn’t mean to invite you in again,
but you’ve been around for so long
that I’ve just come to accept your presence.

Now, somehow you forced your way in
and my chest is tearing itself in two
and all of these idiotic memories are
drilling themselves to the front of my thoughts.

And I don’t know why you think
that you can just barge right in unannounced,
but take this as a formal invitation
to kindly get the hell out of my life.

I’m tracing my
insufficiencies on
the backs of my
eyelids again and
I’m trying to stop,
but for some sick
reason, the only
thoughts that
replace the ones
that I’m bound by
are equally, or so
much more
disturbing.

There are moments
when I completely lose myself
to the sluice of terrible things
that are happening in this world.

These violent images
and thoughts
infect my mind like a parasite
-blinding me to reality;
but then I remember you
and all of the love and kindness you have shown me
and it makes this world just a little bit easier to weather.

Love is a blazing star forced into a tiny, red-hot, searing iron,
and if you press too hard while you're trying to iron out the wrinkles,
you might end up burning your hands and drop the iron
along with the heart of the man you were supposed to be keeping safe.

And if you go ahead and mix up a drink to cut out the tension and pain,
be careful that you don't stir up an emotional cocktail from the bottom of his soul,
because there will be pain there that hasn't quite settled and let's face it,
navigating a sea of love is hard enough even when the waters are crystal clear
but if you cloud up the water with curious intentions, it just makes it that much harder to see
past all of the stains left on your chest and the loose threads in your voice.

And on any give Monday you could see the world in his eyes,
but today all I could see were two confused storms trying to weather
the question of whether these things were dear memories shared with passion….

How she’s holding on
to her last bit of sanity,

I’ll never know.

But somehow,
she’s made an art of survival.

Camouflaging her emotions with words
and bathing in the beauty of written silence,
she’s an ivory goddess drawn on to a dreamer.

And even though she’ll never be the flower or the wine
that suits the taste of my aspirations of love,

I can’t help but feel the need
to be her knight in brass-washed armor
with my makeshift sword in hand
coming to her rescue and her young son.

I live for the moments
when I stand up and
feel the blood rush
away from my head
and into my chest

leaving me with
suffocating clarity
and a hint of hope
that I may finish my thought
before I hit the ground
so that I can rest easy
knowing that I didn’t lose my
head in the clouds
under the blankets of
dizzy and nauseous
seconds, split in half by my
obsessive fingertips,

tracing the inside of
eyelids blinking too
fast to catch the world
around their spinning-
thread heads and hearts,

writing songs to the
rhythm of the ringing
in my ears only to hear
that the sound of an
empty ocean raging
against this ribcage
container of broken
promises and worn out,
secondhand dreams
has drowned the last
bit of the kid left inside

screaming to be let out
into the world for
everyone to see and judge
because let’s face it,
they’ll judge every ounce
that I pour out in front
of their half-cast glances

but only for a second,
split in half by

my
obsessive fingertips that tangled
themselves up with self doubt and anxiety

my
dreams that I didn’t chase
because they’d gotten a head start
and I was too afraid that I’d trip
and scrape my pride on the road

my
constant fear of writing myself
into a scene that I won’t be able
to improvise my way out of

but only for a second
split in half by my fingertips

She writes with the stars
and she speaks in soft phrases,
and she holds close to the door,
for if she ever wants to
escape this world,
she needs but only take a few steps
to find open air
and the freedom in herself.

I'm jealous of the stars.

The entire world
finds beauty in
their radiant
glowing

and
cast its
wishes upon
the very fires from
which creation has come

while I sit here trying to
find myself among the
ashes that so many
stories have left
behind.

No one knows how
to remind me that I’m
worthless quite like you,
mom.

No one knows how
to open old wounds and
pour them out on the kitchen
table for the world to see,
quite like you, mom.

And no one knows how
to remind me why I didn’t
want to live for the longest
time, quite like you, mom.

We may love each other,
but our immediate relationship
is just as caustic as Triflic acid,

and

you’re burning holes in my head,
you’re burning holes in my heart,
you’re burning holes in my soul,

but

It’s only day one and, already,
I can’t take much more of this.

You’re hijacking
my dreams and
forcing my reason to
walk the plank and
yet you hide your
jolly roger behind
a beautiful curtain
of handcrafted
self doubt and
insecurities.

It’s almost a cruel
joke that I’ve already
cut my wings to
daydream with the
stars, wishing for
sleep, but never finding
an ounce in this endless
sea of silent background
noise spiced with mint
and sage and bergamot.

I just hope that
my words will keep
me company enough
to not be lost among my
ever shifting thoughts and
anxiety driven panic attacks.

Faded colors

Dancing lights

Bleeding images

The smell of a cigar
and a half full glass
of bourbon whiskey

Who said this
couldn’t be my
heaven?

I can’t bring myself
to fill these boxes.

They remind me too much
of my independence and how
that part of me is being packed
away right along with my personal
effects.

Why didn’t I exercise one
fucking ounce of self
control?

Why did I have to
destroy my chances
to live on my own?

Why is it that I
always tend to
screw up what
I have going?

Why do I always
trap myself back
in the same place
I’ve been seeking
to escape from?

Answer me,
God dammit!

I could have stuck
a cigarette against my
veins and watched as
the alcohol set fire,
yet I still took to the
wheel in some half
attempt at making it
home.

The night escapes
my memory, tempting
me with broken visions,
half-hearted explanations,
and though I can never
be sure as to what really
did happen, I know
that I’m thankful for
not watching my mother
identify my body from
a stretcher in the morgue.

I wish I could find the edge of the world
and revel in its majesty for only a minute
so that I may know the splendor of life
in the reflection of the human soul.