i don’t know his last name.
or anything, really.
we both whispered,
don’t be a serial killer,
don’t be a lunatic.
it was sort of beautiful.
strangely poetic.
my hair still smells like him,
and he’s given me a gift,
a quiet relief:
she’s no longer
the last person i kissed.

''I call at night,
So we wouldn’t fight.
Then you’re jumping through the next,
Without knowing how I felt.

Feeling overwhelmed,
But you couldn’t melt.
Slamming doors, and champagne all over the floor...
It’s all for the best, they say,
But I didn’t want to end it this way.

We made a vow, but now,
All we have are broken hearts, with no future to share,
And now I’m wildly aware.

If I’m crying, you will be made of raindrops,
Because you disappear every time it flops.

First I was your “Saturn,” the next you say “there is no return.”
Guess I just tasted the glass you poured,
It’s like I got stabbed with a sword,

Poisoned me, cursed me, and left me hoping for things to change,
Like a child who’s hoping for the season to change.

I call in the morning,
So we would stop sobbing,
Because you know how I feel,
And I do want to be driving without a wheel.''

the beauty, the resolute stillness of night
and the absence of a day's wreckage, too
is no consolation for that greater hollow
which yet darkens my countenance
and voids my soul

but in the aches of time, all shall emerge complete
if unfilled then at least whole —
holy, even — under better eyes than mine
more open eyes than mine, heavy under insomnia

so, in passing with the moon,
that complete and empty dawn will arrive by a close of the eyes, a gentle descent to sleep

which is why it cannot come so easily,
lest the waking day illume my solitude

I am the midnight sun
I am always on the run
Chasing down the break of day

I am the midnight sun
I am the only one
Who can show you the way

I am the midnight sun
I am the fire that’s never done
I am the only one

The only one to burn so bright
The only one who can light the night
I am the midnight sun

I am the midnight sun
Only there for anyone
Only there to see you run

I am the midnight sun
Burning bright for anyone
Anyone who needs to run

A moment for the moon
half-dipped in midnight
A soft sigh escapes
embellished with stars
as it crawls back
into your atmosphere
holding in its center
a small whisper of
an outstretched hand

sometimes i wake
from a fever-dream
spent with a mystery being –
evaporating too quickly
to savour
leftover feelings,
and hidden benefits
of a midnight affair
with someone
that doesn't exist.

when the day
is half gone,
i'm still lovesick,
incapable of
stopping my mind
from hoping
there’s a button somewhere
to hit re-wind.

some nights,
i cry
so quietly
that it feels
like my
soul
is the one
that is doing all
the crying
for me.

i think there's more
than what my small hands can hold --
something
beneath the name of things.
an unusual silence
inside sound,
a reason
behind my ache.

maybe love
isn't the smile
or the warmth --
maybe it's the thing
that lingers
once she's gone.
maybe its
the truth,
not the feeling.
the ghost,
not the soft kiss.

and maybe im not only
skin,
voice,
and wanting --
maybe i am
what watches
from behind 
my own two blue eyes,
trying to grasp
an understanding
of what any
of this
means.

ill never see the whole of it.
maybe im not meant to.
perhaps the knowing
isn't just in the visuals,
the seeing --
instead its in believing
that there's something
there.

im thinking too much
again.
why won't you say anything?
all i said was --
"i miss you"
is that too much?
am i too much?
am i not enough?
should i love you?
it's only been a week..
i can make myself --
if it makes you happy.
am i texting too often?
did i send the wrong emojis?
was i not funny enough today?
not talkative enough?

****.
im thinking too much..
again.

her absence is a hum
beneath the streetlight.
it slips through my curtains -
silver,
never soft enough
to hush my thoughts.
give me a break.

her name is a wind,
caught behind my ribs,
blowing through
the rooms i built for her
but never locked.

every breath feels borrowed,
taken -
like she left it behind
by accident.
like her smile,
still living in the quiet
between my heartbeats.

the bed forgets
how to hold me right,
how to put me to sleep.
some nights,
loneliness is a second pillow.
other nights,
it’s her voice -
curled up
where my dreams should be.
but they aren’t.