Shall I keep the friendship we shared?
Shall I continue to honor it by remembering what we did?
Shall I remember the first time you spoke to me
and all the fun things we did thereafter?
For some reason, you just stood a little further from me
Bit by bit,
and now, you're too far away. When I reach out my hand
You can't grab it. If this was a sinking ship,
I can't save you.
You can't save me either.
Shall I forget what used to be you and what used to be me?
Right now, you've found a newer land, a greener grass,
but you wouldn't let me step on it,
you just bid me goodbye slowly but you're being so cold.
You wouldn't tell me directly if you're simply pushing me away;
you're like a block of ice I'd slide down a hill and let it break into many pieces.
Stop being so cold, at least, but if that's what you want to be:
icy, distant and unfamiliar,
I wondered where the old you had disappeared.

I bid goodbye to her forever.

A new day will come and I will shed my old skin and
all my memories formed with it.

It wasn't the same,

laying in your bed,
Touching your flesh.

It wasn't the same.

All those months I spent missing you, haunted by the secrets you told me,
in that alleyway
somewhere in Columbus,
all your secrets of loving me,

it wasn't the same.

My skin didn't spark from your drunken fingertips
and your lips didn't taste like they used to,
back when they were all I could taste,
when everything tasted of you.

And you were sweet and frightened,
vulnerable,
giving up the pieces of you I had sought for endlessly,
these last two years, giving me everything you had.

But all I remember is feeling cold, Shivering under the blankets of your mattress on the floor,
and all I was thinking about was work in three hours,
and my laundry in the dryer, back at my parents' place.

And you followed my skeleton with your hands
and traced the writings on my skin, whispered that you loved me,
that I was the one that mattered,
the only one that made you feel alive.

And I glanced past you at the clock and debated whether I wanted coffee on my way home.
Then once the lights began to rise and you had gotten off enough for the both of us,
you begged me to lay with you and sleep the day away,
told me to hold onto to you and never let go.

But I got up without saying goodbye, and drove to work, smoking my last newport
never looking back at what we had been,
all those years ago
in a dark basement, somewhere on Susan Lane.

It must be hard to have me as your older sister.
It must be.
I call your cute little jokes "lame",
and ignore you when you tell me about your fantastic school day.
I refuse to hug you to sleep at night
even if you're afraid of the darkness that could swallow you up anytime.
I order you to do things around and you do them but
when you ask me to do things, I don't.
You try to get me to stop paying attention to my phone and
start paying attention to your piano pieces.
You try to get me to stop lying around all day and
start going to swim with you.
You ask me all the time:
"Can you go swimming with me?"
I always reply:
"No, I've got work/I'm lazy/. Go swim yourself."
And I don't understand that when you keep calling your friend over
it's because you feel lonely
She's the one who listens to you
play with you
talk to you
when I don't.
Well maybe I didn't understand that when I said:
"Why is she coming over again? You guys play like every single day. Do your work."
You try to make me happy by telling me interesting things.
I silence you out when you do that,
popping in my earphones
and you just sit there quietly.
It must be hard to have me as your older sister.

It must be hard to have me as your daughter.
I talk back 99% of the time just to prove I'm right,
because I am so thick-skinned I wouldn't actually admit even if I'm down right
wrong.
I always change my mind the last minute,
leaving you panicking and worrying about what to do.
I treat my younger sister badly, being really mean to her,
I don't understand how we are both precious to you
You don't want to see any of us getting
hurt.
You work so hard for me
I don't come out of my room to say hi to you when you come home
You bought a new wifi network set for me
when I kept complaining that the current set wasn't working
when it was just my fault for using it
too much.
You meticulously worked to come up with a nice study table design for us
I complained that your laptops were taking up too much space
and you moved it away to the living room
where you could only use it while standing.
You didn't say anything about it.
It must be hard to have me as your daughter.

It must be hard to have me as your friend.
I blast at you
and treat you like a punching bag
not being sensitive to your feelings.
I make you worry about me even when I have hurt you.
I tell you what I feel so frankly and
you get hurt.
You tell me you're always there to listen
yet I never listened to you.
You always notice when I'm about to fall down into that deep abyss of the unknown,
yet when you're falling I still can't find a rope to help you up.
You try to watch videos with me and
I move my attention to my phone.
It must be hard to have me as your friend.

Even I, with scales on my eyes and large, heavy headphones pressed tightly against my ears, can see that this three week conversation has died out, although I have made every attempt to keep it burning.
Even I, with my nose bleeding, and my heart bleeding, and my soul dripping some strange, red liquid, know that this has run its course, which, coincidentally, was directly into an iceberg which I never saw. An iceburg that only exists in your eyes, yet this ship sailed, serene, into it, with no word of warning from your lips.
Even I, with guts spilled out, in the street, in front of your house, spelling your name, must aknowledge the fleeting nature of the situation. I guess.
Even I, with next to no knowledge of myself, know that I am lying.
But they are lies that I must eat with the eagerness of starving foxes - for that is what I am now. I am made of lies and paw-prints in the vacant lot, near the abandoned sugar factory, that place I still believe is haunted, to this day. Maybe it houses my ghosts.
But after my dinner of hollow lies, I am left famished still, even though I choked down one too many, coughing, and gasping for air, as if I were drowning in my own falsities. After my unsatisfying meal, I only want one dessert: A cigarette and an answer. But only one is possible, and I have already made my choice. The pull of Nicotine is much stronger than that of closure. So I don't really need it.
I am a blind man, who has wandered onto the train tracks, far outside of town, where the iron horses can really run. In the city (or something that may only resembe a city,) they prance. On display. "Look at my tall, graffitti-stained walls. See my beautiful face of cow-catcher grin and headlamp, cyclops eye."
I made my picnic on the tracks, thinking they were a bench. I guess that was a bad idea. And my reanimated corpse agrees, as it trusts that another train is still far away and stumbles about, picking up lost pieces.
I should build a house here. I really don't mind rebuilding, and the trainwrecks ain't so bad...
All in retrospect, friend.

Every time I hear your name my heart jumps
Into my throat. And when I think of you
my heart cracks a little more and I
can’t help but remember the agony
of losing you, has it really been eight  
Years? It feels like yesterday you were here
But now I find myself searching for your
face in everything. You would be nineteen,
Off at college ready to start your life.
Instead I struggle each day to bring up
My memories of you. Was it me or

You who told that joke? I can’t remember now
The feeling of staying up laughing
our heads off till three AM will never
leave me. I sometimes pray that by the morning I
will have forgotten everything and the
pain will have melted away, but how could
anyone wish to forget you? There are
no answers for why you are gone, some things
must stay as questions. now days blur into
weeks, months, years and I’m still here and your not
and every time I forget and try to
call you, it will be the same terrible
realization like every time, that
no one will answer and I’ll be back where I started,
trying to remember, to put the pieces
together and once again pick myself
up, thank you for your friendship, I will hold
you in my heart forever because that’s
how special you became to me. So, this
is my farewell to you,
                                    Goodbye my friend

I used to be a mover.
I ran, and danced, and climbed trees.
If I saw somethng I wanted, I reached for it, worked for it, or asked an adult to get it for me.  
I would fidget and squirm at the dinner table and in Mass.
I did not question, I just did.



I used to say things.
I sang, rhymed and questioned with impunity.
I behaved as though everyone was hanging on my every word.  
People were constantly telling me to be quiet.  I made them listen.
My voice connected me to the world, it proved I was real.



I used to laugh more.
Giggled, chortled and chuckled with glee.
It was my first reaction to anything new and novel.  
It bubbled out of me, tickling my throat as it filled the room.
I measured the worth of a day by how much I had laughed.



I used to get lost in things.
In the fields, in untying knots, in books, especially in books.
I deliberately took wrong turnings just to see what was there,
and hid under my bed with a book and a torch and spoke to no one.
I felt so disheartened when I found my way again.



I used to create.
I crafted, sketched and wrote for hours at a time.
It just poured from my fingertips.  It was only completed when the smile came.  
A bright, beaming smile, bursting out of me.  I would burn with furious pride over 8 lines of mispelled rhymes about a purple monster.
I believed the only things you own, are the things you make.



Now I am uncertain.
Tentative, unsure, and above all; Silent.
Now I only move with a destination in mind.  
I am economical and perfunctory with my movements.                                                       ­             
I don't know how to use words anymore, the language has changed.  
The pen feels uncomfortable in my hand, while I agonise over the exact right words.

Being lost frightens me, and seems like a waste of time.

Creating things (non-edible things) are just extra pieces of baggage you must carry around.  Pointless and deflating, they chew their way into every part of your brain to fester and breed.
And people know when you've got poems gnawing your thoughts, and they will instantly distrust you.


But now.
Right now, as I near the end of this train of thought.
The Mover awakens within me.  I smile and crave company.
I have a sudden yearning to once again take a wrong turn.

I will not sleep tonight.

It burns. So deathly, so excruciating.

It's like a never-ending, heart wrenching feeling, that separates all other emotions, all other pains, and all other scars apart.

That feeling of regret and fallen memories, colliding with each other and dragging you down so low that Hell appears to be Heaven.

Why? Why after so many years?

After so many others have managed to steal my heart, even if it was just for a moment.

Why? Even though I know those days are over, that they could never begin again, that there will always be a broken link and I will always shatter, fall, and crumble once more.

Why are these emotions still here? Why do they linger like a black cloud, suffocating me and chaining me down like a wild animal?

I know that you are only a memory, so then why are you still here?

Why do I think about you, dream about you?

Why even though I know all of your flaws and your undeniably inexcusable actions do I grip at my heart and say "I still love you"?

Even though time after time I have told myself the very opposite.

Time and time again I have banished you from my life and yet hoped there was still a chapter left of this dark story.

Why after so many countless times where I have been defeated by you, where I have fallen once more for the damned games you play,
twisting your black fingers around my spine and seeing how far you can go until it breaks?

Why do my forsaken eyes mistake you as an angel, when you are the devil himself?

Must I continue to have hope, wishing that I could try again, even though I know you're going to once more watch as I lose all sight of the truth?

Sinister and vile as you are, relish in my delusional state, knowing you have me in your claws which scrape at my back and leave scars that not even God could heal.

Do you even know how disgusting, how sickening and maddening it feels to know that you can't even see the pain you have inflicted on me? Sure you can see the bandages, but are you really that blind to the truth of their nature?

How deep these scars truly run? How badly and desperately I screamed and begged for help inside as you dug your claws into my flesh and carved them out yourself?

Can you not see the depression, the hopeless battered soul seeping through my eyes?

I pretend I am strong. I live every day breaking at the cracks and somehow manage not to collapse into a pile of broken pieces.

Tears are dried out and the ache of a heart that has been stomped on so severely that it bleeds gray is only a small burden compared to all of the rest.

I walk on a path where there is a light just in reach, but the path vanishes once you have come close enough to that hopeful light that you can brush it with the tips of your fingers.

Do you have any idea what it feels like to look in the mirror and have to remind yourself every single day that you were never good enough?

That you are a wasted canvas, painted beautifully at first but then crumpled and thrown out because you never had a chance at being satisfactory.

You will never understand that my own emotions are poisoning me.

You have grabbed at my throat and shaken me so violently that I am unable to move, paralyzed in shame. Paralyzed in sorrow.

And yet, as I look into your eyes, I am mesmerized by your face, I fall into a trace, trapped in your spell. Trapped in this deadly cycle.

You have dragged me down into this pitiful thing. This choking, lifeless relationship where I struggle to stay alive while you climb higher on your pedestal.

And despite my previous errors, I willingly fall into your hands. Blinded by the false light you shine above your head.

I finally did it today
Even though every bone of my body was screaming at me
Don't do it! Don't do it!
I did it anyway
It was just as bad as I imagined it would be
All the bad shit I thought would happen happened
I got all sweaty
I nearly pissed my pants
I couldn't speak
I choaked on my own spit
I fell apart
It was horrible
But it was incredibly easy
So easy to fall to pieces
So easy to cease to exist
So easy to break
I enjoyed it
Too much maybe
I'll probably do it all again tomorrow
I've been so lonely
It's all I can think about doing when I am alone
When it gets quiet
Nobody is watching me but myself
I fall apart
Loving it
Feeling a little less lonely for a bit
Almost pissing my pants
Sweating
Looking aroung and seeing nobody
Nobody but me
Talking to myself
Telling myself
Don't do it
Don't do it

Decomposing inside my coffin
my bones, particles, organic matter
begin to separate
in a futile attempt
to save the only aspect of life
worth dying for

Robots, depersonalization
Since when was it my
Responsibility to clean up
your bloody remains?
This is your war and
I am (unfortunately)
just here.

There are a set of standard rules
We must obey
And why preach individuality
When you won’t let me be myself,
When I can not break your
Fucking chains,
You have bounded me to
Twisted staples- lined us all up
To shoot us in the god damn head
And those precious buildings
Concrete jungles
Slabs and poles and rusted metal
Our savored gems and beauties
are the modern day concentration camps
which we built ourselves
prisoners to a schizophrenic institution
but we are too sick
too far gone
to realize
we are
not only the prisoners
but the guards too.

And how can I escape when
Everyplace on Earth is fighting
Down this path of self
Destructive legal freedom
You do not own me
Don’t tell me I am free
And expect me to bow at your
Feet in praise
Just by you deeming me free
Means it is your decision to choose
I am free merely because
I am human
Alive
Spit in the face of those who
Tell you
You can not
Sculpt your life,
They are not you.

And why should I feel obligated
To obey your laws
Your commands
Social constructs to keep
The caged animals inside
Calm
Unwilling
I am not your fucking animal
Your sheep to herd
Everyone believes we have
Modernized our world
Nothing can hold us back!
Rejoice!
Keeping society in order
With cops and a loaded
Pistols, it’s the same
Thing as priests
And wooden crosses.
We have gone nowhere
In the past hundreds of years
Just changed the scenery
Changed the game pieces
We cannot trust the management
Of our lives to anyone but
Ourselves
Yet, why would you even want to?

The state is our new religion
Money is our Yaweh
Sacrifice our own lives
To please the Gods
And I guess if we are talking
In terms of materialistic faith
Then I am a fucking atheist
Do not jam your religion down my
Throat.
No choice.
No voice.
No dignity-
Is all you have ever given me.
Not freedom,
Not a life worth living.

Please do not westernize,
Can’t you see it is not working?
Painting shadows on rocks,
The hazy glow from the stars,
Moon, and heavens
Above,
And I think the most brilliant
But humbling fact
Is that the world will continue
On without us.
Quite frankly, better
Without us.

I am decomposing in my coffin.
Dissolving on my own terms.
The only thing worth living for,
Is the freedom of your
Own body,
Mind,
And soul.
Fighting for liberation
From these death camps,
Hollow graves we call humans.
everything has hardened-
And the brush strokes of concrete
Metal animals screeching,
The glow of synthetic light,
Will never compare to the real thing.