You once said that home was wherever you make it

I found my home in the comfort of our secret language
And the way you knew when I needed to run
And the way I knew the meaning behind every syllable
In your music

I remembered your birthday
You forgot mine
But that's alright

Our relationship has been stretched hamstrings
Since you've been gone,
And these songs are the hollow boneyard
I fumble through

Melodies
Strings of smoke
Slipping through my hands

You're missing Christmas

I'm missing your life

Sometimes I wonder if you remember the brother stars
And the trees
And the whales we sang about in the kitchen
And the mulberry pen ink

Sometimes I wonder if you remember me
As the shore you greeted each morning
When you rolled in

If the whisper of these words
Ever carry through the wind
And reach you
Please take this and know
That the shore will still be there
When your wave washes in

I will still be here
Singing

Your hands are probably cold
Holding that "Anything Helps" sign

At least I hope it's the chill shaking them

Sitting at this glaring red light watching you;
Waiting while this red light is judging me,
Condemning me as I squander time
Sizing up the hunch of your posture
And the vacancy of your expression

Thank god you didn't look at me
I couldn't have taken it

And as the light turned green, I realized
That the shower waiting for me at home
Couldn't possibly clean the grime I accumulated
Just by driving away.

Forsaken soul
Taking root in a land thought barren
Or hostile
Or uninhabitable

Where the water is poison

The air toxic

Will your vines slip through the cracks,
Dandelion?
Will you be the ****
That blossoms in the summer
And leaves yellow stains on
The palms of our hands?

Will we cut your roots down?

Will we shut out the sun?

Do we shake the earth with cloven hooves
And break the stone?

Maybe you'll **** the water supply dry

Or maybe you'll just **** the poison out

There is a hunger I can't quench,
An addiction I can't subside.
An itch that burns under my skin
And I've tried scratching it.
I've tried.

I want that pretty silver tongue
To match pretty porcelain hands
Hovering over ink wells
And candle stands
But I can't have that.
I can't salvage
From the depths of my mind
A poem to wrap around words like
"Gossamer",
"Murmurous",
"Erstwhile".

Art is a circle
But I am a line with crumbling architecture,
My thoughts linear and grit;
My prose stuffed with an hour-long process
Of charm and wit.

I write these words to feed you;
Please you;
Fill you with the sense of understanding
That I can't come to.
My art is a lie with a rainbow
And I stand smiling in an empty room,
A vacant audience in a ghost of a show.

I write because I need you.
I write because I want to dance for you.
I write because I want to seem wise.
But all that it amounts to
Is a high that always dies
And a candle that burns out
Far too quickly.

This is not a cry.
This is not goodbye.
This is me.
And I hope, for me,
That this is enough to satisfy.

I was the sparkle in your eye;
Now you're the dull ache in my heart.

The world could not contain us both, I guess.

Echoes of memories ricochet in
These old haunts of mine
Where the poison hasn't touched
And the only name I know here
Is Tom Collins.

Did we consume too much?
Did we stay too long?
Did the haze of the high
**** us dry?

It must have stolen
All the marrow in my bones
Because now, I am empty,
Listening to these ghosts for acoustics
While the seat beside me stays wanting.

I've always thought I loved storms;
Where the rain beats against my window,
Wind wailing, thunder rumbling,
Lightning painting streaks
Across the sky.
There's nothing like standing underneath
The angry clouds
And letting the cold rain
Wash all of your sins away.

I've always thought I was in love
With the sky;
The way it surprises me every day
In its spectrum of
Resplendent colors and soft greys.
Personified in my adoration
As maybe God himself,
If God even exists.
To this day, I'm not so sure,
But I know the sky and that's
Enough.

But as I wonder about these things,
These forces of nature,
I wonder about the circumstances
Surrounding my experiences with them.
I remember that, in the midst of storms,
I always have a home to run into
And a towel waiting for me to dry me off.
I remember that while the sky is
Ever changing,
It always remains there.

So maybe what I've always loved,
What I've always longed for,
Is comfort.

Is... stability.