I remember a day
When you hurried over to me
In quite a rush.
"Have this."
And you extended your hand.

A single die fell into my palm.
It was cold, and hard, and a plain cube,
White, with 21 black dots on it.
Lifeless and inanimate,
It meant the world to me.

I remember a day
When you hurried over to me
In quite a rush.
"Have this."
And you extended your hand.

Your heart fell into my palm.
It was warm and barely beating,
A sloppy mass of tissue and life.
Broken and battered,
It meant the world to me.

As the deposit in my shoulder begins loosening, visions of a paradisiacal oasis reveal themselves. I can almost hear the pina coladas being poured atop the pool bar’s island countertop. Cabana chairs, shaped like beds, perfectly host kissing parties within the nighttime’s ocean breeze. There are businessmen purchasing cigars outside of taxi stops and ******* within the depths of knick knack shops. Everybody’s stocking up for tonight’s white wrist band karaoke bash on the top floor of each and every all inclusive resort and nobody’s holding back any expenses.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Dreams, visions, hopes.” replies the Preceptor.

it's not that i hate this city and want to divorce myself from everyone i know here.
it's not that i won't miss the little things about being here that make it
too easy to stay,
it's just that i think it's wrong for someone to never leave the place they bettered themself
for more than a week
it's just that i don't want to die anymore and i'm learning how to be
more adventurous
it's about taking risks, and not letting the potential for failure prevent me
from making my dreams come true.
it's about believing in the crazy things that seem impossible and ridiculous
to other people when you tell them about your plans
it's about being simultaneously terrified and relieved that you get
a second chance at life
it's about giving everything up for four months to be immersed
in a completely different world
it's about knowing that it's not always going to be sunshine and rainbows,
but not letting that stop you.
it's about not being able to take another long hot summer here
because being numb has gotten old and too-familiar.
it's about missing someone more than you can ever explain.
it's about having a long-distance friendship but not letting that
keep you apart.
it's about choosing life,
it's about getting out of my comfort zone
it's about being
undefinable
it's about having people say, "well what about after? what are you going to do after this?"
and being okay
with not knowing.

I don't really like birthdays
I guess I just don't like the falseness
Like don't get me wrong
Having people you care about
Show they care about you is nice
But it's this Facebook crap I really can't  stand
Like, I get hundreds of happy birthdays
From people I don't even know
From people who don't even know me
But even worse
From people who actually don't like me
They feel the need to put on this face
To pretend they care when they don't
I don't mean to be cynical
It's just my real friends will most likely call me
Or ad least text me personally
No, I have no time for the Facebook brigade
Jumping on a bandwagon
Just because you feel you will be frowned upon if you don't
From now on I'm boycotting birthdays, I think
And removing my date of birth from these sites
Social media has ruined the thrill
Of getting a happy birthday
Off someone you never knew cared enough to remember

"What's your favorite color?"
This is my least favorite question.
I don't believe in one favorite color.
A single color repeated over and over gets boring, redundant.
The color of his eyes when he laughs.
Or the color of the moon against the deep blackness around it.
Or a small blue flame.
Those are beautiful colors.
They are colors composed of a million other colors.
But there is no single color that can be defined from them.
No hue or shade or opacity that can recreate such a refraction of light.
No combination of reds or greens or blues can even begin to mimic their beauty.

If I am to never have love again,
To be plagued with the inability to love,
Do not let me be alone.
No, if I can not have love,
Let me have the next best thing.
Allow me the courtesy of building up a wall of your kisses,
Separating myself from the harsh reality.
Wrap me in oblivious arms as I close my blind eyes.
Pretend to love me, whisper me sweet nothings,
And I will return the lies.
I will be just as unloving and numb as you, my dear.
And we will pretend to be the happiest two you ever did see.

The smell of cigarette ashes
     is for me.
Musty, slow, deep and strong,
Breathe in gradually,
But breathe.

The scent reminds euphoria,
     of smokers long past.
A past even more so.

So if you catch me breathing in deep,
When you let out a lung of smoke,
     Remember I am just remembering.

It was my first time
In the city.
It was very loud,
And very crowded.
I was a grain of sand
In an ocean of salt water.
No one looked at me.
No one smiled.
I wandered aimlessly
Through the mass of people.
I bought a slice of pizza
That tasted like grease and tomatoes,
Leaving four dollars and 38 cents
In my pocket.
As I left the pizza place
I noticed a man.
He was very sad looking,
And horribly thin.
He was all alone
With only a plastic grocery bag.
I looked at him
And the city died.
My interest in buildings
And shops
And pavement,
Gone.
Lost in the broken eyes
Of one man.
I went up to him
And I said "hello."
He looked at me
And gave me a smile,
But his eyes were still empty.
I asked him
If I could give him a hug,
And it seemed that his eyes
Exploded.
He nodded yes,
And I took him in my arms.
He was very cold
Under two jackets
And the hot Boston sun.
As I pulled away,
He said to me
With tears in his eyes
"Thank you."
I simply extended my hand
With four dollars and 38 cents in it.

I don’t want to be something someone asks you about just because they don’t know any other conversation-starters.
I don’t want to be the last drag of your cigarette only for you to say “Oh well I’ll just light another one.”
I don’t want to be a suicide note you read over and over again trying to understand why you never understood me.
I don’t want to be the symbol behind your sorrow, I don’t want to be the last lilac sitting in a vase on your kitchen table watching you try to keep it alive.
I don’t want to be that song you listen to over and over trying to recreate something that you never even experienced to begin with.
I don’t want to be that picture you keep above your bed, I don’t want to be the half-eaten meal you fed to the dogs instead.
I don’t want to be compared to that thing that is killing you that I can’t control. But I am. I am. I am.
I’m sorry.

I romanticized you
to the point where
the knives you pressed
into my skin
began to look
like Cupid’s arrow

push it down until it isn't there
blocked out
blacked out
like those years
2.5

bodies hard and sweaty in the dark
hands and tongues
reaching
searching


2.5
forget and never forgiven
but somehow you do
specks of blue
across my chest



2.5
light the night for us
betrayal
but not betrayed
for not one; but two




2.5

Patient and waiting
Caring yet feelings hidden
Believe the lies and ditch out the truth
Evade me more and you will suffer longer
Those events that happened so quickly
At the same pace you will lose them
Try to stop the present
Lose sight of your future
Unknown and unclear
These paths unmarked
With a tilt of your head
You always look up
Answers aren't above you but within
You seek for something greater
Catch it now or you’ll be catching it later
You know there’s nothing out there
Nothing is of value
Nothing to wait for

Can I have you?

Can I have your morning eyes

and late night yawns?


Can I have your deep sighs

after long days of work,
and joyous laughter

from watching your

favorite shows?


Can I have your frightening

holler when you’re angry,

and your low moans when

you feel pleasure?


Can I have the tears that

streak your face when
you’re down,

and the heart that beats

within you to keep you alive?


Can I have every part of you

the body will always remember
what the mind will spend
a lifetime trying to forget.
And there is just no running away
from that.

They say it's
depression.
I say it's
not.
I am not sad
Or blue
Or even
Slightly
Despondent.
I am just
here.
Nothing.
E m p t y .
N  u  m  b  .

I’m such an awful person
And I’m so sorry  

You deserve so much better

and i think when they see me on that stage
they see something you could have been
had your sickness not swallowed you whole
and i think when they see the light hit my face
they see a beacon that illuminates the cages of
lost souls
and i think when they see me open my mouth
they see butterflies and bats and birds and brand new constellations
and i think when they look into my eyes
they see oceans and flowers and dreams of a child
waiting to be born.

I am an ocean.
And
you have
polluted every
inch
of me.