I've had the same song on repeat,
wanna turn it up so loud I can't breathe,
or feel, or need,
don't even think it would help if I screamed.
We were just kids,
I can't find myself,
thinking about you like this.
Underline the lyrics in bold,
every italicized word
is a story we told.
Shout them out the windows on the long ride home,
I don't wanna fight,
it's starting to get cold.

Bleeding words every time you touch me,
you'd think this was about love,
but we've had that,
so please just **** me.
Sharpen your feelings,
clean up my lens,
this is where the adventure begins.
Your hands on my skin,
all I can think is,
"God, I wanna feel this again".

I visit him,
daily.
We are young,
17 is just a number, when
options are endless,
surprising situations,
answers to questions never far behind.

I visit him,
often.
Arguments arrange reasons to,
"Leave it at that".

Continuation of hope,
holding onto,
hope and holding on, too.

I visit him,
sometimes.
Time teaches some things,
not all things.

Aging is a continuation,
forever young,
he will be to you and me.

Misunderstanding,
Miss Understanding,
lies to get you there.

Forest walls captivate a longing,
to leave.
The leaving letters,
are no where in sight.

Clean your room.
Change your clothes.
Money talks,
And 300 says a lot to a man,
somewhere, in some city,
maybe nearby.

Newspaper print,
words with improper wording,
leak your legacy,
to our fingertips.

I visit him,
daily.
For a while.

He is young.
Always to stay in a memory.
Gone is a declaration,
to declare a reason to forget.
Death is a substitute,
to subtract our feelings instead.

Searching for reasons,
you're a detective in this,
mystery of a true life story.

I visit him,
rarely.
His appearance has changed.

She said,
"Grief is like the ocean".
I'd rather be there instead.
Keep searching for a reason,
why did he choose this season?

Falling down in fall,
favorite memories linked to,
downfall.

Brown dirt as brown as,
your once golden brown eyes.
Gold is hidden from this treasury.

I visit him,
seldom.
Moving on is growing up too,
selfish it seems,
to continue without you.

"The memories are trapped inside me like a punishment".
Conversations. Conversions. Concepts. Continue.
Complex.
Time and space,
cannot get me back to you.

Practice medicine.
I’ll practice taking clothes out of my cardboard box.
Where do you live?
Inside a medicine cabinet or a luxury house?
Here I sit in this imaginary room.
The toys you use; I wouldn’t have a clue.
People talking all around me,
yet I can’t follow the tune.
The gallery is new,
noses pressed against the glass.
Everyone wondering will I fail or will I pass?
I went in hoping to pass on, too,
wishing I would no longer belong to you.
Pass and fail you choose the end,
there is no control over these bodies you gain,
And then.
Words come out,
telling them you’re wrong.
A degree in common sense can’t win over law.
Cut, swallow, sew me up,
as money piles and fills your cup.
You made the rules and
even the winner dies and the losers lose.
My box is empty,
you took my insides.
Once they are gone they are never again mine.
Patience, patients,
the doctors are in.
But to do what to us?
To lie, and lie again.
You say practice,
And I feel fail.
Eyes full of distrust,
a taste for pain.
Short windows to gain or lose,
And without this game neither I choose.
I’d have my hands free,
Instead of taped down.
Lying on the table,
able to hear all the sounds.
Memories can fade,
But disease remains.
A rampant reminder of all the pain.
Dishing it out,
as though I can take it all in.
Why is it so important for you to win in the end?
You remain wrong,
The sick stay weak.
Excuses rise in times like these.
Know it all looks it up in a book,
using diagrams to sew me up.
Details left out about what to expect.
What sort of real reality is next?
Afraid to admit you wouldn’t know,
another blind out keeps your soul.

I have these dreams.
I'm taking photos of our feet,
all tangled and wrapped in blankets and sheets.
Mine are bare.
I tell myself "this is yours to keep".
So I'm holding it to my chest inside my paper lamenated memories.
There's that box on the floor that holds the keys, my heart, and more to see.
Because this is all a secret to keep.

Locked in the basement
Locked inside my head
I'd be better off alone instead
Been years of this
Abuse and misery
Wishing you were the one hurting
Instead of me
Spilling all over the floor
Emotions trapped under old boards
You've got me in your teeth
And there you'll keep me
It's been years and hate how often I think
"I wish we didn't even have to speak"

Sometimes I wonder if I could
get back to that grief
like an ocean it washed
over me
would I be able to find
the artist in me?
I've never been able to write
like when I was with you
when we were free.
Like when you had left
a story in the papers
an old memory at best.
And it makes me sad to think
you weren't even my muse for long
when we knew each other for many years.
Mistakes were made
to get no where fast
you're gone for good
and I just wish we could speak.