I often find myself wishing I would have appreciated how we held hands just a little bit more. How we used each other's shoulders as something soft to lay our cloudy heads on. How we would blink just a little bit harder each time we looked each other in the eyes. How we loved each other like kittens.

I am a very sad and tired little boy, with little to look forward to. Not  a birthday, not an adventure, not a curiosity.
Everyday I realize what I lack, or I don't.
I'm only taking what is given to me, and trying not to look back.

His soul was consumed by her. The very sun that once had shined so incandescently, had darkened. Anguish shriveled him into a freeze, what was he doing with the time he had left?

Would it make you feel better,
If I told you the sound of crying
Sounds like laughter at times.

It could be better, right?

Brother, we knew each other.
And then it was gone, like laughter on the wind.
It faded to a gentle breeze on my skin.

Brother, we knew each other.
Though, fathers we never knew, we did what we could to become what we wanted.
Things we didn't say, if time had been kinder, you'd have been a great uncle to my kids one day.

Brother, one day I'll find your smile etched in the grass.
The wind still carrying your laugh across those green fields.
I'll carry you with me wherever I've gone, till I'm gone.

Tis a nightmare, to think and then sleep, and sleep yet still think.
    Voices from the past echo in endless black at the back of my eyelids, the chasms of my mind showing me there are many things worse than death. Oh yes, by a thousand fold.
   I fall into the darkness, like lead weighs me down. I can't breathe, yet, I can still think, I die a thousand deaths, and yet, I can still think..

   But
     I
  can't
    do
     a
thing.

    The questions my dreams beg for me to answer make me ever restless, the answers heavenbound, as I

sink

sink

sink


into the abyss.

There is only so much a man can write before he is someone else entirely. So leave him be while he is still himself. Run away.

It is beautiful to help the one you love, but is even more so beautiful to know that they don't need your help.

They can be strong all their own if needed be.

To think that they would speak of desires and wants so soon, want shall bring disappointment, disappointment will only bring sadness. I've come to this wretched place to speak of a beautiful end for the each of us. Disgusting parasites leech the middle and beginning so ferociously that the end is only going to crash and tumble.
Take time with what is going to take place throughout this burdensome story, or your end will be atrocious.

Maybe I can understand how you felt going back to that place now. That place that caused you such great pain even being near, so much that you wished all of the emptiness that it caused in your heart could be used as mileage, that way you would never have to stop.

Now that I'm surrounded by this shroud, this storm. I want to put thousands of miles inbetween, but I feel as though no matter where I ran to in this world, no one can ever escape their past.

We all are the lovesick poets, regurgitating the world as we see it, while we have dances with Gods and Devils. We dine on ashes each night, breathe in dust as we sleep.
And we dream of our deaths.

Bury me adrift, leave me remembering that even after I’m gone, the universe will go on. That you will go on, my darling little universe.

Throughout the years, death became foreign. He always exclaimed to her he would live forever, that way she'd never slightly be in sight of sorrow. But as each of them aged, his promise seemed unreal.
   Yet, as he lay atop his death bed, he did not apologize. Instead, he only spoke the words,"I love you".
And he did not lie.

I grow tired, though the early sun rises. And I'll be long gone come the blue moon. Long gone.
Yet another sun will rise, and another moon will wane.
I'll be long gone.

Your mom is right to be weary of me, her intuition isn't wrong. We're one and the same. She wants to **** me for taking you away, and I'm addicted to you and everything of you.
She isn't wrong to be afraid of losing you, but she can't blame me for that, only herself, because I know you're addicted to me too.

This feeling leaves me lost of my senses, like the sound of rain in a dream.
Loving her makes me feel like I'm lost in a world where everyone wants to be found. An infinitely expanding universe, that I will never fully explore but will never grow weary of.

And missing her is like death in a bottle, that I sip in miniscule doses prescripted by the second.

I'm not like the others.
I think I'm lower.
I'm not like the others, I'm foolish though I love you so..

I play make-believe nowadays, pretend that I'm not alive. It's the only way I know how not to fear death.

Sometimes making amends to someone you did wrong, is moving on.

And hating someone so much, isn't letting go.
I hope you really let go,  because I'm moving on.

Memories like sweet black cherry; ****, sour, soft.
Memories like the salty black sea; crashing, stranding, flowing.
Memories like plain bleached oats; vapid, flavorless,over.

In denial, full of ****.
A protector of nothing.
Selfish to all ends.
Placing blame, but I didn't put her on those meds.

A vague description of all that is emptiness, a ghost of an overwhelmingly beautiful goddess.
A man who would come to hate everything, even himself.

The void would be his blessing, the darkness his light, the pain his motive.

I hope that someday my life will be filled with mistakes, mistakes that I had learned from, mistakes that I would not come to regret. I hope that someday I will be seen as someone who made a mistake and moved on, not as someone who had regrets and got left behind.

Old poems.
Old me.

Lonely nights like these I wonder if I really still exist if I'm not so full of youth. I'm still young, but it feels like there's something missing in my heart everyday.
I miss who I once was.

That boy who was always trying to impress.
I feel I've given up in a sense. On being me, like an empty slate was the best form of self preservation. It's sad.

Like a character born from trauma, that's so colorless.

It's hard to differentiate sometimes, if I've missed you, or myself more. Or what we had, the innocence disappeared so quickly. Too quickly.

Enough is never truly enough, is it?
Something is always there, always keeping you awake at night.
You don't believe in yourself. You hold everything so dearly in your arms out of fear of losing them, and you don't understand what you are or how or why something would stick around to help find out.
But I want you to know, you are an inspiration.
Let me tell you, there isn't a one object in this universe that cannot prove to be inspiring in anyway. This world was meant to keep you alive, all you must do is take what you were given.
I plea that you will always choose to remember these words when you are at a loss for hope.
We are not here to judge one another, we are here to inspire.
And you my dear, you are my muse.

A sleepy lullaby to warm the soul. The sound of rain, and thunder in the distance, with echoes of the nearby church bell. The resonance of your world in a music box. "Keep it handy", he tells me, "When you need the world's help, wind up that little wonder like a heartbeat, and you'll feel like you're in a dream."

Another night, taking the dog out, headphones in, the moon's glare in my eye. Like a limelight.
A moment clear as I walk down the flight of stairs, and everything around suddenly becomes like stone, to sand. My clarity becomes fleeting..
again.
My delicate heart could cease on this midnight walk beneath this warm glow, and would anyone know?

Would even I, know?

I could call her my pretty baby, she could call me her fool. We could take a nice night out, keep our hands to ourselves and pretend that life was just a game, and we were it's tools.
God could take our hearts as a memoir of the night, crystallized, to keep pure and whole. Held in a pedestal, for all to awe at. And we could repeat that day over and over.
*That would be my heaven.

I've come to terms with being forgotten, being left behind. I had gotten too far ahead of myself, I thought my life dreams were right around the corner, but my life is more than just a teenage love story.

It's a Shakespearean tragedy.

Romance was a bullet to the temple, he may as well have been sentenced to death as he approached his gluttonous desire. He couldn't nearly last another day at this point, unquestionably desperate he gave in to the feeling.
Oh, the glory he felt as he held others in the palm of his hand.
The day he satisfied himself, he truly died, the day that not even god wanted to remember who he was.

You can live an entire life with someone in your dreams, and they would never know.
The first kiss you shared, and the last words you spoke to them before the waking dream loses them, neuron to neuron, cell by cell.
Then I thought,
you could do so awake as well.

Can you hate me now, and forever more?
Will you let me be, in agony. Without you?
I say no, never now, nor ever.

Sad to say this new year I just don't feel very important. Whether it's the girl I'm with or the girl I want to be with. Will it make a difference?
Or is this just a cycle I'm bound to repeat?

I didn't know what your heart desired, and we can say that's all there is to it. I'm very afraid, but you don't need to say it's okay this time around.

I often stayed awake, wondering if she felt anything like I did before I would pass out. Late at night I would come to terms with the fact that I am alone again, and that I wasn't taking it as well as I pretended to be.
This was all beginning to seem like some sort of cruel joke.

Why do the roses dance back and forth in the howling winds, as if to spite me in some way. Shaking heads in disagreement, as they breathe in and out. Huffing as if to show their disappointment of my every little detail.

I may not be a rose, but you could pick a thorn off of me and still feel love.

Life is inconceivable, an impossibility within itself. Indescribable.
Therefore, every moment we live is an impossibility.
We are the impossible that we so passionately wish to attain.

Her beautiful brown eyes no longer stare into mine, I don’t have much use for my eyes.

No longer an ear to hear me say I love them, I have no use for this voice.
My bed is void of her to hold, no use for these arms any longer.
I can no longer feel her head pressed against my chest, I have no use for my heart.

I’ve lost the one I love, I have no use for my life.

Maybe one of these days you'll find me
In the obituary, just another fool.
Split in two, and will you wonder?
What happened?

I'm not asking you to be mine for the rest of our lives. But can you be mine one day at a time, maybe even one night?

People change, and time goes on. We run like wild horses, racing to a finish line that only means death, but the race goes on long after we reach it.
The world continues to spin, the plains will breathe and grow, and the wind will whistle for as long as long you start and end.

Our only reward is the race itself, and the winner is the one who believes they have won.
And life will go on.

And as he sat alone in his room, he felt bitter remorse. Who is it that he hates? Himself, or God?
Maybe he'll die someday and remember what it felt like to be human, but until that day comes, he's nothing but a parasite.