The girl who sewed
Together the moon
Because the midnight black
Was all too dark
Sat with a mug of
Hot chocolate beside her
As she worked,
Each stitch more careful
Than the one before.

Once she finished,
Her hair melting into the
Night and her eyes
Greener than the sea she
So often sunk herself in,
She strung her creation on
The rusted nail set in the
Sky, dangling by a strand of
Fishing line,

Only so my nights would no
Longer be so dark,
So my dusks showed me
Dawn was something possible,

And the moon did indeed die each night
So the gold of day could come along.

The wind swept the land
And took my heart along with,
Stagnant in air so still and
Cold, frozen in mid-beat,
Suspended, forever captured,
But it was you, darling,
It was you who
Reached just a little further
Out than most would dare,
It was you who stretched
Over the fall below,
Legs dangling this way and
That over the gutter of
The roof in which you sat,
Straining until finally, all
At once, you pulled my
Heart so trapped into the
Warmth of your embrace,
And all the fruitless efforts
Of those before vanished.
But oh, how I was shaken
To see you gaze back,
Eyes like the sea so
Green, and plummet to
The darkness below,
Clutching my heart the
Entire way down,
The flow of your wind-blown
Hair covering the tears
You shed as you
Fell.

I'm listening to songs I
Only quite understood
When my arm and my
Mind were wrapped around you,

The only thing holding me down
Was once the dreary 3am
Fatigue our conversations brought,
Now it's the memory that used to be.

So here I sit, writing
Poems about what once was
Thought to be a forever,
What could have been forever

Had we let it,
Had you allowed it,
And yes, this poem I
Write is as dull as your

Eyes that once shone so bright,
Reflecting upon an "if" so long ago,
And how it pains me that it's
Not still the dream we had

                             Once dreamt.

Your lungs strain, old,
Torn, a rush of air
Pushing from your chest,
And all you remember is

A troubled flow of blood to
Your head and a quavering breath,
Shaken and hollow and your
Eyelids weigh with all the

Gravity of the world,
Pulling you closer to her,
Bright light,
A lingering touch of her fingers

Against yours, the brush of
Her hair that reeks of decay,
But smells so nostalgically satisfying
In itself.

For love, don't ever leave me alone
In this world unlit by a moon,
I'll follow you close behind.

The sky is gray, dead,
Dying, like my thoughts,
It's warm passion far from bloom,
Shriveled in the chill of the dim.

The vast entirety of nothing
Fills the spaces in between,
And little flakes of Heaven
Shimmer to their collective

Pools of concentrated inspiration,
A burden once enjoyed,
No longer found,
Trapped in childhood wishes.

Sh, my Darling,
Slip on your mask,
Protect yourself from the poisons
Of the world,
The world we,
The creators,
Builders,
Constructors of such a thing
Have reduced to rubble
Just the same,
And Darling,
If you find your eyelids
Feel heavy and your
Breathing slowed,
Drift away from this
Wasteland in the
Comfort of my arms,
And find a better tomorrow.

Is it wrong
That I glance up at the clouds,
Feeling the wind through my hair,
And dream of a mystifying land
Where one can be accepted no matter what?

Is it wrong
That I choose to wear jeans down past my heels,
Baggy and ripped at the knees,
Unlike all the other boys that wear athletic
Shorts, so unscathed and clean?

Is it wrong
That I ask people about their troubles,
Sometimes doing all in my mortal power
To help them surpass the simple,
Even ones I have not defeated myself?

Is it wrong
That while the few friends I have
Dance around giddily and go to
The most extreme only to impress,
But I only hang back in silent content?

Is it wrong
That I do not laugh when others are hurt,
On their knees in blood stained mud,
And I am there with hand outstretched,
Seeming to always be there in time of need?

Is it wrong
That I do not clap, nor do I support
Ones I do not find worthy of it,
Ones who I find in my perspective to be
Quite cruel and bitterly heartless?

Is it wrong
That I choose to sit in the back,
Observe and question from a far,
And wonder why when I do speak up,
It is only taken as a leaf crying softly in the wind?

Is it wrong
That I choose to be one of a kind,
Not part of the crowd, not swimming along
In the universal current of life,
Being my own group, my own person?

They tell me that you cannot win life
Without backstabbing and betrayal along the way,
No matter who you are inside or how honest you are.

But I believe this can only be this:
**The world can only be changed if someone is willing to take the steps to change it.