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III Jan 2018
Ice
If her smile was snow,
     Then her eyes were the sky,
For I found myself
     Losing my thoughts
          In the ink of her iris,

And beautiful music
Played over her voice,
But I'm not entirely sure
Whether it was the twist
     Of the song
Or the curves of her words
     That enchanted me more.
III Jan 2018
I used to be afraid
Of eyes deep and fierce,
    Frightened that if I
    Looked too close,
They'd melt my skin
    And pierce my throat,

But a gaze from you,
    Sturdy and built
    Upon a lip biting
         Tension practically manifested
    In the cool winter air
         Between our noses I
    Wish were touching,

A glance like that
    From eyes like yours
Begs me to yearn
    Your permission to
    Lose myself in them.
III Jan 2018
The boy who made
     A simple incision
     Above his heart
With the inky
Blade of a pen
Stuck a razor
          Inside,
And who moved his hand
     Like a blender
Lived to tell
The tale of
The girl down
     His block,
Who swore
     She'd be beautiful,

And laughed at
The misfortune of it all
As they crossed her arms
     And buried her when her
          Chest fell,
But didn't rise up quick enough again.
Part 2
III Jan 2018
The girl who tied
     Roses around her
     Tongue in hopes
To taste no evil
Bled to death
    With thorns
          In her teeth.
Part 1
III Jan 2018
The butterflies inside of me have something to say,
        But I can’t let them speak.

They’re strung up in
        Some tangled mess of mesh
And mutter muted melodies
        From behind some scratching,
               Screaming screen
        Knitted from my fibers of fear,
               Or maybe manifested void of muse
                       And licked with the salt of uncertainty.

The butterflies inside of me have something to say,
          But I cut off their wings.

They sputter and swirl and sweep up
         Dusty remnants of chipped paint
                Inside my chest,
         But because I’m empty,
                Barren and dull,
                Cloudy and cold
        And cracked and crazy,
        Their tiny shrillness
        Of struggling wings
                And straining strings
                        Of voice tainted with winter
                Hits me without impact,
                        No pressure in their phrase,
                        No sincerity in their praise,

The butterflies inside of me have something to say
        But their colors aren’t bright enough to read.
III Jan 2018
Recently, it seems,
I drive my little blue car,
With more miles on its transmission
Than it has left to safely travel,
And I turn my music up loud,

Loud enough to shake the frame
Of my little blue car,
Competing against the wind
That taps my door
In suppressed shivers,
Pushing and pushing,
Trying to run me off the road,

Loud enough to where it is solid,
A single mass of volume and sound
Slithering down my throat
With each raspy breath I pull in,
Like the One-A-Day vitamins
I keep "forgetting" to take,

Loud enough to remind the birds,
The ones that lagged behind
And forgot to fly south this winter
To shoot off the creaking pine branches
Drenched in the sweat of melting snow,

And it's those things,
The pine needles socializing with the whispering wind,
The shimmer of glossy hazard when my headlights reflect off the pavement,
The rust of chain-link fences scrapping into Spring,
These are the things that rationalize the beat of my music
In my little blue car
Speeding along without purpose.
III Jan 2018
Ernest Hemingway once said:
"Write hard and clear about what hurts",
And I have neither written hard
Nor clear
About the ache eating my heart
Or the ink in my throat,

Because you see,
It was so much more than losing you.

I lost the stars I drew on my ceiling
Above my bed,
Where we had laid in a sea of sheets
And a chasm of pillows,
Because it was both raining and noon
But you wanted to see the stars
So I made them for you.

I lost Gilbert Park,
Where we would sit in the dark of the night
Listening to songs we didn't understand
But ones that made us feel,
And your pale hand clasped mine
As though the rain would sweep our car away.

I lost the family dinners,
All the inside jokes
Between distant relatives
And your brother who always looked up to me
And your little cousin who never could say my name right
But it was so funny that eventually
The entire family began to say it wrong on purpose,
Even years later when he said it correctly.

And I lost the little things too,
Like knowing exactly which floor board
Would squeak in your house,
And how your dad would decorate
The entire lawn for every holiday,
Even for the ones people would forget about otherwise.

And I remember how when we'd walk
Hand in hand,
Our steps would maintain a perfect rhythm,
In sync the entire time

And I lost so much more than words could ever say
And I just want to slam my hands on my keyboard
And wish away the pain
And **** why don't the words pour like they used to,

It's all sticky and my veins feel clotted
With frustration and heat
And the sky has cracked
And my walls are crumbling
And everything is dizzy and it's hard to stand
Because I used you as my crutch
But now I have to remember how to walk alone
In a world where I have to pretend
You don't exist
Because time heals all wounds
But why can't time go any ******* faster?
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