Only when I see
     Nothing but trees
           For miles
And hear
     Nothing but wind
           For hours
Will I understand
      The things I run from.

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?

I never knew
I was drowning
Until I took a breath of you
And saw colors again
For the very first time.

What a cruel cycle
     That the cure to
           Suffering
     Is the inevitable shine
           Of beauty.

Our nights only sleepless
     Because our love never slumbers,

Whispering sweet nothings
     Better named "sweet somethings"

Because my yearning for you
     Is anything but a chasm coated with sugar,

But rather it's the draw of a future
     Laced with the hope of a content forever.

i find you
in the quiet
corners of my days
and remind myself
to again try oh so hard
    to lose you among the busy
    and all of the work
once more

All too often
I'm tempted
To fall off the face of the Earth

If not only to see
If I'd leave a mark.

In the flames of my own hell,
     I have learned to mistake the fire's burn

For comforting warmth.

You lit a fire in me,
And I know,
That's a really stupid way of saying it,

But nothing compares
To the way that you've melted
The ice that's frozen my insides,

A mushy pink slushie,
Unsure of where I begin
And the frost ends,

And I used to hear it
Every
Single
*******
Day,
Slushing and slurping
And flowing between the bones of my ribcage

Like an ocean of organs
That wanted nothing more than be to warm again,

But now I'm on fire,
And I can feel everything dripping,
Solidifying back into place,

And I swear to god,
Today I felt my heart beat again.

the cool, mid-afternoon breeze
flowing through my bedroom window
turns my heart to honey and
my feet into flowers,
rooted where I stand, though
I'm still not sure if I'm grounded
with the revitalization of defrost
or buried in unforeseen melancholy.

Here I am again;
The sky has opened
And I'm ready to see past these cloudy days,

I'm doing this for me,
Just me this time
Because if I don't my feet might get caught again,

And I don't think I can stand drowning anymore.

If I dug out
A whole chunk
     Of my chest,

Would you build
     A shrine
               In me?

What a horrid thought
To think I may die unknown
Only to become recognized
Beyond the wistful will of death,
Not because I'd miss out
On the fame akin to fluorescent bulbs,
But because I'd be eternalized as
The straws of my words,
Not sun-gleam of my being.

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.

I can feel myself slipping again
And I'm so tempted
To let myself fall.

My body is frozen,
     My ribs are icicles
Threatening to pierce
     My hollow shell
Made from whisper-thin skin,

And it may be
     The dead of summer,
But I need warmth.

Oh,
     Won't someone light
          A fire in me?

Like a daisy
Rising curious from the charcoal ash
Of a forest fire scorch

Through all the anguish and doubt,
As broad as a still summer sky
Comes clarity.

So here's to all the arsonists of the world,
Lest the beauty of metamorphism
Succumb to stagnation
And turn to rot.

Last week I told you
That I was drowning
Thinking that you'd jump in after me,

But to my surprise,
And by the way you cried, your surprise too,
You held my head under the water,
Just below the inky waves.

It was cold and muddy
And I choked on it too,
My eyes were burning
And my whole body shook
And I grasped for your hair
To try and pull myself up
But you cut it with a quick jagged slash,
And pushed me down deeper.

And soon my eyes began to hollow
And my lungs forgot to struggle
And I swear,
Through the water I saw your velvet lips part
And let out a final thought
Haphazardly tied to a sigh,

Because when I tried to tell you that I still loved you
You just let us drown.

And a shard of me hopes
That all I see
When I'm dead and buried

Are the eyes of
Everyone I've ever loved
Echoing forever against the blackness.

As a poet,
I am gifted with
The graceful knowing
That in the midst of something
Beautiful,
I am living inside
A poem being written.

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.

The burnt out fibers
Of my stretched and stained heart
Have just become taut,

Like sparks behind my eyes
And electricity at my fingers,

The world flickers into place
Like a Polaroid winking into existence,

My breaths may be shallow
But I can breath again,
And though my lungs may be rusty,
The air is clean,
The leaves are crisp,
And Winter may have just begun

But I'm feeling warmer already.

Listen to my words,
For once they speak
Without hearing themselves,
Bound by no self-realized gravity,
Buzzing around my fingertips
Like a moth lost in the
Flickering fire of a forgotten
Candle wick,

Listen to my praise,
As t................................................................­.................................................................­.................................................................­.....................................this
feels
better,

and i can speak easier here
in the white
empty
everything
of a screen
not cluttered
with scary words
of thoughts i wish
weren't fake


and just typing like this
very small
very..... free
feels so good
just being the pile of leaves
not the spectacle of a fountain is might surround,

false flows of flowery water
tainting my rusting mind
with haphazardly crafted
anecdotes of a reality

too elaborated to be real

...

i can sleep here
with one eye open
to peek at the world i fall through

like observing softly
the dancing sheet of fresh linen
riding the curves of wind, hushing
through windows half ajar

Would it be better to say
     We are a conglomerate
Of everything we love,
     Or everyone who
          Loves us?

I remembered today,
Waiting for the endless
Drone of cars
To slug down the
Crowded streets,

The brushing grace
Of your cheek
Against the inside of my palm
As I held your face close to mine,

The flowers you
Stuck in your auburn hair
Radiating bright and loud
Against the huff of blue
Summer sky,

The flash of your smile,
Brilliantly seeping
Out of the corner of your lips
As your eyes darted
To meet mine for only a moment
Suspended forever in time,

The way you whispered,
Something so gentle
I never imagined so heavy
When you lingered
"I love you"s against my lips
And pushed yourself closer,

And I remember,
I remember the way my fingers
Would tangle in the strands
Of your hair like fire,
Keeping me warm once,
Now only burning
In my memories,

And your hair was
So full of color,
But something drained it away,
Matted it and made it dull
And twisted me up in the process

Because here I sit alone,
Screaming in traffic.

Living,
Or so they say,
Is blurring the lines
Between heaven and hell
And losing yourself
In the static fog
Of ambiguity.

it was when
i realized that
the glint of silver
resting itself
like withered hands
on worn wooded counters
in the corner of my eyes
still hopeful,

it was then
that i realized it
glimmered from
the key to my freedom,
strung around my neck
within my reach but
beyond my sight

and all i had to do
was yearn for it
and open my eyes to the truth that always was.

Your skin is a pastel melody,
Though you enrich my days
With a rhythm that is
Anything but monochromatic,

Your eyes a steadfast housing
For waves of gray-blue, green speckled swirls akin
To a summer storm just before dusk,
Thunderous like your will,
Raining refreshment like your essence,

Your curved pose carved in
In loops of my mind
You're always seemingly tangled in,
About where we will go to eat
This weekend, and
How many hours we will lay
Huddled up like hibernating cubs
In a nest we've built from blankets,

Winters no longer soaked with solace,
But now with the eager chance
To shut ourselves in,
If not only to enjoy the eternal company
Of two beings who love being with each other.

Now forever doesn't seem so nearly long
When I'm tripping over days
And sliding through the weeks
With you,

You make the cold days seem
Too brief in their presence,
And every day a little bit warmer
Than the last.

If my flesh could sing,
It'd bellow, it yearn in endless echo
For the familiar comfort
Of your fingers gracing over me
On a lazy Sunday morning
With nothing better to do
But enjoy one another,

For no longer am I
A man standing lonesome against the
Stiff gust of the present moment,
But a being who is only a
Malformed morph of skin and bones
Without the extension of myself,
The inner of my core,
The hue of all my colors,

The movement behind my dancing,
The alleviation to all my sorrows,
You,
For now, and for as long as I am me,
You,
For tomorrow, from yesterday, and all the years we dream,
You,
For as long as time tells and suns set,
You.

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.

why can't the night be longer
so i can stay hidden
just a while more

I'm trapped in a room,
     And so despertly
     I throw myself
Against the walls
     In a vain attempt
     To bleed out
This intoxication I stumble with,
     But I must be crazy,
For my walls are padded.

Tonight,
All I wanted to do
Was to stand in the center
Of my old high school football field
Lingering loudly in the shadows
Beyond my home,

And stare at the sky,
And scream,
Just ******* scream,

Because I am drowning
In my memories
And the flood
Needs to go somewhere.