Still water
resting
at the
bottom
of a
Pacific ocean
tide
pool,

reflections
of you
in my
mind
in the
Sunday
morning
light.

sometimes
I can imagine
I hear you
laughter
carried in
harmony
to me
on a
a salt-kissed
circling
wind.

and I
sit for
a moment
and smile.

I always
smile.

it is
a giving
thing that
you do.

your gentle
manner
of truth
and innocence.

I can always
feel it
there in
you eyes...

you are


where
good  poets
go to
die.

“what are we?” she asked

with despair, he replied, ”we’re nothing”

You
With your words
The Knife.
You.

Me
Knowing and not knowing,
Afraid and clueless.
Me.

Us
A thing that used to be,
The dust on the mantle.
Us.

We
Will never be the same
The blood that was spilled across the floor.
We.

This crime scene filled with pain and sorrow and regret.  The murderer and the victim one in the same—but also separate.  Two hearts that both dance to the same miserable song.

Get a job,
a husband or wife.
Make yourself comfortable
in your own life.
So they tell me
or would have told me
if they were still alive.
But they are dying slowly
by the magic pills.
They are no longer there
to protect and care.
I no longer have devils
that whisper and scream.
They can do both
but now they are doing non.
And I can see myself having fun,
not caring or staring
into nothingness.
Yet it leaves me in mourning
to know they are about to die.
Maybe if I hold on a little longer
I won't be lonely and then find myself
a job, husband or wife.

I thought you would be the one to save my soul
This game has gotten old
You can’t keep on playing with me
I’ve always been history
You broke all we built more like what I built
You already make me deal with all the guilt
I’ll never move on from your poisonous love
I wanna hurt you with a boxing glove
It’s 6 am I’m in my bed and awake
I’m just another thing you wanted to break
This is all because of cupid
I’m so stupid
I wanna be alone
And stop falling for stupid boys

If I wrote poems in my dreams,
then I'd write in black and white

If I wrote poems in my dreams,
then I'd convey messages through silence

If I wrote poems in my dreams.
then my writing would hold knowledge it doesn't when awake

If I wrote poems in my dreams,
then you'd see a side of me that even I don't know

The hidden
Lost in the shadows
With no light shone
Living lives
Away from the
World

The lights go out
You see them now
They are not
Hidden
Anymore

The lights come back
And there they are
They were never hidden
But hidden
From you