I fear.
I fear that one day I'll say something,
I fear that one day you'll see something,
I fear that one day I will do something…
I fear there will come a moment when I give you a reason to leave.
I fear that you will become bored of me.
I fear that despite what you think of me now, a day will come when the mist will be cleared away.
I fear that this fear is what will assure our undoing.
I fear that my fear will be the reason you leave.
I fear this.

I fear I will become nothing more than a face in the crowd and a name easily forgotten.
I fear that I will fall victim to my mind again and there will be nothing I can do to stop it.
I fear this not because it has happened before, but because I care.
I fear this because I care.
I care because it's worth the fear.
I care because I can tell that you are someone I want to be around.
I care because there is a connection to you I feel that is almost chemical.
I care because it's who I am.
I care because of who you are.
I care.
And that is why I fear.

If you’re listening to this right now hoping to hear something new,
Hoping to hear something that might inspire you
Or give you that rush you’ve been looking for…
Just…
Keep looking…

We’ve all said it before...
That we’re looking for something…
That we’re just not sure what it is...

And I think that -for the most part- we deserve that.
That uncomfortable mystery.
I mean…
What’s the point of reading a book if you already know how it ends?
If you knew what you were looking for,
There’s no adventure in the search for it.
So why is it that every time I see a sunset...
My gut reaction is to run away from it?
Like I’m trying to repent for wasting my day but I don’t know why.
It didn’t feel like I was wasting it until it was over and by then…
The sun was already setting.

Let me try to make more sense of this…

So you’re 8 years old.
Not once in those 8 years have you ever worried
That you won’t be enough,
That you won’t amount to anything.
In those 8 years you’ve been in spaceships and castles.
You’ve gone from training wheels to treasure maps.
Streetlights were your curfew
And the sunset never seemed like an ending.
You went to bed that night and woke up 10 years later in a panic Looking for something you lost the day before.
The world was falling apart
And the sun hadn’t even made an appearance yet.
Your spaceships have landed
And your treasure maps turned out to be dead ends...

The swing set couldn’t get you out of orbit
And you didn’t find what you were looking for
In that hole in the back yard.

You’re 18…
Everything feels like the ending of the story
And you don’t even know the plot yet.
You start drawing treasure maps again
And everyone thinks you’re crazy,
But all you’re really trying to do find is what you lost so long ago
And when they tell you to just retrace your steps…
None of the footprints look like you own.

You start running in reverse.
Whether it be to get away from yourself or who you thought you were, It doesn’t matter.
The point is that you’re looking for something.
You start dusting off old treasure maps and try to revisit the stars.
What once was your castle
Is now just an old blanket next to the couch in the living room.
You start to panic.
Frantically you search for the moment of impact
When your rocket returned home
And the lid of the treasure chest slammed shut.
But you won’t find it.
It’s not there anymore.
You start to notice how empty your gut feels,
Yet at the same time so heavy.

So you’re 18 years old.
You’ve started to worried that you won’t be enough.
That you won’t amount to anything.
In these 18 years you’ve been in spaceships and castles.
You’ve gone from training wheels to taking tests.
Streetlights are no longer your curfew
And every sunset is a different ending.
You’ll go to bed tonight
And wake up 10 years from now in a panic
Looking for something you lost the day before.
The world never stopped falling apart
And the sun hasn’t even made an appearance yet.
Your spaceships have landed
And your treasure maps turned out to be dead ends...

And I think that -for the most part- we deserve this.
This uncomfortable mystery.
I mean…
What’s the point of reading a book if you already know how it ends?
If you knew what you were looking for,
There’s no adventure in the search for it.
So why is it that every time I see a sunset...
My gut reaction is to run away from it?
Maybe because I know I’m still searching for something
And my time is running out.
And everyday when I wake up,
Panicked,
Looking for something I lost the day before
The world starts falling apart…
But by then…
The sun is already setting.

We’ve all said it before...
That we’re looking for something…
That we’re just not sure what it is…

And at the end of that day,
What you're looking for could be right in front of you,
Plain as the sunset,
But you'll never know unless you keep your eyes open,
And keep looking.

So if you’re listening to this right now hoping to hear something new,
Hoping to hear something that might inspire you
Or give you that rush you’ve been looking for…
Just…
Keep looking…

I never thought I'd get to see the stars up close, but as we lay here in my car, her arms wrapped around mine, our tired souls entwined like the Big and Little Dipper, I can't help but look out the window and feel like I'm holding the universe in my arms. Have I ever told you about how her brown eyes shine brighter than any sun? Or how supernovae can't compare to the explosions that race down my skin when we touch. It makes me think of all the black holes that exist and how her smile was the one I got pulled into. As I'm writing this - she's tracing constellations onto my arm while she fades off to sleep. And here I sit, between her and the stars, yet I can't help but feel that I'm holding the universe in my arms.

You know, after meeting her it’s easy to understand why hurricanes are named after people, although I can’t say for certain if they name storms subsequently in her honor or out of pure lust. I really want to know what’s going on inside of her head. I can’t seem to stop thinking about her eyes. All storms have eyes, true, but hers seem to be calmer than the rest. I mean - so there she is, right? - the first time you see her, she doesn't notice you, yet you can’t help but understand. The way she reads books is like she’s memorizing scripture. She carries a sense of reverence with her I’ve only experienced when someone talks about God and I’ve been thinking about her eyes and cathedrals. I’ve been thinking about what it might be like to be her favorite hoodie. Her smile, whether it’s genuine or not, tears me in two and I am ******* afraid of her with lipstick on. I’m afraid that if I tell her I want to kiss her she will think I mean kiss her and not “kiss her”. I wonder if anyone’s ever tried touching her soul. Marble statues know her name, and not for the reasons you’d expect. I’m thinking about her eyes again. I want to know what’s going through her mind when I look at her and see her eyes. After meeting her, it’s easy to understand why my mom warned me about addictions. The kind of addictions where the thought of bare skin and bed sheets leaves you in a cold sweat. The innocent idea of her lips has you craving a feeling that doesn’t exist. Where you’d give every poem you had for just a drop of her eyes. After her, I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at the stars the same way without wondering how their shine always falls short of reaching the space between her skin and mine. She’s a work of art cast in skin and bone. Eyes. She’s the calm during the storm. I once read somewhere that the girls you read about in books don't exist, but as I watch the way she turns pages like shes being reborn, or the way she walks in late to class sometimes and the whole world seems to notice as the gravity of the room shifts all its attention to her, it’s hard to believe she wasn’t written perfectly to play her part. The way she baptized the asphalt with my car left me reborn at the other end of the steering wheel. You know, she once told me, “It’s crazy to me to think about how most people don't have these problems.” And all I could think about was how to a blank canvas, paint must seem like scars, yet to the artist it’s a release. Eyes, but this time they’re closed. The whole storm, passing around us in a constant story line at 100 miles per hour, and here she is, just as lost as everyone else. Sometimes I fear that my hands might break her, but then I remember that a storm lives beneath her skin and end up thinking about her eyes.

He hurts people.
Not by choice, no, but by design.

He’s like a kitchen knife or a razor.
Hurting people is not what he was made for,
But looking at the way they work,
You’d never be able to tell that.

Hurting people, for example, is not what a razor was made to do,
But it’s very good at it.
And a kitchen knife wasn't made to ****,
But with a blade like that,
Few things are more effective.

He wasn’t made to hurt people,
But when his mind interprets every breath you take as scripture,
And the way he finds earthquakes in your heart beat,
And how when even on the coldest nights
He manages to find warmth in the way your eyes glow like the moon,
How he wonders what it’s like to be your favorite hoodie,
Or how long your smell will linger after you’ve left,
How by nature his thoughts compare fire to your touch,
And ice to your lips,
When you ask him how his day was and he genuinely can’t remember
Because the sound of your voice was the first thing he felt all day,
You’d never be able to tell.

Yes, He will admit it.
He has edges sharper than razors,
And a mind that will cut you into a million fall leaves of every shade of fire.
But he wasn’t made to hurt people.
He just does by design.

He’s always been afraid.
She was always petrified.
They both always craved control,
They were similar in that way,
We all are.

You know,
Something I‘ve been meaning to tell you is that
The devil isn’t red and he doesn't have horns.
He’s got brown eyes and a charming smile.
He won’t lead you to do evil things,
And he won’t make your life hell.
No,
He will make you do that yourself.
His role?
He’s there to comfort you,
Bring you in,
Hold you close,
He will tell you that he can save you,
Only him.
“Without him, you’re nothing.”
You’re worthless, he’s made you believe it.
“You’re lucky to have him.”
He’s a parasite.
He will say anything to make you stay.
He’s afraid.

And another thing,
She isn’t all scars and sad poems.
There are stars hidden in her lungs
That she whispers into sweet poetry
Hoping that one line, just one, will be enough.
She won’t write you into stanzas,
She won’t be your muse.
No,
You’ve been poetry this whole time.
Her role?
She’s there to make art,
To feel every emotion
Deeper than the bottles she drinks to make them go away.
She will write,
She will turn him into midnight poems
And cries to be set free
From all of this.
“Darling, the moon doesn't shine for you.”
She understands this and he won't accept it.
“You’re the only poem I know how to write.”
She’s a poet.
She will do anything to make him stay.
She’s petrified.

He tore her down and bruised her soul,
And she turned him into art.

The world might not remember how she felt,
But they will read her poems and know,
The devil isn’t red and he doesn't have horns.
He’s got brown eyes and a charming smile.
And
She isn’t all scars and sad poems.
There were stars hidden in her lungs
That she whispered into sweet poetry.

He was afraid,
And she was petrified,
We all are.

It’s what we all strive to be, the idea of being enough. Maybe not forever, but just for a moment. A moment long enough to make everything else seem to fade, but this too will pass and you’ll find yourself wondering why you weren't enough. What flaw made them leave?

You couldn't have changed what happened, and that’s what eats at you, having to live with someone else's choices. She left, he killed himself, we grew apart, they laughed at your pain, and you stood there helplessly watching it happen because that’s all you could do.

She made me feel the way a sunset colors the sky. Her flowing hair rolled over her shoulder blades like ocean waves cresting on the sandy shores of some forgotten paradise. The way she walked -or rather- the way she carried herself, was as if her every movement was conducted by the the wind itself. She was poetry and I was helpless to become a poet in her wake. But she was cold, Her heart was bone dry like a winter night and her motives made alcohol turn to ice. The curve of her hips perfectly replicated a trigger and I could think of no sweeter death than to have one of her bullets be that last thing to go through my mind. It was then I realized how a man could play Russian roulette. The way her lips pursed every time she saw me made me understand why men went to war. Her hands fit the curve of my neck like a noose and there was nothing I wanted to do but hang. Looking at her was staring at the sun and it wasn't until I met her that I understood what my mother meant when she told me not to touch a hot stove, because things that glow often burn us. Yet just like the hot stove, I failed to learn this until I tried.

And so he broke,
Just as the clouds break.
Revealing everything that had built up Inside for the whole world to see.
The cracking of honest thunder, crying.
The apologetic downpour of rain, tears.
But if lightning strikes and no one's around to hear it, did he still break?

He broke.

I don’t  remember the last time I kissed a galaxy,
I don’t remember what it feels like to be seen.
I can’t remember the last time I touched a star,
So darling, let’s go stargazing.

The sun wants to know how you light up the night,
The moon wants to know how you glow, it’s amazing.
I want to know how you burn so bright,
So darling, let’s go stargazing.

Only Jupiter holds a storm like your heart,
Only the stars give you worthy praising.
The space in between us is far too great,
So darling, let’s go stargazing.

The night sky holds all of our dreams,
The morning sun will soon be raising.
I don’t think I've seen a star shine like your eyes,
So darling, let’s go stargazing.

There’s a place I know where we could never go,
But it’s the most beautiful place I've seen.
And there's no one I’d rather take than you,
So darling, let’s go stargazing.

It won’t happen all at once, but sooner or later you’ll look around and bed sheets will be covering everything you knew and the weight of the dust and debris will suffocate you as you try to scream for everyone to come back.

I want to tell you something,
But before I start I want to make one thing very clear;
This isn't a confession.

There was a time when I started helping others
Because I had learned how to help myself first.
There was a time when I stole the sun
Not knowing that something so beautiful could burn me.
There was a time when I pretended I was sick with poetry.
I heaved and convulsed ink out onto countless pages,
And to this day I blame other people for my pain.

But in truth…
I never learned how to help myself.
And it wasn't the sun I stole,
But with the way her eyes shined
It was easy to get the two confused,
And my God did she burn me.
I’m not really sick with poetry either.
These poems are just my muse,
And even if I know it’s not true,
I still blame others for all of my pain.

There are times when I help others
even though I can’t help myself.
There are times when the sun is the last thing I want to see,
Even on my darkest days.
There are times that I get so sick with the idea of poetry.
It’s hard to write something and not fall victim to it.
And there are times that I blame others for my pain,
Even if I’m the one who chose to get hurt by them.

And I want to make one thing very clear,
That even if all of my suffering is my fault,
Even if I’m the one who did this to myself,
I’m the one who picked up the pen.
But this isn't a confession.

The morning is coming, the hour is late.
Soon we will go to our separate fates.
The weight of this moment, like a feather.
The morning light ends our time together.

But before you go, I must ask you a favor.
If my mind is one that you ever do savor;
Though I know, as it is, this will never be,
But just this once, would you lie to me?

Press to me close, and close your eyes,
Soothe me so gently with your silk skin lies.
Press your lips now and whisper it clear,
Those saving deceptions I long to hear.

I don’t crave the physical, I crave the thought.
And those around me think me distraught.
But as one who knows that the physical dies,
All I want to hear tonight are comforting lies.

Tell me tomorrow will never come,
Our hearts won’t wither, my mind won’t numb.
Tell me now, that I’m just beginning my run.
That what was broken can be undone.

Lie to me! Just one more time.
As surely the sun makes its climb,
Tell me now that I will find a lover.
Kiss me softly and give me cover.

Most of all, tell me my pain was real.
Make me believe that I still do feel.
Remind me please, that I’m not done.
Even if we depart with the rising sun.

Deceive me now and I promise you,
With all of my heart I’ll believe it’s true.
For when the light shines clear and through,
We’ll see just what the sun can do.

Have you ever been afraid to write?
Almost like you don't want to feel what you would write about?
Yet at the same time you're craving it?

I want to write,

I want to write about the offset piece of sidewalk outside her house
     that I always managed to trip over no matter how many times I had
     before promising I would never trip again.
I want to write about how I would drive the long way to get to where I
     was going for months after we broke up just so I could pass the road
     leading to her house just to have a chance of seeing her, even if she
     never noticed me.
I want to write about how I'm afraid I'll never feel the static race down
     my spine when I kiss someone ever again because after she left no
     kiss has ever managed to spark anything inside of me.
I want to write about how I sat for hours on the ledge where we first
     kissed because I could let my tears fall down off the cliff like rain
     that I hoped would water the ground enough for a flower to grow so
     if she ever came back she would have something almost as beautiful
     as her to see there waiting.                                    
I want to write about how I now understand how Jesus could die for
     people who hated him because even though she hates me,
     I begged God to forgive her, because she knew not what she did to
     me.

But I don't write any of it,
Because I’m afraid to feel like that again,
Because It's pathetic,
Because I'm afraid she will see it,
Because it's not love,
It's poetry.

And no matter what her reply was,
it's still poetry.
And even though I don't love her anymore,
she’s still my stanza,
And I'm trying to find a new poem to write.

Lay flat on your back and staple yourself to a falling star, make yourself look like a wish burning out of the sky to save the person desperate enough to wish upon you.

2. Nail rose petals to your hands and offer them as the apology you won’t give them after you've left, but they don’t know that yet because you said you were different and they trust you.

3. When things start to fit together make sure you cut the silence with lies sharper than the razors that tear through skin cleaner than a blank page.

4. Tell them to take a breath of fresh water because rivers will fill their lungs better than any summer breeze ever could.

5. Tie yourself to a lightning bolt and hold it down. Keep its light to yourself. Make sure you convince them that you’re not as lost and hopeless as you seem because no one wants to love someone as broken as you.

6. I've heard it said that human ashes make great fertilizer so turn yourself into stardust and pollute the galaxy with your remains. Make your debris cloud the night skies. Grow false hope in everything you touch.

7. Find someone extremely flammable, make them trust you, then strike matches across their weary smile. Even if they don’t deserve to burn in your wake.

8. Make your touch feel like a gun in their hands, heavy with the weight of black steel promises to never leave, and then once they take the safety off…

9. Misfire straight into their chest. Let the impact of your leaving tear through where their heart used to be and mistake the throb of ripping skin and the dull snapping of bone as a heartbeat.

10 .Reload.

So… you want to be remembered? It’s easy really…

1. Make someone love you, and hurt them.

I want her to know that:
I just want to tell her off...
I want to get mad at her because I never did.
I want to be harsh with her and tell her the truth,
     not love her and protect her the way that I did.
I want to tell her how lucky she is that she's beautiful,
     because without her beauty she would have nothing.
I want to tell her how sick and manipulative she is.
I want to rip apart my ribs and show her my ruined heart,
     she ruined love for me.
I want to take back all the times I told her I loved her
     and all the things we did together.
I want every breath back that I spent complimenting her.
I want pain and I want solace.
I want her to know I don't miss her.
I want her to know I hope she fails at everything she does in life
     just to watch me succeed.
I want to show her how successful I can be without her.
I want to achieve everything she ever wanted in life,
     and disregard it.
I want to brag and make her sick every time she sees my writing
    quoted and shared online.
I want her to feel the uselessness and abandoned feeling she gave me.
I want her to cry and stay up every night because
     she can't sleep anymore.
I want revenge and I want bliss.
I want her to know how worthless she is to me
     because I loved her once.
And I know I won't ever have any of this,
But if she's worth anything at all...
      she's worth my one wish to have it all.

Nothing’s wrong.
Please go away.
Same old song.

Their words prong.
Pain will stay.
Nothing’s wrong.

I don't belong.
Just a bad day.
Same old song.

I'll play along.
I'm fine okay?
Nothing’s wrong.

My pain's lifelong.
My mind won't obey.
Same old song.

Dark thoughts throng.
What should I say?
Nothing’s wrong.
Same old song.

Have you ever told a lie
so convincing that you ended up
believing it yourself?
Almost as if your reality became the lie that you told
and anything that was the truth was forgotten.

Like a dream you once had but began to forget after you woke up?
But once something triggers you to remember the smallest detail
of that dream, like the way your collarbones did,
or the way that everything is always
closer than it appears to be,
the truth all comes fading back
in vague waves.

A déjà vu that you've tried to forget
but every time that you do …
you feel like you've already forgotten it before.

I’m about to tell you a lie...
And all that I ask is that you believe it like I did.
It will make the waves a lot
easier to drown in once you remember the truth.
And maybe once you remember the truth you’ll
remember that you've already drowned here before.

This year is fading out into a new one
but nothing’s really changed.
The sun rises and sets
but every day is the same as the last two combined.

It makes me wonder what God would say to me
if he had the nerve to speak to me like he did Adam.
Would he apologize for the time when he had
the rain wash off all the kisses you ever placed on me,
or would he try justifying himself for the times
he made a fifteen-hundred foot drop seem like
the curbs we used to play on and construct dams in to watch
the hose water build up,...
like we could, maybe, just maybe,
form our own oceans and sail away from our childhoods.
Yet for some reason no matter how hard we tried
there were always leaks and holes we could never quite fill.

I learned this year that names
are just apologies you attach to people
so you can remember the hurt they caused
you every time you hear one,
and voices are nothing more than the same voice mail
you've heard a thousand times
when you call but they never picked up
Yet at the same time…
they always seem to answer your question of
If they’re there to comfort you in your time of need.
Because they promised you that they
would stay but they never really made it clear
if what they meant to say was that they would stay away.

Next year make sure you never believe
someone when they tell you who they are
or what their intentions are.
Those will be the first lies they tell you.
The next lie they will tell you
is that they know how you feel,
and the lie after that will always be
that they are different from everyone else.
The last lie they will tell you…
is that they will stay.
But you've already heard these lies before.

I’m not sure who I learned this from,
but make sure the next time someone
tries to convince you to care for them
you turn around and drive away
because they won’t care for you in return.
Don't you dare look back in that rear view mirror on your exit route either,
because no matter how hard you try to distance yourself
Objects in the past will always be closer than they appear.
Actually,
it was you who taught me that
and it wasn't until I was
1,488 feet down the road that I realized
how I’d already been here before.

I knew all the names of the roads around your
house like the streets were trying to apologize
for a sin that I swear had been committed before.
And like Lot's wife, I sometimes felt the need to look back
but I knew **** well that if I ever did
I would become a petrified
pillar of
“I’m sorry”
and
“I never meant for it to end this way.”
And I only know this
because I've already looked back before.

Remember how we promised each other we would
never become the people who we are now?
Yet here we sit,
Cigarette ashes and empty bottles.
Burning our pipe dreams away and drinking to our sorrows.

It makes me wonder how it all went so wrong,
yet at the same time I was right there.
I watched Rome burn to the ground
and all I did was thank you and Nero for the violin music
you provided as I drowned in the ashes
of what we could have been and never were.
Make sure you remember that Rome wasn't built in a day,
but also remember all it took was one night to burn it down.

This year taught me to never
let anyone borrow one of your books
because after they've read all of your good parts
they'll skip to the ending and leave your plot with leaks and holes
that you'll attempt to patch up as you drown once more.
And most of the time they won’t give you your book back.
You'll stay up at night in a cold sweat wondering what markings you
abandoned in its pages that you'll never be able to read again.
and they just aren't worth losing a part of yourself too.

You know the thing that really bugs me is that
you can only follow your dreams after you've
woken up from them,
but every time that I wake up I’m stuck forgetting
every detail and inch of your flawless skin.
The way that your collarbones cut through my soul
and left me begging for you to pull every last one
of my ribs apart
make sure that when you do you don't stop until
you hear them snap and break apart leaving holes that
I can vainly try to fill before I drown in my own
blood that I swear has been split before.
Tear me apart so you can see my defective heart
beating for you
and secretly I wonder
if maybe tearing apart my ribcage
would release all the demons
trapped inside this empty heart of mine.

and thinking of the plans we had to move
away into some big city
and to never look never look back at this town,
excite me still because I know it will still happen
but it won’t be you who I’m running away with this time.
Our pasts will always stay closer than
they appear to be.

And do you remember how we were going to cover our
apartment walls in broken records
and coffee stains?
I seem to always forget how you were
never really worth it from the start
and how I was only confused to wake up
from this dream because
I never actually fell asleep.

And as I look back on this year...
I guess nothing's really changed.
The year fades out like the truth
after we've believed our own lies,
and the new year introduces itself with
all the same lies they told you.

And what ever year this is know that its number
is just an apology set for a later date
and that no matter how this year
promises it will be different than the last,
don’t believe it because,
it won’t.
And don’t trust it when it says it’s here to stay,
because you've already heard that lie before.

This year be careful about who you say you won’t become
because chances are you’re already them.
and no matter how fast you try to drive away from your past
just remember that objects in the rear view mirror
are closer than they appear
and that no matter how hard you try to build a dam
so we can sail away from our adulthood
there will always be leaks and holes
we will never quite be able to fill.

I hope you believed this lie like I did
because it’s the truth.
And whatever the truth was
is now lost to this lie.

And the only thing I learned this year was...

We become the lies we tell ourselves.

So I guess the only real question is
what lies are you going to tell?
Because once you become those lies
the person you were before you told them is lost.
But you already know all of this.
You've already heard these lies before.

1.
Tell me…
Tell me that you won’t leave.
Tell me that you care.
While you whisper sweet nothings into a stranger's ear.

2.
Tell me...
Tell me that you could, maybe,
Just maybe,
Like me back
(If I gave you my world)
But don't,
Don't.

3.
Hold me...
Hold me for a moment,
Then let me go.
Say it's for my freedom,
But it's truthfully for yours.

4.
Style yourself as my dream...
Then let me fall
From the sky,
From the glory.
Into the soil,
Into the mud.

5.
Tell me…
Tell me what you know I want to hear,
Even if we both know it’s a lie.
Tell me.
**** me.

Dead man walking
Did you hear
The news? It’s shocking.
Chatter, chatter
In his ear.
Oh fear,
The fear.
Glassy dead stare
Dead stare
Dead
Dead man walking

Fake friends talking
Jarring words
Barely heard
What’s been said?
Oh pounding head!
Focus instead
On my wish to be dead
What a surprise!
His old man cries
His young man has died
Old eyes, young man
Young man
Man
Dead man walking

The truth comes out
Jaws dropping, eyes of fury.
Waiting, waiting,
What’s your hurry?
My life is over
In a flurry
So don’t worry
Just keep walking
Keep walking
Walking
Dead man walking

A          feeling          of         claustrophobia         has        begun         to         confine         me.

This swamp of ideas thickens inside me,  the murky clay mud making each step twice as demanding as the last. The once clear flowing waters of my dreams seem to be crystallizing, clouding and freezing over, ceasing the stream of my escape. My brain is callusing over incarcerating me, forcing me to experience the hardening of my own being. A reaction inside halting my imagination and depriving me of the ability to call out for help. These thoughts and words I evacuate onto this page only act as a catalyst speeding the process of my inevitable silence. There will come a time when the swamps have solidified, and the waters of my dreams become frozen clouded crystals trapped in place. My brain will develop into a callous, rendering my mind mute, I can feel this metamorphosis materializing yet there is nothing I can do to stop it, the development has already begun, all I can do is wait until a feeling of...

A          feeling          of         claustrophobia         has        begun         to         confine         me.

Your mouth is made of metal,
Your kisses taste like gold.
Your lies they strike like bullets,
But I enjoy the holes.

Your mouth is made of metal,
Your truths begin to rust.
Your blade edge may be jagged,
But I love the way it cuts.

Your mouth is made of metal,
Your words feel like steel.
Your smile strikes like a hammer,
But I’ll still be your anvil.

All I'm trying to say is this,
Life is so beautifully simple that it's complicated.
Life is so inconceivably limitless that we feel trapped.
Life is so impossibly important that we feel insignificant.
Life is so unbelievably unlikely that we feel deserving.
Life is so stable we feel insane.
Life is so intricately balanced that we feel chaotic.
All I'm trying to say is this,
Life is what you make it.

I surround myself with people but
For each new friend I make
For each new love I gain
I just feel more
And more
And more
Alone.

Her brown coffee eyes woke up my soul
more than any amount of caffeine could.
Her smile warmed my heart like the sun
when you walk out of the shade on a spring day.
Her mind seemed to make mine whole
even all the parts that never made sense to me.
And I still wonder why I am the one
who gets to look into her brown coffee eyes.

Countless hours I've sat alone,
staring at the walls in a silent home.
The second hand swings like a headman's axe.
The candle flame laughs as he drowns in wax.
I can hear my blood inside my ears,
whispering lies and spreading fears.
They're coming now to my window pane,
and in all of my dreams, I go insane.

Countless hours I've laid awake,
Thinking things that make me shake.
I feel them laughing like cold black rain,
clawing at my thoughts to steal my brain.
Tick... Tick... Tick...
It makes me sick.
I want to dream and I want to sleep,
But I’m a shepherd who cannot count his sheep.

Countless hours burning inside my sheets,
trapped inside this prison of me.
My stomach churns, and I seek escape.
I see my demons filled with hate.
I give up. This fight, I have lost.
I will pay the Sandman's cost.
To sleep a sleep eternally,
I'll stop the madness
and cease to be me.

When did I get so cynical?
Was it when promises were broken?
Did it happen once you left?
When you left my wounds open?
Was it when you left me bereft?

Was it when I saw what people did?
Did it happen after noticing your vie?
When you made that dishonest bid?
Was it when all you did was belie?

Was it when plans were changed?
Did it happen when I was manipulated?
When you made me feel so estranged?
Was it when I was left debilitated?

When did I get so cynical?
Was it when I left promises broken?
Did it happen once I left?
When I saw your wounds open?
Was it when my wake left you bereft?

Was it when I saw what I did?
Did it happen after noticing my vie?
When I made those dishonest bids?
Was it when all I did was belie?

Was it when I made plans change?
Did it happen once I manipulated?
When I made people feel estranged?
Was it when I made you debilitated?
When did I get so cynical?

In an endless dance the waves strain themselves.
They exhaust and fall giving everything they have to the beach.
Just to touch her soft shoreline.
Just to kiss her neck so gently.
Then to be dragged away,
Only to repeat the endless dance of
Giving,
Falling,
Crashing,
Loving.

Dear Poetry,

This isn't a love letter, but read it anyways.
How’ve you been?
Who've you been with?
Haven’t seen you for a few days.
And I really do hope that you've been doing good,
But I just thought I’d write you this because some things need to be understood.

I’m so caught up in your madness like magnets.
And I’m not happy with how things have been going lately between me and you.
You've been growing pretty distant and I refuse to lose you too.
So many fakes and liars have come and gone in and out of my life this year,
And I hate to have this fear, but I feel that you won’t be staying here.

Do you remember when we met? Since that first sleepless night you had my back,
But as of lately you’re just the reason I've been dressing in all black.
I’m committed to you, but you don’t seem that loyal to me.
So many kids recently have started rhyming.
And I’m not saying that I’m jealous, because truthfully I’m not.
It’s just that seeing you with all these other kids has got my stomach in a knot.
I’m not saying I don’t trust you, because really I do.
I’m kind of just torn because I've stayed so **** loyal to you.
But it’s whatever, go ahead and go where you will,
Those other kids won’t stop me from writing how I feel.
I wonder though, if I leave here will you even miss me?
I don’t think that you would, but I’ll trust you with my insecurities.

And I'm aware
That life, it isn't fair.
I've got nothing in return for the nights I've stayed up writing with you here.
And honestly, writing has confirmed all my fears.
It’s crazy how so much can change in just one year.
But for now, I think that’s all I have to say.
I’m not happy with where we are,
And I’m just hoping that you’ll stay.

Sincerely,

Kennedy Taylor.

Dear Poetry,

I never thought you’d be the one to cause me this much stress.
When we first started off I could have sworn you were the best.
You would help me ease my mind, and allow me to get away,
But now I’m staying up at night wondering if you're here to stay.
So I’m running off no sleep, panicked, wondering what to do,
And to be completely honest, I've been thinking of leaving you.

When it was all beginning, your beauty, it had me trapped,
And once we started talking, the conversation had me attached.
Now I’m addicted to you like *******, without you I can’t work my own brain.
When you’re with me it’s got me so sane, but once you leave I start going insane.
This back and forth has got me torn and I really don’t know what to do.
On one hand you've always been there, on the other, the problem is always you.

So what more do you want?
My options are near their end.
Do you want me to just keep writing?
Do you want me to just pretend?

We can pretend like we're in love.
We can pretend like the feelings are real.
But what if I really want to love you?
What if I really want to feel?

I heard you could change my life,
And to be honest you really did.
But now I’m wondering if it was for the better,
Or if I’m better of without this.

Understand me when I say that this letter isn't asking for our end.
I just want to make sure we’re on the same page, written with the same pen.
I wouldn't be here without you, and I think I might owe you my life,
But please just write me back if you feel that this relationship is right.

Sincerely,

Kennedy Taylor.

We all grow.
Your closest friends seem to be leaving.
Yes we were kids I know,
We could be what we were pretending.
Like astronauts, presidents,
super heroes, firemen.
Those were simple days
When we were kids just playing games.

But now...

Gold chains glow.
For some reason I’m still dreaming.
All the kids I know
Are needing something to believe in.
Money, drugs, ***, poverty,
Liquor stores, and partying.
If this isn’t the real world is this all just still a game?

And now...

Time moves slow.
It seems like I was only dreaming.
We’re not the kids I know.
It’s really hard to keep believing in
Truth, love, and honesty.
So drop the chains, let’s sail these seas.
We could write stories about what we have failed to be.

It was electric.
A thousand things he never thought he'd feel again
racing down his spine.
Like a symphony of static, composed by this single moment.
Whole orchestras breathing in his mind.

Poets are liars.
We are never honest and even if we seem to be honest and raw,
We are not.
We are selfish and egotistic and make ourselves out to be victims.
We only write about what hurts us.
We write about our pain and suffering.
On top of that, we blame it on the lovers after lovers that have gone wrong.
You've already read it a thousand times,
The story of a how a person broke our hearts and tricked our innocent minds.
However, what we never write about is the hearts we break and the pain we cause.
I am not as innocent as I've made myself seem in my poems.
Yes, I fall in love with fools and they break my heart every time,
But sometimes I wonder if it’s just what I deserve.

Let me tell you about this girl,
There’s been a girl willing to set herself on fire for me but I handed her the matches and left…
I never saw the beauty of her flame burning for me.
I’m cold now without anyone to warm me.

Oh God, there was this girl who I let starve because I thought she had already ate too much.
I didn't want to be another bittersweet revenge on her plate…
Only to find out that she was honestly hungry for the love she thought I could give her.
I've read her cooking books,
She makes sweets for an honest guy now.
And now I’m the one who’s hungry.

And oh, there was a girl with a broken heart but with strong mind that wanted to touch me.
I thought I was too opulent for her ***** soul.
Later on I found out she had mines of gold and diamonds running through her thoughts.

I've hurt a lot of people.
I've hurt them the way this girl is hurting me.
And now I am screaming for forgiveness.
I've been so ruthless with their good hearts.
I am down on my knees begging the ghosts to stop haunting me every time I try again.

I’m a liar.

I'm afraid to be alone.
I'm afraid to be forgotten.
I'm afraid to let you in.
Because my trust is rotten.

I'm afraid I want you here.
I'm afraid I hope you'll stay.
I'm afraid to open up.
Because I know you'll go away.

I'm afraid I'm already hurt.
I'm afraid I did this to myself.
I'm afraid no one will ever stay.
Because all I seem to do is repel.

I'm afraid to ask how you feel.
I'm afraid that I already know.
I'm afraid I don't mean much.
So I guess I'll let you go.

Please don't worry when I'm alone
But please remember my name.
I hope you enjoyed your stay.
I'm afraid I knew you'd leave from the first day.

I’m terrified.

Life is coming at me faster than radio signals escaping the sun,
And I can't seem to make sense of the frequencies.
I want to move on,
I want to leave,
I want to grow,
But I'm Terrified.

What am I leaving behind?
What happens if I stay?
What happens if I leave?
Who won't I meet if I stay?
Who won't I meet if I leave?
I’m Terrified.

This whole life,
This whole world,
Is mine for the taking.
I’m going into it alone,
I've never felt more claustrophobic.
I've never been more hesitant.
Everything’s alright,

And I’m terrified.

I wonder if Icarus knew how close to the sun he came before his undoing fell upon him.
Was he so captivated by the beauty of the sun that he could not change his ways?
Trapped by the freedom his wings gave him, like a moth to a flame was he destined to burn?

I wonder if he failed only because his wings were formed from feathers and wax.
Was his freedom formed from illusions and wax?
Would the outcome have been different if his wings were not faux?

I wonder if the sea tried to save him.
Did the waves try to extinguish his flames and cool his melting wax?
Did the ocean ensure his fate by trying to help?

I wonder if it was hubris that was his downfall.
Was it his pride that catalyzed his failure?
Was it simply an account of failed ambitions?

I wonder if it could have been different.
Was he foreordained to fail?
Would the sea have swallowed him had he not flown too close to the sun?

I wonder if he was ever free at all.
Did the sun capture him the second his wings freed him from the ground?
Did Icarus know how close “too close” was?

And maybe that's my curse,
      I still trust people.
Instantly.

  From the moment we first met
      I trusted you.
Instantly.

  I get so impatient sometimes
      Waiting for what I give
Instantly.

  And I forget that for some,
      Trust isn't given
Instantly.

  But once I gain your trust
      The wait will be worth it.
Instantly.

I've found an infinity between comparison and reality;
A gap between everything and nothingness,
A dream between being asleep and lucid,
A time between now and forever.

I've found an escape between chaos and logic;
A note between two keys,
A word between two sentences,
A color between two hues.

I've found a void deprived of emptiness;
A space between comfort and accord,
A spark between flames,
A forest between the soil and seeds.

I've found a sanctuary between time and erosion;
A point between here and now,
A peace between me and everything,
A monument between decay and permanence.

I've found an Interim.

Lie, my Queen, tell me lies.
Tell me lies so I might
Sleep soundly tonight
And fend off
With your beauty
The scarred faces
That haunt
My nightmares.

Lie, tell me that I can fit
Inside a knights chainmail.
Tell me that I'm okay,
That I'm not just another mind
Who's gone
Just a little bit mad.
Who knows
Just a little bit too much.

Lie, tell me that
The love,
The hope,
The life,
I see in my sleep
Will never be real,
Will never be mine.

Of angels and butterflies,
You spoke the softest lies.
So lie, my Queen, tell me lies.

Like a siren; alluring.
Like a campfire; warming.
Like an addiction; captivating.
Like the sun; lustrous.
She was all of these things upon sight.

Like a good book; intriguing.
Like an idea; different.
Like the breeze; refreshing.
Like inspiration; reassuring.
She was all of these things upon conversation.

Like a dream; distant.
Like music; intangible.
Like an illusion; comforting.
Like the moon; unobtainable.
She was all of these things upon waking.

Like all of these things; Her.

First impressions.
          Opening lines.
That’s how people will judge you.

       Leaving actions.
             Final words.
That’s how people will remember you.

You are nothing
close to a poet,
but the way you walk
And
the way you smile,
it’s ******* poetry.

The rain fell like a baptism from the sky, received upon the earth to wash away the sins of the soil. We all fall. These droplets of water are as afraid as we are, falling towards the ground, plummeting towards the unknown. Picking up speed with every second we descend. The wind throws us around as we struggle to accept our fates. With every passing moment those who went before us vanish into the drowned asphalt. With every passing moment those who tread behind us begin their voyage into the cold winds. With every passing moment we are tearing through the storm. Predetermined to meet the surface at some point along our odyssey. Our descent is not the last moment of our final journey, but the rising of our next.Just as the rain did, we too will form lakes. Whole oceans will be conjured from our pilgrimage. Forests will arise from our nurturing. Waves of our ambition will crash along the shores. Our trials will etch stories into the cliff walls. Monuments of erosion will be formed from our perseverance. What we once believed to be the end will be revealed to be a new beginning. Just like the rain we will fall. Just like the rain we will evaporate. Just like the rain we will change.

My heart still hurts,
My chest’s still in pain,
I still can't make sense
Of what's inside my brain.

I wish there was a way
To mute my mind,
To exist in a moment,
At some point in time.

No thoughts, no doubts,
No attempting to rhyme.
Just an at rest state,
Some peace in my life.

That's all I want right now
Is just some rest,
To ease the pain
Built up in my chest.

To take away
The thoughts and doubts.
To put me at rest,
Inside and out.

Okay,
Riddle me this...
No wait,
Riddle me that...
No, how about
We skip all the riddles
And get down to the facts.

No... actually,
I don't care for the facts,
Just give me the truth.
Wait... I don't want the truth,
Just give me your view.

No... don't,
Just don't say a word.
I'd rather sit in silence
And have to wonder.

So skip all the riddles,
And skip all the facts.
Skip past the truth
And your view,
I don't want any of that.

Truthfully... I don't want to know.
Something's are better left unsaid
Ignorance is bliss,
And bliss is all that fills my head.

So lie if you have to,
Lie if you must,
Just make sure I don't know
The truth between us.