I have a crush-no wait it's a liking

I do not know him in reality
Only through his writing

He seems to know his way with words
Which makes me wonder about his love
notes that must flow with admiration towards the girl he chases

An unimaginable distance separates us
Not only in miles but in understanding

He might be a lovely poet
But his lack of comprehension makes me worry

I have made a fool out of myself
In talking to him I have missed the obvious

His thoughts are written mysteriously and beautifully
But in his mind, I do not exist

I got drunk on life
This time, like every time
The old trick works on me
I am just happy enough
Until I have had one too many

Then everything is buzzing
Fuzzy thoughts and accurate feelings

I carry on
As if my gut still permits it
Before promising, I learned my lesson
From overindulging.

This time, I will be more vigilant
Life tastes delicious;
But I should sip gently
Unless it is yet another hungover
From decisions I could regret long after

Then everything is buzzing
Accurate thoughts and fuzzy feelings

Drink moderately, or else I will be
Easily intoxicated
On this plethora of life experience
This time, I shall only get a little tipsy.

When im with you a beauty occurs that burns brighter then a sun rise colliding with the morning tide. I can not euphemise the excruciating cry from when my insides die and the pistol lets fly a single beautiful try to illuminate the sky with cries held high. Trophies to a suicidal guy. The flame burns low as you tell me to let go, as i remember that ride through the pure white snow. The beautiful glow of your cold breathes blow. The hole without you continues to grow.
This pistol brings the bullet but pain pulls the trigger. I was just another boy to add to your figures. Im sorry that I can not heal quicker but I am  running low on liqour. My friends have started to snicker and say all i do is bicker but they dont understand that all i can feal is bitter. I love you. Thanks for showing me its okay to be a quitter.

The love i gave you was every ounce of my bleeding soal. The love i gave you was pure passion. Sorry I terrified you with my messed up side. Sorry I brought our twin tours down.

I knew a boy who liked to draw people
(with guns pressed to their temples and blades at their wrists)
he liked to tell stories
(about a girl with a chafed neck swinging from her closet)
sometimes he wrote these stories down and submitted then to the school newspaper
(but no one likes stories about sunset thighs)
they thought he was crazy
(did you hear- let us chat now now now)
but he was not crazy
(just suicidal)

In a box
Are secrets untold
Some are new
And some are old

Locked and kept
on a shelf up high
Safe and covered
With a blanket of lies

Everybody tries
But the box is locked
To find the memories
If how I am mocked

For some are able
To find the key
To open the box
And dissect me

To reach inside
And read my mind
The thoughts I've
not yet left behind

Memory by memory
They skim the box
Soon to be rumors
Where everybody talks

And when they are done
They'll put it back
Empty of all
The secrets I've packed

You see...

In a box
is the life of me
Dissected, tortured
And without a key

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

And they say it'll all get better
(eventually!)
That all these things will vanish
with time.
I am far too young to know of pain,
far too proud to ask for help
far too tired to leave my bed
far too ****** to care.

No one warned me that life was this long
or that every second of sadness
is a lifetime
compared to those fleeting months of happiness
that disappear like thunder in the storm.

No one likes poetry about being sad
written by pretentious college students
read by strangers on the internet.

But I've once been told to write what's in my heart
and writing about sadness
is better than writing about nothing.