I ******* hate how writing means so much to me
when it means nothing to you.

It's my ******* heartbeat,
it's my lungs carefully breathing in and out,
it's that part of my brain telling me to live.

I would die without it,
don't you see that?

The sky was darkening and the windows were lighting.
She wore clean clothes and she had a key tied to her white shoelace,
yet she wandered the poorly lit streets
while families ate roasted chicken and peas and drank milk.

She wasn't hungry, wasn't thirsty, wasn't tired.
In spite of these facts, she wasn't content, either.
She still had a reason to roam the streets,
a reason to like the dark sky more than the lighted windows.

She wasn't alone, of course.
There were others, probably, wandering the streets,
but she didn't want to find them.
At this hour, the streets were meant to be meandered in solitude.

My sky was dark
and your light was too dull.

It's a 2 am cigarette,
a late night walk,
you, alone with the moonlight.

You feel something romantic
in the self-loathing
that only seems to appear under the
brightest moon.

The ghostly cigarette smoke drifts
as the only filter
between you
and the moon.

It's the feeling of every slight stumble
you make as your foot catches
on the uneven sidewalk
and you don't know whether it's
the alcohol
or the darkness making you stumble.

The remote beauty
found only in your own
deepest version of hell,
the loneliness under the moonlight,
serves as the view in front of your
eyes,
red from tears.

Your heart
is colder than the cloudless night,
the only warmth you can feel
is through your fingertips,
gently holding the burning-down cigarette.

The red cigarette ****
lands near your feet,
the only light
besides the bright, cold moon.

The light shining down from the moon
is as pure
as the loneliness.
It's just you
and the night.

You take another drag,
and keep walking.

Alone in a public bathroom,
she stared at her reflection,
looking straight into her own
blood-shot eyes.

Her jaw was clenched
as was her shaking hand,
tightly gripping a worn, yellow notebook.

She looked fiercely into her eyes-
bright blue in contrast to her midnight black hair-
and whispered,
in a soft voice,
“You are not going to die tonight.”

Her eyes turned to focus on the yellow notebook,
still clenched in her sickly hand.
She flipped through page after page,
each filled with her
small, messy penmanship.

Turning away from the mirror,
she kicked open a stall door
and proceeded to tear out
page after page,
each filled with her
deliberately placed stanzas,
and crumpled each.

Her pale hands
threw each page into the toilet
in the ***** public bathroom.
Her blue eyes
watched the ink bleed
and bleed
until her words became
unrecognizable.

Without flushing,
the dark-haired girl vacated the stall.
Her blue eyes turned back to the mirror
and she saw her thin, pallid lips
yell the words,
“YOU ARE NOT GOING TO DIE TONIGHT”

Jesus ******* Christ.
I said it at the beginning and Ill ******* say it again.
Jesus Christ.
I read your poems again.
I read them and my eyes blazed and my heart pounded.  
My eyes filled and almost pooled over.

I read them in a new way this time.
I was transported.
To a time where I didn't know all that you withheld.
But somehow I saw it and,
now I  could never forget it.
                                                     I won't forget you
I won't forget your eyes, your hands, your embrace.
How sometimes I can look at you and feel better.

                                        Jesus, we've been through  a lot.
Sometimes it's hard because I can see all the amazing things you're going to do with your life, and I feel like I am holding you back from doing those things.
You're stubborn and almost too honest sometimes.
                              It's hard for some people to handle.

                                We're alike and yet so different.
                             You speak your mind- I remain quiet.

You don't owe the world anything.
Free-spirited.
Electric.
Velvet voice.
Wants something bigger than this town.
Brutally and beautiful honest.
Protective.

When you speak your mind the world shakes.
Never stop doing that.
Never let someone stop you.
From having what's yours.

I'll say it again; if you were do to that, just be you,
that would be amazing.
because
you
*******




are

i feel like I'm slipping away
and I'm okay with that

your arm was around my shoulders
and my arm was wrapped around your waist
i was drunk and you slowed your pace to match mine
you started singing softly and i shut my eyes to listen
i let down every wall and allowed you to guide my every step
my body felt heavy but my mind was at ease
you did that thing with your voice



i don't think i have ever heard something so beautiful