today i am hopeful.
this, this is our story.
today, the sun is bright and the rays,
they whisper to me.

whispers of you are mine,
whispers of hope,
of the fact that these years could be more,
more than school.

the moon tells me, there will be memories,
those ones i only dreamed of having,
the ones i never thought i’d have with you,
but always knew.

i always knew about us.
i knew from the days you mentioned loving my creations,
the days you said there was a girl,
and i was so disappointed.

when did you know?
was it today, or yesterday,
when you told me you had hope?
for something -i’m not sure.

and darling,
feel free to call me that.
or sweetheart.
or whatever else.

this, us, i know something will happen.
something wonderful.
and now, the things i can’t write about,
i imagine.

There is a ghost in your voice
Haunting me through the silence



Through every droplet of memory
Dotting my otherwise starless night

I tried to gather them
With my words, my fear, my soul
And yet they remain forever bond
To a place I cannot reach
A being I cannot see
And a love I can never hear

Your flowering existence sheds invisible petals
I seem to be able to find
Yet, I'm ever uncertain
All these pieces of your soul
Did you left them for me to find
A breadcrumb trail leading only
To a chance in the future
To an uncertain promise
Or did I just stole the traces
Of your existence you left for the universe
Claiming them as something I could own

Should I keep them or scatter them

Or are they even yours
Could it be that they are the pieces of my soul
Still clinging on to you
That you're finally shedding away
To be complete on your own

What could I do
Standing in pieces
Holding someone's soul
That may or may not be my own
If they weren't
I'd still be missing all the chunks I've given to you
If they were
I'd still be empty
Because
I'm forever hollow without you

"That night when you kissed me,
I left a poem in your mouth,
and you can hear some of the lines
every time you breathe out."

-Yarn, Andrea Gibson

Panicked mechanical howls
echo off the silver moon
blankets the summer crisp air
blending in with the ghosts of the weeds
and the angels in the trees
flashing lights blocading the streets
in hopes of preventing tragedy
every night it’s Hamlet out on this street
this stage has been played a hundred times
the ending never changes