here is a man, half-mad during the night.

he is a man of the world,
who believes his senses.
adores his senses
and accepts their observations.

his eyes are sharp as he raises them,
cursing at the stars in their burning clusters,
begging for the drop of a curtain or a blindfold or blindness.
how dare the sky stay lit,
how dare the air stay crisp,
while his beloved is cold,
alone,
buried deep,
rotting.

he thinks:
the darkest the world can appear
is not dark enough.
it needs more,
should be deprived of more,
having just been deprived of one
so utterly much.
it should suffer as he does.
it should be despairing, devastated.
it should be crumbling into chaos.
but it acts as if it has not lost,
acts as if there is more to lose, still

and he knows that is not true

born to a reality full of scared sheep in wolf skin and fur,
it bred in me cowardice like I had not known.
I bared my teeth to seem brave
but it did not look menacing,
no.

what are they so afraid of?
what am I?
they are so enslaved by their fears that it seems almost like devotion.
like gods venerated by their disciples, so too were the evils that that who surround me run from.

this was not me.
I was not afraid.
this was by nurture and not by nature.
it was a seed thrown at my feet that bore so much fruit,
that the ground covered in rot.
and now it has spread,
corrupting me from the outside in.
I am made in fear.
I am made of fear.

this is for you because
you’ve left me with a wound in my chest
it misses your knife–
the one that used to fill it

you’ve left me wide open,
thoughts of you spilling out,
like guts, but i’d prefer guts
because those, i can clean up

why wouldn’t i drink whiskey to water down the ache?
you stung on my tongue
made my stomach warm
made me do the bad thing
left my head feeling bashed in

it’s the next best thing
works almost the same
even better–i can take a pill for the pain
in the morning
when i’m trying to get it out of my system
it lets me

because i am selfish,
i think to myself,
you’re too beautiful to be gone
because you are selfish,
i know
that you’re beautiful wherever the ******* are

i write this
trying to spite you
it’s about you because
everything
is always about you

even without you

god, i ******* love you

If the world were to end today,
I’d probably say to myself.
wow, looks like I only have 24 hours left in this world huh?
I’d spend the 1st half by grabbing my family members, give them the tightest hug I can give, and tell them that I love them, and thank them for everything. I’d probably apologize too.
And I’d probably start to shake, like a child craving for sugar.
All jittery, shaking from the thought, that I will only have 24 hours to figure out,
how to muster up the courage to tell you the things I’ve been wanting to say.
I’ve already done the math, and I’d be spending 2/3rds of my remaining time here, just getting to your house a midst the traffic.
and 3/4ths trying to bring you to the nearest mountain for us to watch the sunset, as the world crumbled away beneath us.

If the world were to end today.
I would grab my heart, whisper all the things I love about you,
seal it and then bury it into the depths of your existence.
In the hopes that when God is digging through the mine cave of your heart, he'll find it, and then open it like a time capsule, filled with all the things that we enjoyed, like cheese, long walks, spontaneous hangouts, and like our memories.
That when God opens it,
He’ll see a yellow sticky note, requesting Him to read it to you.
attached to a letter written in orange ink that I wrote specially for you.


If the world were to end today,
I’d like to get lost, In the spirals found in your eyes.
Your eyes is the number 1 thing in my list of favorite things.
Because they remind me of space, and galaxies that I would never ever get the chance to explore, knitted together by constellations that spell out your name.

And dear,
Our kiss will be like 2 galaxies colliding against each other,
Giving birth to a new galaxy.

But you know what, that got me thinking.
And I remember that when the big bang happened, or when a super nova happens.
That wasn't really the end of everything.
They all seem to signify a brand new start.
So I guess
The idea of the world ending, wouldn't bother me as much anymore.
Cause with us fading away,
Our molecules, atoms whatever we're composed of, will eventually find it's back to us.
And when that happens,
I'd be like a brand new star.
Because I know that i'd be able to see you again.
Like God saying again, "Let there be light." And there was light.

And for me that's like God saying again "Let there be you." And again there was you.

dating a writer
is like guessing the weather.
you think you know what you'll get,
but you never do.

you never know
because

she'll create a hero
from your weaknesses

and she'll write a great character,
from every last flaw.

she'll create a thousand plots  
from your worst nightmares.

she'll take every last thing you hate
and create something you'll love.

she'll turn your anger
into confessions of adoration,

and she'll make you,
everything you're not.

but worst of all,
she'll leave you wondering-
is it you she's in love with,
or things she's created from you?

but here's the beauty of it:

if you date a writer,
you'll never die.

The silence you clothe yourself in will become a second skin. You will work hard to remove it. You will scrub yourself raw until the sweet scent of orange blossoms replaces the lighter fluid that has seeped into your pores.

When you finally tell someone, you will be drunk. It will be 2 a.m. You will tell your parents, it will spill out of you as you hover over the toilet. Your secrets mixed with ***** and something sour, something burning, something permanent. It will feel good, to flush the pain out of your throat.

It will be hard for you to be intimate. When you talk to that boy in your English class, you will feel butterflies for the first time in months, those same butterflies whose wings were clipped that night last July. You feel the butterflies, yes, but you will cringe when his hand brushes up against your own.

When that same boy asks you out on a date, and he opens the car door for you, you will want to run. You will feel the air in your lungs combust when he kisses you. You will think he is trying to draw blood when he bites your lip.

You will wonder if he can he see the bruises and fingerprints that still stain your nakedness

You will not believe him when he says “I love you”

When he asks why you never want to touch him, why you talk in your sleep, why your chapped lips are a graveyard eroded from the salt streaming down your cheeks, you tell him everything.

You do not cringe when he tries to hold your hand this time.

Deluded sailor
on his vessel
Set out to drift
on sea, it lies

Smiles.
Dawn only,
merely,
but a distance
to the eyes

I walk the earth
Traverse mountains and seas
I claim nothing to my name
What I am is not me
What I will be is not I

you deserve someone
one who will let you feel free
you don't deserve me