"Life imitates art"

As if the wasteland we call being alive
could become something so beautiful,
full of vision, voice and hope.

As if this hell could write symphonies
about the flames that infect our soil.

As if a pile of bodies
who felt their lives would amount to nothing
could be a masterpiece in a museum.

Life does not imitate art, it opposes it.

I was young.
A child.
Barely able to comprehend simple math.
And you told me that I could be anything.
Anything at all.
To pick who I want to be.
I think you wanted me to pick nothing.

Seconds.
That’s how long it takes
For you to be gone.
To walk away and leave me behind.

But, you said you wouldn’t.
You said you’d never leave me behind.
But, if someone better came along,
I bet you’d leave me behind.
In seconds.

I knew a boy once.
He wasn’t anything special,
Just a boy sitting in the back of a noisy classroom.
Taking up space.
He wore the same T-shirt three days in a row
And he sat by himself at lunch.

Then I thought about myself.
I wasn’t anything special.
Just a boy sitting at the front of a noisy classroom.
Taking up space.
I wore the same sweater three days in a row
And sat by myself at lunch.

Maybe,
We aren’t anything special.
Just people sitting in noisy places.
Taking up space.
Wearing the same clothes three days in a row
And sitting by ourselves.

When I play music from my phone,
I delete songs
not because you were apart of that moment
I just don't like the left side of my chest
feeling like I'm falling out of the sky

When I'm trying to pick up the pieces...

You will not see my shadow pass
the gate of mournings eerie dark
Nor hear my voice among the reeds
that grow above my silenced heart
No fondest kiss to furrowed brow
to quell the torment of your making
for you have left me here alone
to sleep the sleep that knows no waking.

I was the anchor to your voyage
—and you were the poison for my heart