The last time my eyes laid upon the greens and browns of the dinner table, my hands gripped your rough knuckles underneath the table's wood.
As you partook in the role of swallowing your mashed potatoes, my eyes lingered on your throat, catching the way the tiny hairs moved up and down at the grooves of your neck.
And In the same moment your free hand wiped your mouth, erasing any evidence ravishing spaghetti sauce, making every surface of those pink lips visible, the thought of them on mine cursed through my head. Yet now I know what I am thankful for this thanksgiving.
Only now did you look up to meet my gaze traveling your neck; however, your eyes read the same as mine, cultivating desire. Desire and want screamed from the blue of your eyes. Only now did the decision to have thanksgiving by ourselves make sense. Was it five seconds ago? Ten minutes? An hour since there was a full meal sitting on the table that now held our intertwined bodies.
Was it five seconds? Ten minutes? An hour since I wore a skinny black dress that was now in pieces on the floor.
Was it five seconds? Ten minutes? An hour since I appraised the tie you wore with your suit that was now torn into five parts by my impatient little hands.
It indeed had been to long since your body was one with my own, forgetting the beat of the world but with a rhythm of our own.

Young love thrives on the lies literature tells, the boat rides and the promise of an ending that includes wedding bells.

My love died on the same twinkle of star that also lit my heart. We were doomed before our troublesome start.

So let me tell you the truth, you loved me and I loved you. But at the same time your tongue spit these words out into the bitter air, spiders and ghouls were placed there.

By the time you cut the sanity out of what was yours and mine; tore up the memories that kept me fine; and set fire to everything you could find, I was already at bay with thoughts of  mine.

I clipped at my hair because “it looks so pretty long." And I curse through the lyrics to your favorite song.

I bit off my nails because “your nails are so pretty when you paint them" but not bare according to you. Your new girl with the french tips prove true.

I smoked and I drank and I threw up whiskey, I passed out till I could no longer pass out anymore and I put on those jeans you once wore, and I chocked on a giggle because of that cute dent I remembered you knocked in my car door.

When it's all over and done and when I can start to drink for the fun will be the day I will no longer curse my past, for surely I knew our devilish love could not last.

So many lovely, young girls
brimming with despair and despondency.

Makes an old man sad.

You are like buds that can't blossom.

Casual ***, attempted suicide,
drugs, alcohol, broken hearts:
all accrue to the self-aware.

Self-awareness is a great gift,
but acutely painful
to the very young.

Never use a man to define yourself.
Only disappointment lives there.
Men aren't all that smart
or valuable, you know,
and can be easily replaced.
In 40 years, you won't remember
his name.

None of this is new.

The trick is to find
your way to survive
and do it no matter what.

On the other side of suffering
is life, and perhaps more suffering.

You don't need bunnies and rainbows,
you only need yourselves and time
and toughness and belief.

Go ahead and blossom.

Make an old geezer smile.

As the wind blows against
the window and its clothing,
while today has began to  turn
into tomorrow, a drift the locks of
a feather spirals towards
the ever moving ground.
Troublesome hearts beat
spreading venom into every
possible vein. Arise is coldness,
bitter ends and misplaced love
fluttering throughout a thought
and twisting to and fro towards
its catastrophe.

Faith is a fragile thing; it
wavers here and it tapers off there. Yet,
it is the most valuable object one can have.
Metaphorically, giving up your faith
is ending your own life. I can feel my
faith swelling up inside me, deep inside
until it bubbles up inside my eyes.
My faith will save me. My mind
sometimes fools me into forgetting this, but
keeping my faith means an everlasting life
with Him, everything I could ever want.
God is my everything and
everything is God.

Don't you hate staying up late
When you're all alone
With your thoughts
And your regrets
And you don't have anything to drink
Or anything to smoke
So you just sit there
Laying on your back
Feeling the stray tears
Slide down the sides of your cheeks
And into your ears