Do you remember the first night we spent together?
It was during the snow storm of the decade...
And you could have made it home,
But I didn't ask you to go.
"Stay."
Ever since that day, I've been locked inside your heart-shaped box...
Like the one the commemorated our engagement
On February 14th.
I tried desperately to tear my way through it.
Like if I ate every random combination of those chocolate pieces,
I'd burst through the cardboard from my gluttony.
Stay.
I think you cracked it open
So I could search for something else.
Something better, something different.
I crawled out... only to find that you were the standard
That I measured every other human being to.
Stay.
But I went.
And you didn't say, "Go."
You didn't say, "Stay."
You held your tongue
Like you used to hold my hands
When you told me something to make me smile
Or that everything would be okay.
Stay.
A year has passed
Since I ignored what I knew my heart wanted.
I'm still inside that box -
The one I left only to return to -
But it's been long since thrown away
And I can't find my way out...
I don't think I ever will.
I don't want to tread through garbage.
I think I'll stay.

Dawn rose over the extended horizon whilst I floated away from my vehicle, toward the shoreline over which it loomed. Dressed in a shade of black reminiscent of midnight when stars refuse to shine, I mourned the loss of my innocence. I mourned the loss of you.

As a narrator speaking in first person, I must mention I also speak from personal experience. I had already made the most abated decision of my life... the decision to **** you. To **** the best part of me. The statement is merely figurative because there is no blood on my hands, yet I have a inkling that there will always be a blade poised behind your back and a genuine but soft smile resting upon your face. Maybe I am mourning the idea I developed to become you, meanwhile your true colors hide amidst the treacherousness awaiting those who approach too quickly. I still reside between unabated fervor and regret. How is this possible?

I replay the scene as if it were the gut-wrenching ****** of a romantic movie cast with individuals whom we know are only actors, but the light in their eyes begs to differ so we fall victim to their charade. Played out so beautifully for all the world to see if it feels so inclined, we watch them pretend to fall apart and they make it look so graceful. In reality, life cycles forward and time is my favorite tragedy. When I fell apart, there was no elegance in my breakdown. I mourned you then, and so it continues.

There was once a ring, long since forgotten, but eerily stuck in my memory. It is my ultimate contradiction. I am tormented by the final laceration, removing you: my innocence. This is my side of the story, but you were better than any actor who ever lived and you hid your treachery like guns from children. I wrote the word "forever" on your chest with my fingertips, but you chose to ignore the F, one R, and one E.

"OVER"

I mourn the day I killed this part of me. The same day you showed your treachery. Curiosity killed the child who found your favorite weaponry. If I recall correctly, it was just the right size for him: a .22 caliber pistol... but why on Earth would you leave the safety off?

Now I understand why I am floating away. Oh dear God, no...

your voice never waivers
while you spit your treason
and twist the strings
that force falsified movement
of your favorite marionette:
Me.
or maybe it was the one you taught me how to use
before your ghost was all that remained.
it's probably in storage...
somewhere inside a box marked:
"the things he held most often."
I'm still unsure how the cacophony continues
without weakening or cracking
except when time stops
and God smiles down upon me.
I imagine the rest of the time
he's too busy with bureaucracy
and my guardian angel
is acting as his secretary.

have you ever believed
in something so blindly
so genuinely
that the moment you realize
it isn't true, something inside you
changes forever?
i wanna tell you a story, see
seldom do i ever
go swimming in drinks
deep enough to drown in
but when i do
i speak in tongues
about things that none
of my memories
are allowed to talk about
like that christmas
at the isthmus
where my girlfriend
plucked a conch shell
whiter than gods teeth
out of the sand
held it to her ear
and stopped time
that day she was a shade of blue
the could've made the ocean sick
see, she loved to play jokes
when she held
the sea shell to her ear
she gasped, called my name
and said "i want you to hear this"
i said "yeah, right, everybody knows it's just the same old sea"
she replied "no. not this one. this one is special. listen. theres music in this one"
she handed me the shell
like a promise she couldn't keep
and i held it to my ear
with all the potential
of seeing shore
after being stranded
at sea for years
only to hear
a tired dirge of silence
spill from its emptiness
i guess she didn't know
how desperately
i wanted to hear it too
because ever since
something inside me snapped
now sand pours out
of every post card i open
i hear seagulls
in telephone static
sometimes i have dreams
where i bury my hands
in every beach
i've ever been on
and exhume this graveyard of noise
every time i try to sleep
i spit up fishhooks
and i guess i'm obsessed
but maybe
if i hold my ear
to enough vacant things
then i could have back
the time stolen from me
since it happened
maybe they would get it
if they knew what i wanted
when i blow out birthday candles
maybe they'll find me
face down in a wishing well
i watch eternal sunshine
of the spotless mind every day
pretending i can forget too
because this sea sickness
has followed me for years
because yesterday
i walked into a music shop
and all the pianos broke
but the only thing
i can think to say is
*do you know how bad
a memory has to be
that you fantasize
about forgetting it?