the moon is as longing
as I am to be the brightest
in an ocean of darkness
speckled with billions
of smudges of light
but does the moon get tired?
is that why its in love with the ocean, drowning itself
in the water every night?

do you think someone
paints your mirror?
that the color of your reflection
isn't you?
do your conversations seem
one sided?
do you realize the only
person talking
is you?

isn't there something brighter
some type of tranquil light
better than the moon at night
that can wake the dark parts
of the sidewalk to light
so I don't step into them
so I sleep right at night

everyone knows
I have a fear of the dark
It reminds me of tar
It reminds me of my mind
It reminds me of my sinking
It reminds me of your drinking
It reminds me of the *******
It reminds me
of the empty
spaces
in my chest
that are not empty,
they are somehow filled
with nothingness

It reminds me of
the feeling
when I reach out  
to grab you
and my hand
cant grasp you
can't make you understand
can't make you see what's
happening to me
how I am drowning

In something invisible

you asked me why I smoke
as frequent as I do
but what do you do
to satisfy
a longing
that could never
be expressed?
there are many things
I wish I could tell you
but
I inhale
my
every
intention
to speak

why do most want a
love that is detrimental?
a love that shatters
your teeth
as you try to speak
a love that inflicts
a stream of butterflies
or makes you appear
as if you've had
too much caffeine
by the way your
delicate
being
shakes

I have shaken
and clamped
my tongue this time
to stop the promises
from leaking out
I decline to drink coffee
so you don't believe
I'm quivering with words
unspoken

I decline to mention
that I dream of your face
in the future looking worn
from every obstacle
we have hurdled through
in our years
I decline to mention
every morning that
you're softly breathing sleep
I hold your face
and softly mumble
"mine"
I decline to mention
my excess of
"I love you's"
is caused by an
unshakable longing
to promise a forever.
but why?
why does it seem so
unattainable
why do I reject the thought of
a promise to you
for
something
so
precious?

I am tired of shaking
I am tired of a placebo
I'm tired of over used
empty apologies
I'm tired of reminiscing
remembering
" I will always love you"
"forever"
I am tired of my lovers thoughts
being elsewhere
I am tired
I am worn
my butterflies have turned
into the
ash
I flick
off
my
cigarettes

I used to write novels
for the people in my life  
I've loved until I saw how
empty
others were
while doing the same
I used to whisper "I love you"
and sweet meanings.
I have experienced
the truly empty
of this world
I have loved
the damaged
the angry
the sad
and
the broken

they spoke a hollow shell
of the same words
i purred with meaning
Suddenly
I lost
my appetite
for

forever

a waking so timeless,
where we lose our fingernails
as we claw each other
and rain; the rain glittering
along it's fundament, glittering
along our... let's just say
that there is a universe of
silver linings in the eaves and a
scent of leaves in this silence,
this dust is ours only
we dig deep
into golden phrases,
while finding screaming skin
breaking slowly into air,
an electrocution
focused on our loves;
we dig deep
into pits of our
broken hearts
surprised
we are so apart somehow
there is an electricity
that pulls the dust back,
together.
the static,
the floor was a blanket
your smile, a fire escape
the static in the air
the wine glasses neglected,

we drank from the bottle

when
  our hair
    came together
like a curtain
  the shakes
    overtook us
in withdrawal
  from our
    emotional apocalypse
was perfection
  in trainwreck
    romanticism
the relationship
  there suicide
    threatened
half-heartedly
  apologizing for
    a frightening sort
of psychological
  infidelity low slung
    in tropical
mood swings
  sank lovers in
    the inevitable
disasters and
  storms and
    homeless hearts
cling *******
  anything available
        bruising in rain
   decided alone
to be betrayed
  by your
    little hands
hovering over
  the table
    like omens
of confession
awaiting a
  mistake to make
    themselves
forget
  the doubt
    that
strangles them
  unwilling
    to know
the contradictory
  confusion
  that I
    always
have loved you
  and will
    still onward
despite your
  constant
    denial
binding me
  to the
    burden of
still loving
  everyone
    I’ve ever loved
even
  when
    I’ve been
wronged
  or
    when
I’ve
  ended up
    hated,
or
  maybe
    my memories
are lies
  and my
    unending
dream of
  forgetting
    is really
us
  being
    devoted
to
  each other
    in ghostlife
inseparable
  I have been
torn open
  with only alcohol
    for healing
      the wound made

        by my burdening love

i believe that people
are like those sand paintings
that take years to finish
every shape
and
every color
is there for some reason
some accidental reason
or some intentional one
billions of tiny pieces to create one whole
over time the shapes and colors
may change
because they don't seem to fit,
and with all these grains
to deal with it is a slow process
to try
to make the picture right again
sometimes a wind
blows a section off
we then rebuild that section,
but it doesn't look the same
the whole is altered accordingly
we do this perpetually
until we inevitably
run
out
of the sand given to us
by some unseen hourglass
and then we die
and then the sand is swept through centuries into some giant sandbox as the picture slowly blurs
and dissappears,
until the table-top is cleared
and as the children play and dig
and the wind ripples and churns, eventually
we end up
being barely more than billions
of tiny pieces
in an endless
colorful
sandbox

I imagine you remember the way sunday morning light bounced off
her skin
I imagine you can vividly recall the way the curves of her lips turned up when she smiled to express
"I love you"
I imagine you replay the ending consistently, a cave filled with a
lack of closure.

But
Winter cures the wear of summer.
I am not her,
I am not summer,
I am not quiet,
I am not dainty,
nor have i spent years with you

I am a beginning,
I am the cold breeze that cools you,
I am the soft stream of light coming through your blinds that wakes you
exclaiming

" I love you, summer is only a season but I love you daily"

maybe in a parallel universe
it could be called love
to rip out each other's throats
and still want you.
but in this world
it is a rarity

to be both passionate and in love.