Soaked from the rain.
                                         Surrounded by figures.
                      Invisible to all.
                                                I heard it:
'You want to be loved.'
             The gray clouds enveloped the sky.
                                    I shook my head.
       Everything was crumbling.
                                                             Emptiness.
                                            Worthlessness.
                             Complaining.
                      Hatred.
              Distain.
       Apathy.
                                          I was seen,
                       But it wasn't me.
                                                                       Stop looking.

                                  The grass withered at my feet,
Turned to mud behind each worthless step.
                              My suit worn down with grime.
          Stained with dirt and blood.
                                  It looked nice,
                                             The stains were covered.

                    The voice:
     'Not loved for how you are.'
                       'But loved for who you are.'
                                     'Despite who you are.'
              'You want to belong in your existence.'
                              'You want you,'
               'The real you,'
'To be loved.'
            'Not the manufactured you,'
                                  'Not how you look,'
                                                 'Or how you act,'
                                                                   'You.'

                I laughed at it's words.
Feeling the urge to ***** and cry at the same time.
                                      But only smiling.

                                               Then I said no...
                                ...I said no...

Puddle.
           One day in the future I hope you open
            your eyes after it's rained,
            catching your reflection in the
            gathering
            water,
            and find yourself,
            free,
            alive,
            happy.

Youth.
            In an instant, her eyes widened,
             and I saw an innocence long lost,
             as tears began to form.

Blood.
           A stained white wood door,
            splattered in red,
            as the painter again,
            got lost in his head.

How to fix past mistakes.
           You can't. They're done.

Rope.    
          Tie us together,
          and hang out memories from the trees
          we used to climb.
          Suspend us forever with a infinite knot
          on fire.

How to Live with Yourself.
           With a song every morning.
           With change driven by guilt.
           A love never ending.
           A desire to be real.
                But all poetry aside,
                      With closed eyes,
                      deep breaths,
                      an empty mind,
                      and a wish for-

Coffee.
           A bitter taste,
            awakening touch.
           Sweet like cream and sugar,
           warm like cinnamon,
           I need you every morning,
           every day,
           all the time.

Milk Chocolate,
           stuck to my mouth,
           drying it.
           Always longing for something warm to
           wash it down with,
           but you just laugh and call it cute,
           as you wipe the stain from my face.

I miss you.
           Which you, I don't know.
            Whether the one I knew,
            or the one you are.
            I would die one thousand times just
            to see you again.
            It's harder still to know that others do,
            because you're gone,
            only to me.

Subtlety, envelope me,
To burn with fire the aspen tree.
It feels like night,
Though sky is bright.
I'll define life symmetrically.

The world is done,
To bear a gun,
Accept a life exceptionally.
Tonight will come,
I'll bleed the sun,
And transcend time intentionally.

The air falls silently,
incomplete repetition,
***** office carpet,
flickering ceiling light,
empty, collapsing, cubicles.

The wallpaper fades before your eyes.
People change.
You will die.

It takes emotion to be a true friend,
not presence,
just care,
intention.

Work will eventually mean nothing.

It doesn't matter if you are remembered.

Memories bleed a bed in which to lay.

The ribs break.

Clattering silverware as your parent's worry wins.

Silent dinners seeping dread.

The window panes crack,
dissolving into your mind.

You dream merely what you want to see,
not for others.

Crying heard muffled through the walls.

Futile attempt.

Shaking hands.

Scars, existent as not.

Childhood smile.

Scraped knee.

Painful silence.

It will all be good-
day,
night,
tomorrow,
future,
past,
-bye.

Stay with me one more moment.
One more minute.
One last time.

It will be okay.
Everything will be okay.

Kiss.
When you kissed me,
With my eyes still closed,
I said to you:
"I have never had a first kiss."

When I opened my eyes to see your reaction,
You were gone.
And I remembered.


Beds.
Beds are dangerous,
Life-threatening traps.
The sheets: a barbed binding,
Encasing and suffocating.
The covers:
A panic-soaked hug
filled with hyperventilation. (Get off of me!)
The pillow: rocky ground and spinal trouble.


Dreams.
Dreams are non-existent nightmares.
Burning houses and drowning lakes.
Warm open night air in freezing water.
Being locked inside a trunk.
Fields of fireflies.
Cicada's friction.
You.
Always you.


Cafe.
Coffee reminds me of you.
The sweet warmth of cinnamon.
Cool refreshing milk.
Bitter richness of coffee.

A subtle hint of scented lavender.
A pinch of ***** chilli.
Honey, a name as much as a flavor.
Vanilla, pure.


****.
Vulnerable.
On display.
Exposed.

I removed my clothes first,
But you kept yours on.

Disgusted by the sight...

There's this girl who is invisible,
You can see her outline when it rains,
And though most don't,
I notice her,
And I sing to her songs about pain.

There's this girl who is invisible,
We've talked and I've quoted some poems,
And even though I can't see it,
I know that she smiles, alone.

There's this girl who is invisible,
She dances outside in the rain,
And sometimes I like to watch her,
As she dances to the songs I sing.

There's this girl who is invisible,
Sometimes she just stands all alone,
And if that is the case,
I come to her,
And I hold to her arm, and we go.

There's this girl who is invisible,
I saw her at first in the rain,
And we met when I brought an umbrella,
And we talked through the night and the day.

There's this girl who is invisible,
And only I stand by her side,
And even though,
I seem alone,
I pray that she's standing by mine.