It’s a bit past midnight and you are on my mind again.

No metaphors, no clever word play.

your lips, your eyes, your face.
The way your nose scrunches up when I tell you you’re beautiful.
The way you look at me when you’re to scared to kiss me.

It’s past midnight again,
And you are on my mind again.

Your lips met mine once more as we reluctantly put distance between each other once more.

You may not be embracing me on those long drives home however, your presence still lingers.

Even now in my bed, hands still shaking I long for your arms around me.

Those arms that were never mine but always have been.
That heart that I could never break but always feel.
Those lips that I would always dream of but never kiss.

Playing out our love in small scenes, short acts, dancing up and down the stage hands interlocked eyes trained on one and other.

Tiny ponds with enough waves to sink the strongest ships.
Destroying the beaches, flooding the coffee shops and antique stores.

You have always been my forever.
You have always been my never.

Holding my hands out as you split my wrists again
Bending my fingers back, I’ll breathe again when I hear them pop

Holding handfuls of glass as it shatters, smaller and smaller.
Sinking into my skid.

How comforting your lies feel.
How cold your love feels.

Dancing around the noose, walking our little circles.
Just kick the stool out, I deserve that.

Maybe the audience will find some solace in the way my eyes fade, maybe they’ll have some pity as my body flails.

Maybe the circles will get tight enough to suffocate me.
Maybe I’ll find the thing that you couldn’t give me,
Floating mere feet from the ground

I want to drink a little too much with you.
Wander the streets laughing about nothing, staring in the store windows.
Looking for a glow of an open sign to find a new pack of cigarettes.
Staying up too late, telling too many truths.
Acting on all of our bad ideas,
With em the excuse in our heads that tomorrow it won’t matter.

I wonder if god is watching me.
I wonder what he thinks of my choices.
At least I’m plastering ink over my scars, at least this pain is creative.
At least I stay away from the bottles and the pills lately, at least my monsters and me share a clear head now.
I could have been dead by now, wouldn’t have changed much to you.
You only answer my screams with silence, bouncing wall to wall. Deafening.
You, this mythical engineer.
You bringer of life, orchestrator of pain.
You left me, clawing, moaning, bleeding.
You could have saved me.

I wonder if god ever watches me, I wonder if he’s proud of me.

Please drown with me my love. Tonight we sit once more along the concrete left from undocking tin boats, where the lapping waves fill in the painful silences. Please drown with me, together holding each other for the last time as we are swallowed by the black. Whether it your uncertain love or the freezing water, either way I can’t seem to breathe. Please my love, drown with me tonight.
So I can’t feel you leave tomorrow.

I wonder if I crossed your mind,
I wonder if I ever. Even for a second. Appeared in your mind.

As you stumbled to a car, cold night.
Not for long.

I wonder if you looked at him the way you looked at me, I wonder if he did everything that I couldn’t. Touched you the way I never did.

I wonder if the warmth in your chest was so full it snatched the feeling out of mine.

I wonder if either of you could feel me in the air,
Hands shaking
Head splitting
Wrists bleeding
Chest caving

I wonder if as you fell asleep that night with him.
I wonder if you could feel the drugs in my blood,
As our eyes close.
Hoping for a black tomorrow.

I wonder if we both felt nothing
I wonder if we both felt everything

Every night I up the dosage. Dull the nerves in hopes I won’t feel you.
But like clockwork, as I sink into my bed I can feel you.
Your scent is so familiar, like the mist of the sea to a grizzled fisher.
Just like a siren to a sailor, I can hear your chanting, your breathing.
No matter how many poems, nor countless dreams, you always find a way in.
Splitting the edges of my skull so you can seep through my bloodstream.
You never let my wounds heal.

You are my favourite scars.

Funny how pretty everything looks,
Soaked in over saturated colours.
I’ve been stuck in this room for months, I’ve been stuck in this skull for too long to care.
Four walls, whether paint plastered and polished.
Four walls meet my eyes.
I wish I could sew my eyes shut, only see what I imagine.
I can hear the cars becoming less constant outside, even the cats are sleeping now.
These lights are too bright for me.

I wish I could turn myself off.

You want to get married in a swamp.
As the mosquitoes drained the poor excuse for blood I watched your eyes wander.
I wish I could marry you right now.

Can people be made for eachother?
Not much of a man of fate or love,
But the way you look into my eyes my stubbornness subsides.

It’s not hard to fall for you,

You

Spent hundreds of hours writing thousands of words to describe you.

None of these words could do you justice.

None of these poems can show you the feeling I get when you kiss me.

You said you’re sorry that you live a double life,
I’m just happy I’m in one of them.

Funny the older I get the more I find myself changing
The ways I hurt myself always change, different pains. Same vices

As appealing as seeing my blood make those strange designs as they drip down my arms sounds.
It’s becoming harder to hide the wounds.

Maybe it’s the self doubt? Challenging myself on the most minor choices. Eating away at me.

Becoming obsessive over friends, strangers, anyone really.
Knowing I’m not their problem.

Or maybe it’s the drugs, the same ones that keep my brain at bay are the ones that make the grey matter rot,

it’s all about moderation, and tonight I have none.

I’m on a drive,
I’m smoking a cigarette
I’m hearing very little
I’m feeling even less
Wonder if I’ll see the engine stop, I wonder if these keys will enter my pockets again.

I wonder if the lights fade out or if it’s a cut to black

New weapons.
Same vices.
Good night.

I kissed you last night.

Head in your lap, a million thoughts spinning through my head, breathing is out of the question, hands shaking.
Funny thing about it is every nerve in my body may be firing off at once, but lying on that bench, rain beginning to commence it’s onslaught.
I felt at home.
Maybe that’s you.

You. Exhausted, wrapped up in a blanket, stressed to hell and back.
You looked like an angel.
When our lips connected for a brief moment I forgot it all, everything dissolved like the last bits of ash in yesterday’s bonfires.
I wanted to run with you.
I wanted to go, live, be free.
I wanted to hold you, to touch you, to feel you.
I wanted to wake up to those eyes and doze of to the smell of your hair.
I wanted to take all of your stress and your pain away.

I wanted you.

I kissed you last night.

I never pictured a future with you, we were Just two kids with each other and no care for what the future held. After all, who cares if you’re alive tomorrow when you fall asleep next to your everything? Maybe that was our falling point. Now I just can’t shake you, we found each other wounded, beaten down. And all we ever cared was of if the others heart hurt as bad as it did yesterday. You’ve been gone for a long time. Longer than I care to count, but your spirit, that free spirit... still lingers. You’re the calloused palms of my hands, the smoke in the air. You are the itch in my scars and the burn in my lungs, just short lived pain.

You left me the way you found me, and for that I hate you.
And for that I love you.

I know of pains, burnings and aching so hidden and unknown.

These scars within scars, that drive the skin on your bones to peel and bring even the strongest to their knees.

These invisible blades can not be traced to any source. The razors sit in heels of shoes and backs of throats waiting for the fleeting moments of fear to drive deep in hopes of drawing small volumes of blood.

The average eyes can’t see the scars, only those who have been punctured by these ever so slight slashes can understand the pain beyond pain, the infections held under those healed wounds.

the sourceless pains.

The skies have rendered everything a pale grey.
Not used to our own thoughts, the screams still ring in our ears.
We are all wandering under the ash rain, eyes low.
Nothing heard, nothing said.
There’s not much of us left, not much of anything.
After this agony, where will we go?

When these wounds heal, and the skies finally clear.

All we will have is a wasteland.