And I just think of all the hurt we’ve done to each other.
However, small-
Like grains of sand, eventually accumulating
An hourglass.
Clumping together, sandcastles on stormy beaches.
And how, at some point,
All those small grains will outweigh the love
We have for each other.
How it will weigh us down,
Sink or abandon ship.

I think of how, despite knowing this;
Knowing us, in and out,
Around and inside,
I can’t do much but observe the impending wreckage.
Beached and bleached on sandy shores,
Our bloated love out to see.
Bury us in the mantle of the sand,
in the floor bed of the sea.

We fail because of our love,
not because of our lack of.

what was i supposed to be?
imploded stardust, floating aimlessly across
the universe expanding, never minding
cruelty escaping, dissipating,
evaporating,
but i can't be nothing if i was something,
laws of conservation of energy rejecting
my lack of preservation.

i want liquid gold inside my veins,
ruptured mind, kaleidoscope bones
creaking in the night.

i'm lost, florescent daylight  
cold and grim, fabricated and burning my retinas
an eight hour parable trying, to stay afloat
but coming home and wishing dark behind
eyelids; burnt.

what was i supposed to be?
sunshine reflected on flowers
warm and liquid, amber in the windows
dripping, pain immersed in honey
making the best out of a leak flowing
endlessly through the tap,
my kitchen sink old but practical.

i was supposed to be me,
whatever that may be.

when do we stop playing games with love?
when do we let our cotton candy hearts be
dissolved by a wet, sour tongue
when do we allow ourselves to be vulnerable
without anything in return?
that's there's strenght in fragility and ferocity
in salty tears;
when do we stop lying to ourselves and
settle for a love that doesn't burn our souls?

we become stories,
i've never had a first love;
but i've ******,
had one night stands
and morning goodbye's
told myself love is chemical
love fades and never comes back.

Love's a reaction,
at the right or wrong time;
we lie, we lay next to our selves, we seek
to feel a hole in, to make ourselve fill
in a mold that everyone's talked about
but;
what is love but imperfect.
Filled with some lies, with some hatred
with some humanity.

I love,
but I'll never be whole
and never a hole;
I'm complete yet
wanting to be less lonely.

She’s tried to write so many times before but can’t. Sits down on the chair, fingers static over the keyboard. Where they were once electric with the flow of motion and words, they rest like the awkward break in a conversation.
She thinks it’s so hard to write when you’re happy, loved the despair and feeling numb, used them like gas for a one way vehicle with only a crash for a destination. She loved her sadness too much that now that she’s happy words have betrayed her.
What can she tell a world that relishes in the darkness of emotions, in the pain, the heartbreak, the despair, the sadness, the loneliness and the isolation when she herself thrived in the pessimism.
How can you water a flower that nurtured itself in misery?

he kisses purple onto my skin
and i let him because he says it’s love.
between my blue skin and his red lips,
we make color bloom,
i say i love him too;
maybe this time it will be true.

love won’t save us,
but it can make us better.

I stopped believing in god because I couldn't hear him,
because each night I prayed I felt foolish when no one answered,
because I couldn't see the evidence of him but his absence.
But I realize, that religion is faith
trusting, blind and sometimes deaf
faith is the blind leading the blind.
I stopped believing in god because I found people.
because, I could reach out and be held,
because I could close my eyes and feel their presence,
because I could talk and finally be heard.
I put my faith in the cracks of their hands
and even if they lied it didn't seem to matter,
they could hurt me and I could hurt them;
we could be mutually destructive and yet create
something beautiful together.
I belive in people and sometimes they believe in me.

i don't deal with my problems;
i bury them in my yard and in
my haste forget that weeds grow
without the need of water.

sunflowers bloom from your lips
you smile and suddenly i can't see
you've got the kind of laughter
that can make the rain sound softer.

Dear past me,
I found a suggestion to write to our future self.
And, after much thought and deliberation, I found myself unable to thinks of us further than today.
Although, the past you and present me converge today, we both understand, that even now, our future is uncertain. And, it's all down to present me.

So, dear possible future,
there's a few things I know:

I know the sky is blue; sometimes.
The day before today was yesterday and after will be tomorrow. But yesterday is now certain. Written down on a rock. It is now a fixed point of life.
But tomorrow may not come. The sun not rise nor the moon fall.

Tomorrow is the great perhaps.
Sleeping; waiting to be awaken.
We are Schrodinger's cat. Both alive and dead inside the box of tomorrow.

That even if I can't see myself further than today;
here's to the things written and unwritten,
to the you before and the me after.
Here's to the great perhaps and maybe of tomorrow,
To the us who know,
and the uncertainty of now.
That to whatever yesterday decided,
tomorrow might forgive us.
Here's to the fine line between the past and future,
that it might meet our present and if not-
that it will remember us even if just today.

Here's to us,
anywhere in time.

this haunted house feels like us;
memories floating around like ghosts,
your shadow in the corner collecting dust
and the words of coversations like creaky doors
at midnight.
i've got the bones of ours hearts inside a
chest but forgot where the skeleton key went.
dared each other to go in, because, somehow
something dangerous and sinister makes the blood
pump faster.
now that we've left each other haunted,
afraid to love someone new once more-
was it worth not being called a coward, you think?

after all, just like you, my ghost will linger too.

Let me tell you why i cound't love him,
when all he thought of me was idealized
like some fairy in a fairytale ready to
aid him on his quest on his story.
How he loved my dyed hair or how i never
seemed to settle on a color
but not because i was fickle  and adventurous
but because color fades naturally.
Let me tell you how he treated me like some
discovery, a treasure for greedy pirates
and suddenly i wans't even a person,
i was his involuntary manic pixie dream girl;
a level in a game, a mage to give him answers
when i didn't even understood the questions.
How i was somehow supposed to teach him
life and love when its just me being me,
a girl attempting to live her life and every flaw
suddenly glitter covered and gold encrusted;
my anxiety reduced to a quirk and my depression
just so edgy.
Let me tell you that I couldn't love a boy,
-selfcentered and presumptious-
when all he saw in me was a character and not
a partner.

A boy who never even knew me but pretended.

Humor me, you said,
after all those years
like you could come back
to the stage and direct
a play that was never yours.
Like my limbs are held by
strings and you;
my puppeteer.
Like I'm suspended in time
and the clock ticks by only
when you appear.
But I'm not a stage for a play,
not yours to conduct.

I am sun, moon and stars.
A wild child, untamed;
a beast you could never hope to control.

There's skeletons in my closet,
monsters on my bed;
My lips are never honest
and my mind remains unsaid.

i want to fall into love slowly,
for it to walk my pace -hand in hand-
i want love to wait for me, patiently;
to hold me when i stumble, tenderly,
to catch me as i fall.
for love to never crumble
even when all i do is tumble.

i want to.

Death made promises Life could never hope to keep, forever.

In between stolen kisses
and longing glances,
we've hidden inside the covers
of our borrowed moments.
They say the nights are for lovers
but we're playing with those letters
and their meanings.
Making puns of what is to love
and to make peace with war.
Sharing skin, never staying too long
for a goodnight kiss;
we leave before the heat of our touch
cools down,
this our caricature of a romance.

We're making love with the dark,
sharing dreams with the stars,
its all make believe, playing house,
but who can stop us from daydreaming
inside this room with some numbers.

We lay awake counting sheep until
too soon; the sun is breathing down our necks,
we've drawn the blinds and shut the door
stealing daylights hours to save one last
Goodbye.

Love, she learns at a young, is her first disappointment. Her heart is bigger than her body and her logic smaller than her brain. She falls in love fast and easily with the world around her and doesn't understand how fast she can fall apart.
She grows to give and never take but forgets to set away some things for her. People, she realizes as she stand empty handed, are as greedy as they are needy.
And now that she's empty, that she has nothing left to offer, she tucks her heart away and is left forgotten.

Some nights,
I've put out my dreams on ash trays.

You belong here,
he carelessly said,
but in my happiness
I forgot to ask where?

Remember when we were
but we never happened?
Me neither.

The time I held the sun
and you kissed the moon,
when you named a star by my name
and I cried because we changed.
When you had your feet planted
in the earth,
while my head was high above the clouds.

Remember when I wrote your name
on the margin of my notebook?
the ink has faded from the page,
washed by the tick and tock of rain
by the drip and drop of the clock.

The time we held someone else's hand,
we kissed stranger's lips
to drown the taste of ours,
when your name was at the tip of my tongue
and I spit the words when I brushed my teeth;
down the sink they went.
When you saw and said nothing
while I said and stopped looking.

Remember when we never were
but we happened?
Let's forget.

i'm going to write all over my body,
show you the stories upon the heart
inside my sleeve
i love books so much i'll become one,
just for you;
you can turn the pages with the tips of your
fingers and  read between the lines-
just for you, i'll open up my cover without fear
of being torn apart,
you can add your own writings,
i want our stories to interwine.
i'll let you press your lips to the bones inside my spine,
skip the pages, go back and re-read my lines;
you can hold me in your hands
or throw me against the wall.

i know i can be cryptic and maybe i ask too much,
ocassionally i talk in metaphors,
give you hints about the story inside my skin
but i also know you love that most about me;
i make turns and twist the plot just as i please
to appease the hunger you hold when i'm a tease.

i won't let you put me down,
have you entranced and falling deeper,
forget the sleep, the night will be for reading-
you'll crave me like an addict, desperate for
the next line.

come,
let me write on my body,
explore the passages inside me,
i'll keep you guessing, searching for the ending
but i know i won't write you one,
this is the one of you and I;
our one thousand and one nights.

I have a flighty heart and a feisty mouth;
Fall in love too often and fall apart too fast.

Move away with me,
a road trip;
never ending, always driving.
We'll make a home on the road
and watch the scenery through
rolled down windows.
Watch the world we left behind
as we continue beyond.

And, it's not running away, I promise you.
It is never closing our eyes as we make our way
forward through the blur of the life around us.

I'll watch over you as you rest through the dawn
in the backseat of my car.
Once the night descends over the horizon,
we can park on the edge of the earth and
observe as stars and city lights converge.
Undistinguishable; sky and earth a long awaited
reunion.
A metamorphosis of the divine and the sublime.

Baby, let's live our life on the roads;
let's be ahead of the time;
leaving young, living wild.

I'm waiting in the night
by the red of the light.
I've been left out
under the touch of the rain;
like a photograph
my memories are fading.
Colors dripping,
down the streets streaming;
washed out words are pouring,
down the sewer dripping.

I'm monochromatic,
blind to a world of sheep.
At a standstill,
open arms ready to accept
the sky or ground;
rejecting and forsaking
rejected and forsaken.
A fool in a journey of redemption.

Stay up all night thinking of you,
of cigarette kisses that never happened,
the after taste of mint in my tongue.

I'm drunk,
But I know clearly all I've wanted is you.

Goodnight,
You're head on the pillow
the dreams are out the window,
In the morning you'll pretend and continue your day.

Cigarette kisses,
I'm addicted to the the nicotine hanging off your tongue.

Good morning regret, remember me?
You know me too well,
I'm here at the back waiting on your bed.
Let's stay up all night,
I'm the only company you've got.

You're drunk,
drowning sorrow with some stranger's warmth.

Hello,
I'm back;
tell me about how lonely you are,
I will try to kiss you and pretend,
when the sun breaks through the window,
about how bad we are for each other.

Cigarette smoke, mint kisses;
we're addicts to this cancer but, ****,
I need you at night when I'm most lonely.

We're drunk, love,
let's drag this in the covers and
burn our fingers with the ashes.

water seeped through invisible cracks on the ceiling,
sprung from tiles of the floor and
trickled down in serpentine paths from the walls.
I go out that day but no one notices.
It's gradual and slow, I try to sleep it off
but when I wake the next morning I am
waist deep inside the water.
I can only feel the chill of it, the ripples as I move
around attempting to ignore it.
It feels like air.
I'm too afraid to go out and seem different to people
around me.

Days pass, I wonder if I'm hallucinating,
what's wrong with me? perches in my head.

I spent all day attempting to identify the source;
under the bed, in the cracks of my mirror,
inside my pillow but nothing.
I sit in the middle of my living room,
in the middle of the flood,
in the middle of the night,
slowly being submerge in this confusion.

I'm drowning underneath this weight as
people walk on by unaffected by this change.
I've become numb,
sleep and wake to this abysmal blue.
There's no point in anything I do.
It's insidious, entering my dreams as I
prematurely awake to another day under the water.

Pining for a love that never was,
I listen to the crooning voices of jazz.
Boy, you made me tumble, you made me fall,
I lay at night dreaming of lips that never met.

Pining for you, I'm sad and lonely,
This are the autumn's blues of such life.

The orange leaves outside fall,
my rain in autumn.
The wind howls through the night,
forlorn whispers of your name.

I'm pining for you,
you who made me tumble, who made me fall,
I'm a leave on the winds of autumn,
Boy, I'm howling for you tonight.

I stood at the end of the universe
Waiting for the beginning of time.
Dangling my feet at the abyss where
everything that had shattered came back
together.

I stood at the end of time,
waiting for the beginning of the universe
and a second chance.

I've sat dining with the obscure figure of myself
one too many times.
We sit idly in the absence of sound as the
food grows cold
and my tongue goes numb.
The poison in my cup grows stronger and
my need for it makes my parched throat itch.
I mustn't take from the Devil's dinner table and
yet it is hard to abstain and give myself to
momentary pleasure.
It is a supper that has gone for far too long.
The food has belatedly gone cold and decomposed.
The beautiful illusion of the assortment of red fruits
and meat have rot over the passage of time.
The veil has been lifted and allowed me to see.
It's disgustingly beautiful in its reminder of mortality;
of beauty.

The whole in my chest grows bigger, deeper
as I stare past the deadly offering and in to
my urging shadow.
The flickers of the candles behind me dance
on the wall behind her.
A single, crimson pomegranate has been placed
on the immaculate plate in front of me.
He's arrived.
The host to greet the guest of honor.
Emerging from within the shadows the light cannot
reach.
Him, with a silk ebony robe devoid of all reflection
cascading down his figure
and his waiting for me to take a bite out
of his deadly feast.

He's patient, he's cunning in his silence;
He knows in time that I'll give in to the
hole been caved in to my heart.
The fractured darkness of me beacons Him closer
speaking tenderly as if to not startle our shared reverie
and he comes,
slowly,
taking his time to glance through the craft and art of
his fine dining.
The cold he's brought permeates the room and the
fire flickers furiously about to give way for the
obscurity of his presence.
The reflections of our shadows dance with frenzy on
the wall and I am lost within this world and the other.

A multitude of clocks scream around us.
Stretching his bony hand to me, calmly,
never rushing.
I stare confused and in the basin of his hand
there is a skull
from which protrudes a single red poppy.
Candles begin to burn out behind me.
One by one I can feel the absence of their heat
extinguish,
Just as the hand of the symphony of clocks near
the witching hour.
He remains poised over me, hindering my view of
the shadow of myself at the end of the table.
There are faint murmur underneath the hood of
the robe,
muted by the ticking from the walls.
He's tolerance promises redemption from the
torment of being forsaken.

And the clocks chime,
for a moment everything is a cacophony of echoes.

Their clamor halts.
The hands no longer mark.
Time has come to a stop.

A single candle illuminates the room.
The shadow has merged inside the darkness.
It is lost, yet I know its there.
He brings himself to my level, placing expectantly
the skull and petal beside my plate.
We glance at one another.
After an immeasurable bout of time
I stand from my seat, get the last remaining
candle and sit back down close to him.

He puts his hand around mine
and I gently blow the candle out.

"It's alright, you can cry?" She looks listlessly at her reflected shadow. There's nothing on her mind, every cloud of thought has left the gray skies of it. She feels like a desert, barren and almost lifeless. If she could cry she'd cry the oceans in to existence and drown the earth in her sorrow.
But  she cannot. That's the real tragedy. Nothing disturbs her. All she can do is stand there not quite sure how to express the endless grief that leaves her like a carcass. A decomposing body without a soul, without the breath and sentiments of life.
"You can cry." She repeats to the rippling water in the lake. Her distorted, ever moving mirror where she does not quite recognize herself in. It's impassive in its tranquility.
If she were a song she'd be a broken melody in a dusty music box. Forgotten and replaced.
You can cry, she remind herself in the middle of a night as darkness hangs upon the sky. As it clings to her like Death weighs on her shoulders and violates her through the pores of her dry skin.

Of course, she never does.

She drifts in the open abyss of a tempestuous ocean waiting for oblivion.
She drifts,
                                   she drifts,
                                                                         she drifts...

No dreams.
No sinking feeling of demise.
Waiting for the lighthouse in the distance but all is bathed in the shadows.
There's not consolation of sandy shores somewhere on the distance.

Cry, she begs herself laying on her bed ready to succumb to sleep. Closes her eyes and opens them to shadows. Obscure and never ending. The darkness is ubiquitous, the only God that has not yet forsaken her.
She walks a few miles in the flatness of the dark land but there is no point to her direction for all is desertion. So, she stands in the lightness of the black.
Sometimes, her young self hides behind her back, wearing white and glancing ahead. She looks back at herself and wonders what the she can see. Her dress and hair fluttering gently by an invisible breeze, countenance straight and strong, never looking at what should be in front. After, she walks barefoot in to the darkness and disappear as by enchantment.

You can cry.
                                    you
                                                  can
                                    cry

But, in the darkness of her mind and her room
The tears don't fall
And her affliction is obscured
darkness never seemed so profound

It couldn't get any worst.
Use to be a shadow in the corner,
a few steps behind me,
never close yet always in my line of sight.

Its darkness mimicking the
movements of my body.
Day or night,
the thing that never sleeps
it weeps in laughter as it creeps
each time closer, closer
slithering its way up my bed
as I clutch the blanket and tightly
shut my eyes in vain.

Tonight it sits by the edge of my bed
staring
staring
waiting in the darkness for me.
My heart is in my ears
a scream between my teeth,
I try to pray but remember I've forgotten,
I've got no more faith.

It's ragged raspy breath echoes in the void
of my alien room
and it just sits there
as my frustration and fright grows
a bit madder and wild each ticking second.

Morning comes
the sun raises from the crust of the earth
I've not slept a wink.
Yet, I've got to follow my day pretending
not to see the beast getting each time closer.

Remember I said it couldn't get worst?
Sorry, I lied.
Its bony,clammy hand has grasp my ankle.
Tonight will be longer,
the frigidness of its ebony, wispy hand seeps slowly
through my skin.
And once more as dawn breaks through my window
I am not relieved because its putrid hand has left
a dark imprint on my skin.

This routine continues,
I am becoming the shadow of its figure.
Its madness is dyeing me of darkness.
Scrubbing beneath the steam of the water won't make
its mark wane.

I understand now.
It is possessing me,
slowly,
bit by bit,
adhering to my body
until all I see is ebony in the mirror
and I know I've got to bleed this beast
out.

So, I take a blade and begin the process
trying to rid and purify my body
of this malign creature.
But they don't understand me!
They won't let me carve out this
madness!
I try and try but they come and stop me.
My mother, the men in white robes,
everyone is against me
letting the beast reclaim my sanity!

I'm confined within these walls,
together with this creature
but they feed me little pills
and I forget why this all began.
Sometimes, I hear my mother and a man
whisper of silly things,
they say the depression gave away to schizophrenia
but they don't really understand
because they have not looked behind
to the shadows lurking on their backs.

Hope was selling
dreams to the hermits
on the street.
Empty stars filled the carts
paying a price that was too
high.
In debt they left
and came back broke with
butterflies in their dusty pockets
and moon kissed smiles upon their frowns.

Aspiring the rocky dust of crushed stars,
feeling high, feeling new
shooting up, falling down-
A shower of meteors lighting up across the horizon.
Crashing the earth's crust,
addicts for another fix.

Dreamers stealing the stars,
tasting paradise for a little while.

Tonight the freckled sky winked at me,
well that's what I'd like to think
but really it did to all, because the gown
the Moon wears out seduces and bewitches us.

It flirts around with many, a two-timing lover,
and though I'd like to think of me differently
I can't leave this unhealthy relationship,
thus I pretend she's mine to dream and write about.

At times I despise her,
cunning and frigid waiting for me to glance up
at her.
Always out of reach and yet she tells me she's near.
We fight,
I don't see her in the sky for days,
I suffer,
she hides behind the velvety veil of opal clouds
and all I feel are the droplets of my tears.
However, those times don't matter,
I love her unconditionally even while she goes and
lures in another.

Tonight,
her speckle lashes flutter beneath my fingertips
her twinkling lips like sparkling water
her body is chilly from a night of walking
and that's fine,
I'll warm her with my words and caresses,
because tonight belongs to me and no one other.

You won't look at me anymore.
It hurts that you refuse to glance my way.
Your warmth, a running tap, it leaks and has
been drained at long last.
There is no future,
today has been lost among the dust and vases
of flowers that forlornly rest and adorn this
empty house.
Everyone offers me apologies as though it
is their fault you've gone.

Now I've got the past to look into.
Daydreams of memories playback
behind the eyelids I can no longer
bring to open.
The bed is long cold and the vacancy
you left cannot be filled and yet I still
lay beside the hole you've carved.
Touch my fingertips to the emptiness
as I trace a specter of a silhouette among
the darkness that the light and shadows
cast over your pillow.  
I wish to sink in to it,
lay my weary head to rest.

You. I dream of you often.
We run in a valley in which stars grow
from the soil,
catch the feathery fluff of petal showers,
flowerbeds are made of sugar,
we swim in ponds of honey
and forever watch the marmalade dawn in
this timeless space of ours.
The night never arrives.
I wake bitterly with tears streaming down,
a waterfall.

Coffee does not taste the same at morning.
My cup sits silently and bleak
it goes cold and untouched.

Every day drags , it's impossible.

More often than not I think of that day,
as I sat in front of you in a crowded room
and you refused to open your eyes and see me.
Even if for one last time.
It was quiet, my mind was tired.
This silly suit I wore now I'll use to go and see you.

Make room for me in your casket,
I'll come and meet you soon.

We've written you to immortality
among the stars in dark skies
trasncending life and death
despite giving us affliction
towards our one sided affection.

Look at us all write
to the Saints who ignore us
kneeling at the back of their altar
pleading to be heard of.

We don't mind the sadness and longing
you keep us sane, keep us writing.
Musing to our muses,
we adore the inspiration.

Look at us all writing
despite the fact they won't be reading.
Demonstrating our devotion
through our humble emotion.

People do much damage.
I guess I'd say,
                           you should go.
That's probably the best we can do.

I replay you like my favourite song;
over and over
waiting for a change in lyrics
in tune, in tempo-
over and over.
I know all the words,
have grown accustomed and even tired.
Yet, there's no way I could ever hit Stop.

over and over
waiting and waiting
over and over
I begin to mouth the words as you sing them.
I can't be sure whether it is mocking or familiar
but it's something I know.

I replay you like my favourite song;
over and over
high and low
volume does not matter for I already know.

It begins to lose significance
I sleep and wake to your same song;
over and over
lower and lower
And before I notice, it is gone.
The song I knew so well, I can no longer find.

We move to the next song,
to the next listener-
and we commence all over.

won't you listen to my
                  silence?
fill the emptiness inside.

I took a blade home and tried it on
my skin as you would to a nice new
shade of lipstick.
It suited my skin and was long lasting.
I'm addicted; so much that I reapply it
every day.
Finally I've found, the perfect shade to
compliment my skin tone.

Why I shouldn't do it
is a list at the very front of my mind.
It is comprised by  the mundane and insipid.
Little bullets with bold letters engraved and
edited every other day that
I didn't do it.

Why I want to do it
is a brief italicized and underlined word;
Liberation.

Why I shouldn't do it
is a desperate attempt at clinging
to each single facet of my prolonging days.
There are things like
-I have not read enough
-I have not seen enough
-I have not written it all
but Why I Want To Do It has added
neon lettering to that trifling word
and I am captivated by the prospect and
beauty of the light in the obscurity of my mind.

Why I'm making a list
is my hope that the amount of excuses
will surpass the weight of that word
and it will someday be crushed by the
pressure of
Why I didn't do it.

Not long ago, I dreamed I was swimming in the most beautiful water I have ever seen. It was a crystalline, pastel tangerine which was the product of the reflecting sun. It was too clear that it felt like air. I was underneath, swimming in its deepness and yet almost teasing the surface with the underwater ripples of my moving legs and hands.
There were iridescent green trees protruding from the side of the pool rooted barely to the edges of the patches of earth at the sides. Almost glowing from within with a light of their own. They were big and its leaves were plentiful. Evergreen, full of richness and budding inside this water world.
I felt content. At one point I was swimming with my head towards the surface but I was still submerged and the caramel rays of the sun caressed my body and filled me with euphoria.
I was floating underneath further and further mesmerized by the beauty and serenity.
I saw myself from somewhere above as I enjoyed the sensation of the embrace of the water and swam immersed in mirth.
It felt like swimming in my aspirations and inspirations. The softer side of imagination.

What do you want?

I was not born in to this world
to fix your mistakes.
I am not your second chance and hope.
I am me;
and me makes mistakes worth the pain
worth the chat and the laughter.

I am not you and
you are not certainly me.

I won't, however, make your mistakes.

I'll read to my child and tell them it's okay
to fall out of line
to fall out of order
to drown in the pragmatic questions
and breathe the pathological questions.

I'll tell them I love them
that they are not me
and I'm not certainly them.
That asking is knowing
and knowing is listening.
That been wrong is a matter of vocalization
and right is just a one route suicide nation.

I'll tell them right
without doing them wrong.
Take your pick
anything goes.

I want me.
Me might be wrong.

you hold me still in the morning,
i can feel the world around us ticking
but we are untouched, unaffected
by the fleeting time around us.

Dark thoughts perch lightly above
scrawny limbs,
while underneath my feet touch
the dismal comfort of phantasmagoric pastures.

and there's a muzzle on my mouth
and a noose around my neck
tightening, gripping
I find morbid comfort in it's baleful
embrace.

The crows don't sing but their feet
sting my twigs
and they stare
and they whisper.

Clocks melt away but the numbers
remain etched in to my skin.
the muted rhythm,
I begin to lose my sanity.

The colors run down my skin
down the drain
someone's poured water
unto my charcoal world.

isolation is now familiar
my heart is upside down.
The dark thoughts perch
in the fragile balance of my mind
will snap
and I'll become part of a past.

Let's make love with the stars,
lay **** on sandy shorelines of
a midnight escape.
Let's be young again, care about nothing.
Dance around the fire of the dreams we burned
of the dreams we shared
of the dreams we believed
of the life we dreamt of.
Sing the night away, burn the pain and the regret
leave the worry at the door and turn towards our silhoutte.

Let's be young again,
build castles from the ashes of those dreams
tell the world we won't care if it ceases to exists
tell ourselves we'll remain constant in the debris
of the collapsing world around us.
Take another gulp of life
and hold the weight of the world inside this
smoke filled lungs.

Let's be us,
just this once more;
Young and breathless
but never hopeless.

The scars will be lost within the creases and wrinkles,
this sea will have been traveled and never unraveled.
love left its stain,
time wanes and ebbs the fervor of the summers.
Legs now twigs as fragile as the first,
limbs and bones become limp
soon won't be able to even lift my hand
to write to you a reminder of the marvelous passages
I've traveled.
Sentences running on in place of me whom lies in bed asleep.
Soon, in the dawn of a day my words will lose their sense
and I'll ramble about incomprehensible things.
You'll get tired of me.
I'll fade away to me, forget my face and name;
forget the pen and paper.
Too lost without a reason to be afraid.

There is too much I want to say now that I can-
but the words stumble upon each other.
all I can do is but put on a smile as I stare in to the mirror.
There is not a note of sound but for
the silent gesture of its affliction.

In my mind, I break things.
I throw picture frames at walls
shatter the vase of wilting flowers
shove books out of their cases
rip apart their pages,
tear away their seams until they are back
to an incoherent soup of letters
and their well meaning themes and phrases
have become but what my life is,
poignant and pathetic.

There is nothing, no reaction.
I wreck havoc in my head
while I give a picture of composure
as you lecture me on how to live my life
when yours is nothing but in shambles.

In my mind,
I run away, take a train and live
to see brighter days.

It's one of those days,
where I remind myself not to let go yet.
But one of these days,
I'm walking out in to the sea and all you'll see
are the specks of gleaming water in the breeze.