There is a moon
over Tennessee
and it is killing me
with its soft
moon light red lips
and don't you wish
you were here hips
her dark eyes telling stories
from the west side
of the tracks

if it isn't magic
that she makes
from her fingertips
out of the nothing
in the night air
then it must be love
she sculpts out
of these small moments
of eternity

the moments she shapes
into stars that shine
with flames of poetry
close enough to read
but just out of reach
never to be held
never to be touched

there in the sky
they hang
and they sing
with that moon

that moon over Tennessee
that moon
that is killing me

Depression doesn’t loosen its grip when I am caught off guard by a joke / and it is funny enough to make me snort and that only makes me laugh at the embarrassment I feel from snorting / it’s still there coiling quietly while reloading its fangs with venom / ready to strike whenever I start to feel something good is happening / that maybe this whole life and art and love thing is worth taking out my paper and pencils and pens and brushes  and paints for / and maybe just maybe give some hope to dreaming like I did back in my youth / back when I thought more about my potential / I thought more about my abilities / I thought I could do anything / I thought I would do anything / I thought love... / I thought love was within reach.../ somewhere with someone... / I wouldn’t say I really suffer from any serious forms of depression /  more of just “situational” depression /like I hate my job “depression” / I hate my ability to procrastinate so well “depression” / I hate the way I carry so much self loathing “depression” / the I hate my “life” depression... / you know / situational “depression” / and the situation only being the situation of being alive “depression” / but it comes and goes / slithering quietly through / from my mind through my heart / back and forth / waiting silently for anything I might feel or think that it might want to strike out at and strangle and swallow head first / its nice like that / to not always be present in every thought of every day / but never to far away / never gone for good / I mean theres a lot in this world and this life to be depressed about / how horrible would it be to not be able to feel depressed...oh man, I almost snorted...

Loneliness does not leave my body when I walk into a crowded room /it only amplifies itself with thoughts of why didn’t I just stay at home /what did I expect to find here / a pretty face with a kind smile and deep soulful eyes that would not only see the troubled and lost thoughts inside my head / but would be a mirrored reflection of the same struggles and doubts / someone who would say more by saying nothing and understand all the silence pouring out of my mouth / you know the girl / the one I read about in the poem I wrote last week / last year / yesterday and probably again tomorrow / the imaginary one I write all those fictional love poems to / the one that kind of looks like me in a dress / is it weird that I think she’s kind of hot? / the one that reminds me of the real girls and women I am always too afraid to talk to / I swear if it weren’t for alcohol and aggressive women I would still be a ****** today / it was so cute how they told me they never brought guys home with them... I don’t know maybe this was true / maybe it wasn’t / and I was always so naive that every time it happened I expected we were going to just watch a movie or something... / we did the something / just a something not as PG as I was expecting / something not really PG at all.../ oh...young me, where has tho gone.../ (sigh)... / I don’t drink so much now and I am not as naive / still a little / but that’s another story.... / and now I have been alone so long that it has a certain comfort and warmth / so long that I rarely notice being lonely at all / the dull buzz of silence / the peacefulness of an empty house is louder than the empty echo and cries of desperation from my heart... / that is / until I walk into a crowded room

Theres no cure for heartache
but there is always *****
and poor judgement
and my stupidity has no boundaries

so let me drink until tomorrow
is nothing but sorrow and regret
and love ain’t nothin
but a poorly written poem
on the napkin I wrote a fake number
for the girl whose name
I can’t remember
but can still smell
on the sheets we stained
as I was trying to forget
who your are

I should have known
I wouldn’t find anything
but the hangover of disappointment
from this kind of love
the kind that only burns in the heart
but never touched by the hand

theres no cure for heartache
and its always going to burn
it won’t matter how many names
I can’t remember
or how ***** the sheets get
when I can’t forget
who you are

In every breath
   in every beat

       she was a poem

in every thought
   in every dream

       she was a poem

Time stood still
    and eternity held its breath

       and

         she was a poem

and there beneath her breast
      beneath her ribs

was her heart
    and in her heart
      
           she was a poem

the one poem
     the universe had
            that was
                  more beautiful than love....