i am on a bus and i am sitting next to a girl i haven't sat next to in a very long time.
we used to listen to taylor swift and now we are listening to poetry that makes us cry.
i am so much happier than i have been because i am looking at art and i feel like maybe,
if i try hard enough,
i can become art.
the colors remind me of my old bedroom and they remind me of my old best friend.
she was in the hospital last month, because she overdosed.
i promised her once that we could talk about our end, but we never did.
i wonder if she ever thinks about me.
it is one am and it is raining and i am wishing that he would paint my portrait to keep in his pocket,
to immortalize in a frame that is prettier than i ever hope to be,
on a wall next to painstakingly created flowers that hold more emotion than i will ever feel.
the moon has a special hold on poets, but all it is doing tonight is making me wonder why my hands don't pull angels from stone and beauty from destruction.
i am wondering if i am still alive, if any of these people are still alive, and if the dead feel good about themselves.
i am wondering why i feel so different than i did last year.
maybe it's the dress and the notebook and the quiet steps i take because i don't want to disturb the art,
or staring long enough at a stranger that i can pretend to know his story, and that he wears his father's watch.

i am on the bus and she thinks i am less sad because she is less sad.
but when i look at all the art the first thing i feel is jealous, which is really the same thing as being sad.
i want to spend forever in the glass rooms but i don't deserve to, because i am so selfish.
i think that if i look at monet and picasso and van gough for long enough i will absorb them,
but i also want to walk past them, to the pieces whose plaques contain only a lifespan,
with no detailed description of the reasoning behind the use of numbers hidden in the abstract.
(picasso put them in so he could stay in touch with reality.)
i think that maybe that's why i am doing so much better in math this year.
i just want to stay in touch with reality.
because i have been staring at "evening mood" for half an hour and all i feel is sad,
because after the sunset there is nothing but darkness and that's what the night brings and it's what thoughts of you bring too.
it is called sandstorm but it makes me think only of the sea.
i think i need to get away from here for a while.  maybe i will go to the sea.

i haven't been on a bus in a long time, but here i am.
i spent the day as something i have always wanted to be.
we haven't talked in a month but she still thinks i am beautiful.
why am i crying?

a constant fight against the mind
it lasts the whole night this time
may I be struck emotionally  blind
while trying to forget the rhyme
and reason caused gears to grind
I swear to god I'm ******* fine
I yell stumbling through this mine-
field of flaws, dozens for a dime
while my heart can't help but pine
for future love I have yet to find

It's better now it is today but let me say that yesterday was better too,tomorrow which is yesterday today or tomorrow yesterday, I'll look back kindly and will say the future's looking bright and gay.
I get tongue tied when I'm tired and this nonsense which is fired out has got nothing to do with what my life's all about,
which is a roundabout way for me to say,
it's better now it is today.

The year twenty fourteen.

A year has passed, deeds have been done and new challenges surface.  What does this year hold for any of us? Will it brush the dust off our bones? Awaken our lifeless souls? Or instead set our bodies on fire in revenge?  

Resolutions will be passed, but will anyone actually fulfill them? They'd be hanging from a thorn in their minds, just waiting to die, while the people decide what to do with them.  

Lyrics to future hits will be written and left helpless in recording studios while producers muse over each and every verse, critiquing the words, and possibly changing destinies.

New Year decorations will be taken down and Christmas has long gone. Winter has turned into Spring and what's next?

I'd just be watching the leaves of trees take the form of multiple personalities and colors, dying every time they have to change. I'd watch them fall off branches to pile up on the ground, only to be raked into another pile to be taken far, far away from home. I wish I could be like them, on to places beyond.

My bones have not grown stronger, and "New Year New Me" is complete ******* because nobody can be changed by a mere thought. Careful consideration, time and other things must come into play. I still feel weak at the knees with every sight of you, and my head and heart don't agree with everything either wants to do.

The stars and the Moon speak to me, and tell me about all their stories from the past year. They tell me to catch falling stars should I see any, and to count the stars instead of counting money, which has no value on its own.

But how can I tell anyone at all that I'd rather be in the universe of my own mind than anywhere on earth where civilization can be found? Will they take offense? I don't know. All they ever do is tweet about how school is going on, and how they love their friends. I've forgotten how to speak the same language as them and I know I'm an alien now.

I do not belong on this earth.

As of 2014.*


-x.o.

You were as stealthy as a slow gas leak, by the time i knew i was in love with you, i had succumbed to you. You were in the drivers seat of my car lighting a cigarette with the windows up so i could breathe you in. I quit smoking so your secondhand smoke was all you would allow. I watched as you brought the cigarette to your lips and dragged in as if your life depended on it. It was your third one today and i told you that you should stop, maybe breathe me in for a second. Do you know what i would give to become second hand smoke from your lips? All you would have to do is kiss me and i would vanish into thin air, become a noble gas in the periodic table but there is nothing noble about the element of disappearance. I have been shrinking away from you ever since you held my hand in that convenience store a year ago. I'm trying to convince myself to get over you because all i am to you is someone to **** slowly through your second hand smoke. I never knew I could get so addicted to nicotine until it came from under your tongue. When you're gone, it's hard for me to breathe which doesnt make sense because when youre here my lungs are filled with your sweet black tar. But you will be gone for months when you leave in two weeks. You said you'd write to me, but written words can't carry your second hand smoke. You can't build a home out of a human being, but that doesn't mean i cant find a home in your bed.

I panicked.

My brain attacked today.

It attacked my lungs,

Stupid sharp whistling sounds.

I looked out of control.

But I felt aware,

that I wasn’t breathing,

that I was attacking myself again.

It attacked my heart,

terrifying skipping stones in my chest.

Whipped one by one,

Muffled blows in my breast.

I panicked.

I looked out of control but I was aware,

of the guilt,

of what will drag along with me.

I can’t be freed from fault,

It’s not the way.

Because I panic;

is why I don’t relate,

is how I cleanse.

Fright being necessary,

like a dream

where you muscle tone fails you,

I was paralyzed.

My knuckles hit the laminate –

again, again, again.

But I don’t move.

Feeling my bicep twitch,

Feeling my throat raw,

My mouth wide open,

But I don’t make a sound.

Because I panic.

The power inside,

will never translate,

to the outside.

People may see flickers,

of insanity in my eyes.

They may see me tighten up.

They may seem me strain and ease.

But I will never translate.

Until it snaps,

Until I no longer attack myself.

Until I no longer panic.

Until I bellow,

Until I howl,

Until I wail,

Until I swing and connect.

Until it attacks outwardly,

Instead of inwardly.