the moon that we share
will always outshine the clouds
that separate us.

I am
a multitude of selves
determined to find
the one
that you wanted.

I am
more safe than sorry
and I
have always been
more sordid
than saintly.

The softness that resides in me
is scarce
but it's yours.

This softness is
the storm cloud over your head
and the ache
you've been drinking about.

This won't **** you
but it'll make you
bleed.

This is
the tiredness that sleep
can't fix,
this melancholy,
this melody,
the holes in butterfly nets.

We are
faulty dreamcatchers.

I can't tell
if this has been calculated
or careless
or which thought makes me more
sick of myself.

But there is something to be said
about a hope
that refuses to die
even after you've shown it
where it is to be buried.

Sometimes I'm not even sure
what I'm sorry for,
but I've learned to say it
just in case.

I was never your baby,
we were just
killing
time.

The day that I told you I don't like liars
Is the day that you stopped telling me that I am a good person.

I tell you I'm in pain and you ask me where it hurts
So I point to the packed bag that is sitting by the door.

Like a tree,
With many leaves-

I wasn't the only one.

In the night air, of ghostly moon
starry the darkened blues, quiver
some falling from the sky to startle
under murmuring trees, we rest
and never sleep, we seek to know
what night will conjure
strange drunken allure
of the celestial

Planetary fools
entranced by moons
magnetically pulled
ebbed and fallen
just another day, we lay
soon swallowed by
the sun

156

You love me—you are sure—
I shall not fear mistake—
I shall not cheated wake—
Some grinning morn—
To find the Sunrise left—
And Orchards—unbereft—
And Dollie—gone!

I need not start—you’re sure—
That night will never be—
When frightened—home to Thee I run—
To find the windows dark—
And no more Dollie—mark—
Quite none?

Be sure you’re sure—you know—
I’ll bear it better now—
If you’ll just tell me so—
Than when—a little dull Balm grown—
Over this pain of mine—
You sting—again!

party at my place
yet i'm here in my own room
socially awkward

can't stay here too long
silent alone in my room
deep breath, here we go

the vice that sets into my blood stream,
the sin that allows me to sin some more and
comfortably sits just below my skin

to let me know i can do this,
and i can say anything, be
anyone. the bottle knows my body the way
fingers do, the way lovers know their
person's ugly marks and

softens their cruel words. it is my lips that rest
on a gentle edge, a glass edge,
and tips my chin to meet the encouraging kiss.