It sounds ridiculous but only I feel productive when I'm doing nothing.
Sitting back, just relaxing.
Popping blue beans, burning bowls of green.
And just thinking.
Daydreaming about how things could have been.
How things could still be.
But how things will probably be.
Just close your eyes and let music be your guide.

Entire lives constructed and played out
in grand fashion. A world so detailed
I would rather get lost,
And never come back to this travesty of a society,
so raw and primal.
so human.
My world is so beautiful and yet so depressing
because it's what ours could be, but never will become.
Anything to distract me from this.
The 24 year old burnout grinding through school because there aren't many options left.
So where will I'll be in 5 years?
I wont.

I am addicted to rain, to the sunset, to the sound of water over rocks.

To the crackling of the fire, to the breeze on my cheeks. To the feeling of someone else's fingers running through my hair.

I am addicted to the way he smiled, to the way she kissed, to the feeling of my fingers laced with someone else's.

I am addicted to the quiet pain in my heart, to obsessing over my fears, to apologizing for things beyond my control.

I am addicted to this boy who has eyes like the sky, to this boy who makes my heart jump into my throat and my cheeks burn and my legs go numb and who makes it hard to breath. I am addicted to this boy who doesn't really know who I am, who just knows who I want him to know, who has a smile like perfection and probably doesn't even know it.

I am addicted to writing. About my heart, about my dreams, about my sins and agonies. About how other people view me and how I view other people and how I view myself.

I am addicted to cuddling, to thick blankets and fluffy pillows, to lazy mornings.

I am addicted to wishing I could share all the things I love most with that boy, the one who I wish I could look at all day.

I am addicted to turning things into him without ever intending to.

here's how it happens
the morning after
you reach into the drawer
where the your t-shirts live
to find it austere
you'll shrug because
you're still drunk
& you can't remember
when last it was
that you had something wet
or how long it's been
since you made the floorboards blush
or why the carpet is upset
who wouldn't be
the contents to the upended ashtray
strewn around the apartment
resemble the aftermath
of the smallest war
to ever take place in norfolk
some midnight thief
must've made off with the lighter
because it isn't in
any of your favorite spots
maybe you chucked it
along with a hundred other things
that make noise when they land
in the neighbors yard
you won't remember putting
the refrigerator's belongings
in the bathtub
or scrawling a buzzard
on the bedroom door
but then again who would
you'll pretend it's spring again
before putting on your winter coat
to go out front with a cigarette
in your mouth
you'll hope for a passing stranger
to *** a light from
or drag yourself to the corner
with couch cushion change
to buy a new lighter
and on your way
you won't bother looking back
this is just another day
on eggshells for no reason
another november
choking on birthday candles
on your way home
you step over beer cans
the kind you fell in love with
and wonder who
had the last laugh last night
or if anyone said a word at all
it might've been another
moment of clarity
it might have been some idiot savant
any adjective that feels like home
anything that keeps you thirsty

dad left
for his second tour of duty
on my third birthday

mom kept
a jar full of jelly beans
on the living room coffee table

every night
she gave me one to eat, saying
"when these jelly beans
are all eaten up,
dad will come back home"

sometimes
i would sneak another,
to help dad come home sooner

one night
the phone rang
and i watched mom
wipe away a tear
as she filled
the jar
back
up