I don't remember, any more,
The exact shape of your hands
As I held them in mine,
Caressed them,
Memorized the length of your fingers,
The depth of your calluses.

I don't remember, any more,
Exactly your height, how much
Taller than me
You were, where
My head rested on your chest
When you held me tightly close.

I don't remember, any more,
Your scent, when we lay together
Creating our own
Magic rhythm,
Matching our heartbeats as we
Touched the sky, together.

I don't remember, any more,
The sound of your voice, calling
My name as though
It were a song
Within itself, a precious treasure
You valued with all your being.

And I don't remember, any more,
The color of your eyes, the shape
Of your lips,
Only...
How your eyes crinkled at the corners
And your laugh, as you told me,

"I love you."

living can be tiring and decisions regretful, so often we find ourselves
marching to the beat of obligations’ drummer – unnecessary paths are safely untreaded
doing only because the doing is necessary – to keep life at its homeostasis
fixing but not tinkering – the return to normality is the goal
just accepting these ******* days for their lukewarm livability

No one thinks I'm cute.
No one thinks I'm funny.

If I was really so astute,
I'd be in it for the money.
I need to be more rude,
I have to be less thoughtful,
I'll start calling everyone 'dude'
and I'll start drinking milk
straight from the bottle.

No one thinks I'm smart.
No one thinks I'm worth it.

If I really had a good heart,
I'd make everyone think I was perfect.
I need to be more greedy,
I have to be less austere,
I'll start taking food from the needy,
and I'll build a facade on every frontier.

No one thinks I'm special.
No one thinks I care.

If I could really deal with pressure,
I'd scream and throw things into the air.
I must be much less pensive,
I must try to be more gluttonous,
I'll start buying suits that are expensive,
and at least two more button-ups.

No one thinks I'm grand.
No one thinks I'm unique.

If I was really such a right-hand-man,
I'd reach down and scratch their oblique.
I must be much less generous and
substitute it with daring,
my handshakes will be venomous,
and I'll start littering without caring.

No one thinks I'm the best.
No one thinks I'll go higher.
I must do away with being honest, yes
and I'll practice becoming a good liar.

I sat & smoked.

I watched lightning dance wicked metallic fingers across night sky.

I wondered if we'd give ourselves a chance; if we'd try.

I heard the thunder as he stomped out his only response,

Which was,

"Only time spent will tell."

--My cigarette went to Hell.

It's been a week; I know you said
sometimes it may be hard to write.
I understand, I really do –
I've been very busy, too,
learning how to sleep at night
and falling out of love with you.

I want to sleep with the living,
To tell them it's alright.
It's scary – death,
But I make for good company.

When I sleep, you are safe.
So you should hold me close.
Rest easy as you pray
That morning stays away|

This time I shouldn't wake
And the night will be so long
Vampires in every sense
Begging just to be|

Alive
Living
In fear
           Is all that's left
             DEAR

Overnight storms
fill my gardens with sticks
Autumn, unsettled

It must be buried under the skin,
what makes your body tremble.
What makes your taste consistent,
just here for me to use.

You came on bended broken knees,
spread on top of a rustled bed.
You left with empty breaths,
blushing sweat, and blends of regret.

Your smile speaks so well of you,
but your dignity hides it under covers.
With a twinkle in your eye,
and a flicker of your smile.
Gave me battered pleas,
just to have you pleased.

Crude interpretation of sounds and breaths,
Legs loose with a rug dress.
Working record rhythms of nervous lips,
heavy syllables swaying off those hips.

Your hands and wrists like chords,
pressed around my skull and neck,
mangling hair and skin with defect.
And that?
That is the steadfast scar I have,
from loving you.
Although love doesn't pass through here anymore.

There's one thing
I have to tell you.

I can't stop uttering,
anything about you.

Whether its about the midnight rain
and how it describes your voice so well,
or the way you won't stop singing,
till you're satisfied and sewn me to sleep.

If I look at the dark orange spotted afternoon,
or the satin red leaves of autumn.
I'll know its been a while since I've thought
of you.

If I hear the chalky barren concert of concrete,
or the uproar of the arid wind.
I'll have forgotten what your voice
sounds like.

If I feel the reticent tremble of winter,
or the cold bitter piercing destitute bed.
I'll remember why our adulation had
my heart in a headlock.

I cannot give you the world
or my name.
Because I do not own them.
All I can give you is my love and lungs,
that is all that I have and hold.

All I'll ever ask of you is for your voice and love.
You make my head lighter with just
some notes you sing.

My tears are pretty good at fighting.
They've already seen two deaths this month,
let's see what action they get next month.
These were human deaths too,
not just a goldfish or a ******* ferret.
These were long drawn out deaths of suffering people,
and my tears ****** the **** out of them.
Lately I find myself holding the tears back though.
I just scrunch up my mouth
and swallow the tears.
Force them back with my tongue.
On second thought,
I'm not quite looking forward to next month.