Everything's a
race,
isn't it?
A race to
grow up, a race to
be loved, a race to
fulfill yourself.
Nobody ever
slows down to wonder
why
we're racing.
Nobody ever
stops to look at the
big picture;
we're all going to
die, anyway.
Why should you try to
care?

Why should you
change when
all you'll be in the end is
dust;
exactly what you
started as?
Why should we try to
come together when
that which comes together
falls apart?
Everything falls apart.
We will all be
forgotten, our
actions, our
words, our
morals, our
wishes.
Why should anything we do
matter?

I will make a poem of this:
coffee so dark
the cream
is a dull
roiling
grey;
a sink
breathing
mossy fumes
but I won’t notice
for at least another day.

Echoes lurk in
converging angles
linking what is to
what might have been.

If I don’t look
I won’t see
the empty bed,
the empty bed
in the
extra room.

New colors embrace the memory of life’s soil
while looking at promises
that rush through our veins.
A tune is heard from our hearts'
circling places in time
where our eyes become the surface
of our souls,
greeting what we see floating
on the winds
of change.

Clearly visible as separate bodies
held on a spun web
of gypsy invitation,
why then do we only remember
the perfect peace
of how our minds meet.  
You touch each breath I draw in
as if hunting down my despair
until it becomes as smoke
with leaving feet.

Before the stars were chiseled into an age
that held us captive,
sleep was where the light of the moon
played innocently.  
Father Fate swirls, renames himself
with each breath I take,
keeping time for the promises
of true love
that still sing out
to you and me.

I cringe every time I hear this word
It reminds me of how you could never let go of the past

Clinging on to anything else
Than the most important thing to me-
the moment we were living in

I was building memories then
The ones that play over and over in my head now
And you were trying to forget then
I think you must be an expert in forgetting now

I wonder if you think of us, nostalgia and all
And it makes me cringe, all over again

I remember when you first said my name.
It was like any other person saying it.
Except that
Which each passing time
It became more and more like a secret.
Something only you and I shared.
You would look at me,
In the eyes
Blue locked on blue
And say “Emily”.
And with each passing time,
Your mouth turned up more and more.
And then less and less.
I remember the last time you said my name.
It was like any other person saying it.
Except that
I had never wanted to be called anything else
More than I did in that moment.

The sun hits your face,
illuminating your perfection,
your faults.
I want to focus on the good,
pure you
but I can't, it is impossible to do.
I promise myself I'll try,
try to look past the pain
that you have inflicted.
But instead, I focus on the hate
I feel
as I burn you with my eyes of anger.
You succumb to sleep as I say goodbye.
Goodbye.

I won't sleep tonight
   Because I can't do so
       In your arms
   Because my bed
       Is too cold

I'll stare at the ceiling
   Because I can't
       Hear your breathing
   Or feel the rising
       Of your chest on mine

I'll be awake for days
   Since I cannot find one to
       Occupy the this vacancy
   Someone to clot
       This open wound

I'll bleed to death
   Not from thinning blood
       From trauma and not enough
   Arms to pat me
       On the back

I'll rise out of my
   Lifeless husk and
       Show you what you're missing
   Look inside yourself
       Now you know what could have been

Content, with a tinge of love,
I repent
All I've given up.
Realize what I've surmised
Is a traversed trial of fire.

Higher, higher;
The atmosphere you admire:
Lighter breathing,
Muscles beating,
Entreating my desire.

A pyre,
The phoenix feeling renaissance:
The lover's having ---
Once the want to be satisfied ---
Which was, while shattered, reconciled ---
Compiled a mile-long list
To mist the ever-flowering tree
Of prospect,
Respecting past
Opinion.

Your dominion over my
Ever-subjugating heart
(Pulsating a Morse message)
Belittles meaning in
Stockholm Syndrome,
For I am no
Shackled drone;
And, forever,
This you've known.

We are symbiotic.
We are psychotic.
Celeritous symbols
Sampling this:
Extended metaphor.

Extempore, we entertain and
Adore each other,
The world we are to each.
So: teach me how you look
With beseeching reach
Into deep territory in sleep;
Incept directly
And affect me
Romantically.

Augment what is meant and true.