I know him as well as you can know someone in high school

I know him as well as you can memorize someones class schedule and favorite songs

As well as you can get used to hands on shoulders, hands on hips, hands on hands.

But the freckles on his arms are not nearly enough to make up constellations from so I'll make do with my finger tips

Big dipper and little dipper..they seem to fit
But I don't think he has favorite stars, so I hope that the freckles on my face are enough to satify the absence of astrology in his world

I found out that  our hands can be magnetic when bonfires attract us like moths to light and everything is always better in twos
  
Lately I have seen that this relationship of ours is unavoidable

He is the curb, the pole, the door frame that I will never miss, that I will always bump into, fall over, and fall for

You see, we were never the same apart as we are together, and I haven't been able to stop searching the room for his face since

Only a certain number of people join you when you laugh so hard you fall breathless

Even less will catch you on the way down

Sometimes his hands linger on my waist after he hugs me
those are the best kind of hugs

He is the only person that has ever made me feel adequate for slow dancing


Sometimes he smiles when our eyes meet

I dont know whether he does it out of habit or because he likes the way I smile back

I have decided I do not care which one, I'll take what I can get.

He was on the edge of the world, his world.
Pondering what awaited him...
A single lone tear rolled down his face
He trembled for a moment
Then quietly, he began to write.
In his neatest handwriting, because nobody could read it otherwise
When he was finished, he sealed up the envelope, put it on the table,
and looked in a mirror, at the thing he hated the very most staring back at him
he stared into his own eyes, seeing through them into his own bleeding, screaming soul
Into his cracked, shriveled, and blackened heart
And into his own lost self, that had cried out for help so many times
But when he had help, he lied and lied, but couldn't say why
He had made so many mistakes, he wanted to correct them.
But he was about to make the biggest mistake of them all.
He silently left the house he had called home for 13 years.
The boy decided to walk slowly; for it would be the last time he would do so.

He heard the whispers of the night
through the hearing aids he had been teased far too many times about,
And saw the stars twinkle in the sky
through the eyes that had watered up more times than he could count,
and he breathed the cool summer air
through the mouth that had released sobs, shaky breaths, and cries,
And more tear tracks replaced the first.
He finished his walk, and found a place nobody would find him at
He smiled, a twisted, cracked, and broken smile
And left this world forever.

Little did he know
That when his parents woke up
And saw the envelope on the table
They read it, and tears poured down their face
And his little innocent sister would ask her parents
"Mommy, Daddy, why are you crying?"
"Where's my brother?"
And her parents would try to answer her,
but only more cries would come out.
And everyone, even his bullies,
Would be shocked that one so happy
Could've done such a thing.
And then they would blame themselves.
His friends would become more and more depressed
Some of them taking their own lives too
What he thought would fix his mistakes
Would be the biggest mistake of them all.

going to war to prevent war

they say every man will defend
when in fact it's a means to an end
something egocentric
a valour
a glory
a small gain for uncountable loss

a crusade ethos of the government
when the governor's meant
to be a guardian of interests
yet to guard his own interests
he'd rather tear a hole
in the only things some people know

a hero, a death
a medal, a death
an honour, a death
a victory, a death
or is it the other way around? i forget

a strong-hearted media
which will only feed to you
a story to spin an election.

and I can wholeheartedly say
the only state
which I possess the mind to believe in
is that state in which you've left this crater

devil's land once called home

he said
it's just easier this way,
to let you go before you're
gone

she said
you're only hurting yourself
more, letting go instead of
holding on to hope

he said*
i just don't want to hold on
anymore

she said*
but you have to, for me
please

(but for her own sake,
she'd already prepared herself
to get ready to let go)

I wonder....will I crack like an egg?
or shatter like glass?
Maybe I'll snap like a twig instead
Or maybe it's none of these
Maybe I'll *make it through.