London. January. 7:45pm
A bench possessed by a single gem
Thinking obsessing over a single thought.
Of the last argument they ever fought.

The saxophone player blowing his tune.
His only audience the shining moon.
Trying to earn some last needed dough
Wondering why he even puts on this dumb show
The other street acts already home
Now he stands, alone.

Southbank market nears to an end
Time runs out between two friends.
The spark has gone- the light is out
Now every mind is filled with doubt.

Her mind starts to wander as she contemplates
On all the things she has to complicate
A kiss, a hug, a humorous lie
Did they even try?
Her eyes start to fill with the water of a tear
She fails to keep her mind clear.

She stands up and leaves
Walks away.
She doesn’t know where she’s going
Or why. Or how. Or how long she can postpone
But she still walked. Alone.

i.
***** blond hair and braces,
beanie and a sweatshirt,
you were the secondary third wheel
along with myself.
you put on all four hats and
nearly choked on your soda
at someone’s ***** joke.

ii.
hair parted sideways,
black-ringed blue eyes,
we vaguely remembered each other
and talked a bit before going back
to the ones who had originally brought us.
the blue was pretty and you had a bubbly laugh
and were dressed nicer than before.
we finally memorized each other’s names
and when it was time to go,
we hugged and I told you to
drop by again soon.

iii.
braces off and longer hair,
your board had a new paintjob.
we enthusiastically greeted each other
with a hug and an exchange of names
and we ended up sitting at the computer
for most of the afternoon and evening.
we talked without restraint and
had definitely become easy friends.

iv.
hair shaved off on the sides,
the rest slicked back like a new-age greaser,
you smelled slightly of stale cigarettes
when I tucked my face against your neck
for our routine hug.
I squeezed you tight and brushed my thumbs
across the leather of your jacket.
you were angry and stressed but didn’t really show it
and I wasn’t sure what to do with my still-new
feelings for you.
I held your hands outside that night
and asked you to quit again,
because people come and go and life’s too short
to make it even shorter
by ******* on a stick of chemicals and tobacco.
you said you’d quit soon and thanked me for being there.

v.
you stayed over
and we spent most of our time
swapping songs and playing video games
and snacking on poptarts and arizona.
I woke up the next morning to find that
you hadn’t slept
and wondered what you must have been thinking about
that could keep you up all those hours.

vi.
we saw a bad movie together tonight.
our heads bumped multiple times
and we both had to pull up our legs
since our heels barely touch the floor comfortably.
your forehead would wrinkle when you were looking up
and it gave you an air of maturity
that I didn’t know you could pull off.
I wanted to kiss you
but didn’t know what you thought of me
so I didn’t.

I would my life were a movie,
that on the anniversary of your death
I could ride my bike, straight-backed,
hair blowing in the manufactured wind,
to your grave, with a perfect bouquet of flowers
perched in my basket, or else
zipped perilously into a backpack;
and, arriving at your headstone,
donate their impermanent beauty
to your memory, placing them
artistically
beneath the singular, factual phrases
that hold all remembrance of you
in their cold stone embrace.

But your ashes rest beneath the waves:
your tomb is the sea,
the sky your eternal epitaph;
and my heart has no physical place
to fix my mourning to.
And so I wander - for I must!
I cannot tie myself to the earth
when to the earth you are not tied,
when the wind carries your voice
and the rivers flow
with what once was your laughter.

The whole world is such a very big grave
for someone once so real as you.

Every song rings with them, their bittersweet echoes seep into the melodies
Every photo bring us back to a time we yearn for
Every day marks the beginning of another love, another loss, another memory
We are polluted with memories
We create memories every day
And each new one never really leaves
It simply manifests itself in a different facet of our lives
Be it a place,
A song,
A shirt,
A person,
The possibilities and triggers are endless
Living with them will bring everything from tears to joy
We may be poisoned by them
Or we may be lifted by them
But they are there, whether we like it or not
And just like the coffee stain on my desk
My memories will never leave me

Oh Valentine,
Sweet blushing bride.
I never can call you mine,
Not in this lifetime.
Taken away,
Never had a chance to stay.
One day you'll pay,
Maybe when you walk away in May.
You were my love,
Clearly sent from above.
My pierced and stained dove,
I fear it is me who has had enough.
She crept into my life,
Bearing her claws and holding a knife.
Took me to great heights,
In the dead of winter's nights.
Hasn't moved on,
Can't see the light of dawn.
She'll write all her sad songs,
Not knowing if she can even last too long.
Yet I wrap my arms around her,
Love my disease and my cure.
Keep close my beautiful saboteur,
And drink her bittersweet liquor.

vertigo hallway
I make my
way down
tilt-a-whirl dark
hallways
eyes of persons
in paintings
following
my trek
through the dark.

and I hear it--
I've gone
in search
of its source
as it
sounds in the blackness of
dead time
and I see
no mouth making
any noise

as I spiral through ennui
I reach a threshold
disoriented & lost, now,
I die with the dark
and yet,
I still hear them
through the snaps
and crackles
and drafts
of a quiet nightly home
clearer than a bell,
I hear
whispers
from the dark

I'm telling you -
almost like a
shadow
leaning up-close
to my ear
faintly drawling,
in some unutterable
alien muffled tongue

maddened by noise
I continue
Determined to
source this phenomena
I always end in the same
room
and as a
metal gate
rolls shut behind
I finally realize.

How dreadful, that the world runs on money

and not peace

Terrible, isn't it?

That this causes joy

And   love   causes   tears.

How can we be scared, to share our dreams

Yet completely willing to ignore the screams

Of the children, the elders, these wisdom machines.

For the children, find a way, to live with nature, live in peace.

And the elders, they're all tired, of what seems to be

a never ending war, a fight for money, for control, from king to queen.

Aren't we to learn a lesson, from these people, from the kids?

Are we to stay with arms crossed, letting our world wither, disappear?

I refuse.

                 I refuse to stay in place and watch my world burn.

                                                                 I refuse to live blindfolded and believe the lies I hear today.
I refuse.
                I refuse.

  Does it make a difference?

                                     If I simply refuse...
  What can I do?

  What can I do to save us and save myself?
                                                                             To change this tragic ending,

                                                                                                                                So that we can start again