Maybe we could have some time off,
Away from the rest of the world.
Just you and me and perhaps
A couple of our vices.
Maybe we could melt into nothingness
For the time being.

Or, perhaps, we could
just sleep in each other's arms
and wake up in the far future.

Only you exist to me now...
But I see that you are preoccupied
With the world you hate...
So I lie here in bed,
for you
I wait.

there's something deep within me
hidden underneath my daily smile
perhaps a desperate plea
maybe a silent cry
asking for what I need
yearning for absolution
pushing away my pride (if I had any)
begging for salvation

tired of the role I continue to play
bound and broken within myself
afraid of what people might say
if I turn to them for help

how much longer must I fool myself?
you know I'd stop if I could.
crying myself to sleep every night
like every f-cked up teenager would

is it too late for me?
too late for me to be saved
from the thoughts and voices
inside my head
that drive me insane.

Reflection, contemplation
Caught in the midst
Of self-degradation.
Alone, miserable,
Painfully sober:
Searching for something lost.

Here we are again
Incessant bludgeoning
of the mind and soul
Here it is again
this crushing, paralyzing pain
from which there is no escape

Take in a long deep breath
to clear your heavily-laden mind
But it doesn't seem to work.
It doesn't.
Nevermind.

You continue to think,
to rationalize,
to rot, to decay,
To become something less
of what you were,
Until you taste, once again,
that bittersweet liquid fire.

It burns the throat
and drowns the cacophony of voices
in this temporary relief
You seek refuge.

You hang on to this mirage
this oasis where nothing seems to exist
nothing but the numbness
nothing but the muffled sound
of your cries for sanity.

I welcome it as it fills me to the brim
But it somehow manages to escape
Again, I slowly let it in
But it quickly dissipates.

The line is long and our time is short
It moves clockwise as it makes its return
Loud thuds echo as fists hit chests
After others finish their turn

You are not selfish,
Neither are you unkind
The fault is not yours
If others get left behind.

Hands count down to zero
One by one they go
'Til you're left on your own
As they all lose control.

It began like any other day,
But I remember because of your smile.
I promised to take you to your favorite place.
My happy little girl,
My cherry-cheeked child.

The rain spattered on your face that morning
While we walked down the cracked, slippery streets.
Singing, whistling by my side
You skipped and hopped with your tiny feet.

I held your hand as we crossed the street
Down the white-striped concrete ground.
The light was green on the other side;
I didn't bother to look around.

I held your hand nice and tight,
I felt your fingers curl inside mine.
We walked on and on to the other side
But my! How the hand is quicker than the eye!

Never saw it coming, nor heard it through the rain.
I swear I never saw it coming, nor heard it as it came.

The next thing I knew,
I could no longer feel your hand in mine.
I turned to look where you've gone
But your familiar figure I could not find.

I held your hand as we crossed the street.
Little did I know that it would be the last time
I'd ever see your sweet, pretty face.
My happy little girl,
My cherry-cheeked child.

remind me again why we stopped writing.
I remember times when it was all we did.
and i know, I'm talking to myself again.

so many things...

we used to never run out of words to describe them.
now, we just watch. look. listen. then forget.
what happened to the days when we observed our world
and allowed it all to sink in?
now we just stare into the middle distance...
and see nothing.


remind me again why we stopped reading.
I remember times when it was all we did.
and I know, I'm still talking to myself.

so many things...

we used to never close books until we've finished them.
now we just watch. look. listen.
but nothing registers in our heads.
what happened to the days when we liked challenging
our perspective by vicariously living through literature.
now we are just passive...
lacking initiative.


if this is what it means to grow up...

...then I will forever regret that I did.

You, my dear, are hungry;
Impossible to sate.
and I am a martyr;
That makes me your buffet.

that grumble in your stomach
is like music to my ears
for it only means one thing:
you are coming; you are near.

Here, you'll find,
there is no line:
if, and only if,
you decide to be mine.

I offer you my heart,
so devour me, my sweet.
It should be only MY flesh
into which you sink your teeth.