"it's been this way from the start/i need some rest/i'll go to sleep at a decent time/when i find something worth waking up for"
- "sleep", flatsound

It seems like I only come here whenever my head is swimming - no, floating - in the ocean of thoughts flooding my brain. And yet, the page always seems so daunting. It's like every single time I know I should come to write my feelings on these lines, my boy rejects the effort before it begins. Some part of me, unsurprisingly, enjoys the suffering induced by denying myself the animal instinct that inevitably overpowers me, and I find myself here in the end even if I know it's only a temporary fix.

Even when I don't write, the words come, and I'm not sure why they scare me or why I suffocate them before they have a chance to live. I think endlessly, often drowning in thoughts, feeling the weight pressing down on my shoulders. When I try to write like this, the thoughts are stilted, stale, unoriginal, yet I continue; we continue, even though our very existence is as unoriginal as these words. We go on and on, repetition coded into our bones. All desiring the same things: love, money, power, ***, to be wanted, to be known. We all want to leave a mark, yet we as a whole tread paths worn so well that the bones of the Earth can be seen peering out from beneath our tired, aching feet.

Even worse, we all have something to say, all want to be heard and remembered. I'm astutely aware that my words, my thoughts, my entire being is a shout that sounds like a whisper. We scream our lungs out, thinking we are trees falling in a forest with no one around, when in truth our words and prayers and heartbeats are all minuscule layers of a complex beat. Rather than the bang, we are the whimper, going out without a second thought.

The year 2015 has ended; I swore I'd end it in another journal, but I'm fickle and flighty and I want to start over. I always forget that each "start over" is code for giving up, letting go, closing the door - on what, I'm never sure, but the past never remains gone or forgotten, and I truly wonder why I continue spinning in familiar circles at times like this. I slept through the celebrations and the change in year. Lately, my energy is lacking, and I have little hope that things will change. Any optimism this soul held has vanished again, it seems. I'm not sure I've hit the lows of my past, but this exhaustion is taking more to come back from. The longer I'm left alone with myself, the more I feel my presence fade to the ghost-like state it appears in - flashes of sincerity, importance, solidity, only to become nothing again as the times change.

I wrote a bit online a few days ago, and one line came out that didn't surprise me, per say, but made sense in a way I wasn't consciously aware of: "Still, I can't help but feel that I'm yearning for some place I can never quite reach..." Maybe this is the exhaustion in my being right now? Though I am more happy than any other emotion, this feeling still presses in on me with a fierceness I didn't expect. I'm neither here nor there, and perhaps it's always been like this. My skin has always itched to fin somewhere I belong, somewhere that is home. I am terrified that this may never happen, terrified at the prospect of never truly feeling satisfied in or with my life. The horror of adulthood and the future looks like a city skyline, dark and foreboding despite the deceiving glimmers of life lighting up the windows.

It all comes to this, I think; I cannot know how things will turn out, if I will be happy, if things can change. A million small fears stem to this one, and I can only hope for some meaning, some lasting reason to exist. There are billions of lives, so what makes mine significant? Though this thought runs the risk of making me sound like the rest of foolish humanity, it's impossible not to feel this way. Do I matter at all? I believe in things like fate, but it's difficult to imagine that I have any effect on the paths Earth and humanity both take.

-a.c.

It's starting again.

I can feel the emptiness nestling in my joints.

With each drop in temperature, the
evils begin spiraling inside
of my mind as I fall
to the hounds.

I don't care. I don't blink.
It has no effect on me
anymore.

In my mind, I am smoking away
the tears and choking fears. Wispy tendrils of
heather gray caress my thin, chapped
lips with love. I am wearing
leather and black and there are
silver knuckles
gracing my lily white skin, marred
only by my ******, bitten nails and
your ink. I am
embracing
the demons, letting them drive
me away on chrome plated chariots, just
to get away, to run faster than God
itself, to the end -
the finish line -
they can't catch me;
they won't catch me yet,
not today.

In reality, I am buried
by layers of fat and years of secrets. I am
nothing but easily forgotten, and I
breathe in the esse of other lives, as if
they can save me or take hold, can grab
me tight, can pull my head high above suffocating
midnight waves. I am an
actor only by the smiles that convince me of a performance
well done. I am a liar, a
**** good one.

I'm not even excited for Christmas.
The tree, the lights, the frosty
air does nothing to arouse a festive
spirit or a hopeful mood. This is my only tell.
I have never lost
this one hope, this sole
light. Never have I lost
all - just you, though that has
always felt like a loss
larger than life.

"**** it all," I whisper.
Because no one cares, and we
are a selfish race. We are self-
absorbed, drowning in our own sorrows, and
clinging to desperate attempts of connecting.

It's starting again, and this time, I can
taste it on my tongue. Bitter, copper, heavy and
foul. Perhaps, if I believed in salvation, I
could afford
hope. For now, though, hope is an
empty bottle of water in the Sahara, and it is
foreign and massive and dark and looming.

Eating me alive.

i want to punch you in the face
with my lips, darken
the nape of your neck
black and purple and blue
it's indecent how you roll my name
like a toothpick caught between your smirk,
and my lips ghosting across your jawline
is my deepest fantasy,
the bane of my existence,
and your eyes, those
gemstones embedded in hot white
sand, a sparkling sweet
hawaiian ocean blue
and god, don't i want to drag my fingers
through that radiant golden hair
and drag you down to my level,
here in the seventh circle of hell.

we're both a little ****** up,
maybe me more than you,
but tell me that this doesn't feel
like an aching, forgotten truth;
tell me that this doesn't feel
like catastrophic madness,
like ordained sin to you?
the timbre of your voice
can only get deeper, can only quake
my ******* bones - down my bones,
i feel a holy shiver
i want to kneel at your altar,
pay homage to the gods, regardless
if you believe or not.

because surely, a being as
flawless and sublime
cannot exist naturally;
surely, your very essence was raised
from the divine?

darling
don't you know that you can't
protect them
forever?
don't you see that they are pulling
your soul out from under you,
dragging you down with anchors?
can't you see that they're coming for you?
do you see their scythes
made from silver and shadows and your nightmares?
do you already feel their teeth,
those glinting fangs oozing your blood?
don't you realize that you're trapped here,
locked between the jaws of Earth herself
and trapped by numbered chains
spelling out things you can't even read?
don't you see, my darling,
that you are a void?
with each pledge, fact, joke and aid you offer,
they reap your breaths until one becomes your
last,
until you're possessed,
locked away by your own brain.
darling, please learn that there are so few
bonds between people
that are made of the dust in both our
bones and the stars.
they will not tie you down
but lift you, tethering themselves to your Greatness
until you're afloat
until once again you breathe, free of toxins
and torturous elements.
don't you see that? can't you believe that?
you cannot fight this battle on your own.
you're the hero of your story, but even heroes
form alliances with others
in case they need a little help.
darling, it may take a village to raise a child.
in your case, it only takes loyalty to create
a lifeline.

it is 3:42 and i can't
stop
thinking of you

i don't know your name, or
what comforts you when you are sad
i am unaware if you like my favorite books
or if, when reading them,
would understand
what i am trying to say;
not in so many words,
but between the lines
and trapped in the connotations
of phrases i've loved
for all of my awareness.

your dreams are a mystery;
someday, i will pull them
from your mind
in between the meeting of our
lips
and then we will explore them,
make them reality and truth
and maybe yours
might line up with mine
and we will claim
the world, like it has been
reborn; ours for the taking;
new.

i am not aware of
where you most desire
to be
is it by the sea or
in the middle of rome,
your hands rooted
deep into history,
learning from the ghosts
haunting each corner of
every street.

nor do i know if you care
that i react to obvious twists,
or shocks that feel
like the greatest earthquake,
shaking my core and
the ground beneath my feet
and does it make you laugh when
i yell at people in horror movies?
does it seem sweet that
i speak to my pets
as though they are people,
as though they understand?
will you smile,
fond and sweet,
when i tell you the story
of my first time to new york,
for the one thousandth time,
of how i saw potential,
and life,
and everything that
i wanted to
be?

i try to picture you but
all i can see is a
white,
blank canvas
too far away to see the dots that
connect to form
you.

hopefully, maybe,
when the fates entangled our futures
and we are finally
****** together, we'll
fit
into each other
perfectly.

I.
one of those days where
the skies cry for you.
when you wake up,
you move like the undead.
your eyes are glued shut.
you look back on when
you fell asleep and compare it to
amnesia.

II.
one of those moments where
you're the kid alone at the lunch table.
you're hiding out in the places
they never think to look,
running from the future
like it's a ***** filthy crook.
you look behind you and hear
pounding sneakers, see the
sepia-tinged flashbacks of mistakes
and regrets.
you're running for a break,
ready to change your luck.
but cells come from cells,
regret begets regret.

III.
one of those days where your bones
shudder and creak.
dragged down like an anchor in the
washed out, raging sea.
you grin because this isn't drowning; it's
the way you smile.
you start seeing visions of a life you could
have had, wanted bad, failed to grab.
it's nice to open your eyes
and not feel the stinging for a while.

IV.
one of those days where
you could have.
could have loved him, could have
belonged, could have hoped.
there might have been an end to the
hangman's rope.
you blocked your shot.
some selfish dreamer with a taste for
masochism shoves the dagger in
your back, and whispers, "what if?"
"what if this is all you've got?"

V.
one of those days where
you have to learn how to write.
you never wrote for anyone else,
never jumped from any great heights.
it always come back to him, every word,
every line and you still sometimes
find yourself convincing yourself that you're
really, really fine.
today, i am trying to find a new salvation
in between these broken rhymes,
trying to create a reason and
trying to try.

VI.**
one of those days
where you have to leap
in order to learn
how to fly.

i am craving your touch,
gentle as silk, drifting across
hidden crevices and valleys,
unearthing my follies and defects.

i want your laugh, languid and airy
as you huff it against my skin,
erupting goosebumps -
as though they are volcanoes -
in its wake.

i need to feel your love,
need to be scorched by the dry brushfires
your lips create
when they are pressed against
mine.

i am desperate for your breath,
in quiet exhales of sleep and laughter and desire;
desperate for you to inhale the toxic fumes
of old books and shared
oxygen.

there is a physical need
to have you near,
orbiting around me
as a steady constant,
much like the Sun;
never fading or disappearing
unless it is for the quiet echoes
of the night.

i wish that you words
could be sewn
into a tapestry of wisdom,
a blanket of both security
and inadequacy,
a reminder that words can never be
enough
to describe how you shake me
and leave cracks and indelible stains,
or the fragments of yourself that are
embedded
in my skin, soul,
and mind.

i am aching for you,
so delicate yet so whole,
both sure and uncertain;
a comforting enigma that requires
a lifetime
to unravel.

there is an ache,
rooted deep in my soul,
that can only be quenched
by you.

i keep falling in love with boys
who have bright blue eyes,
who have smiles that glitter
and gleam like something terrible
and sweet, brutal and mean

i think about it a lot -
these boys that circle me,
one old and one new,
one golden, one silver,
both wrapped in shades of blue

navy and cerulean;
it's a drastic difference, i know
but they're literally as different as day and night,
one open and clear,
one vast and cold

the gold one was perfect, in all possible ways
he sang and played instruments from a-z,
he strummed chords and crafted melodies
like apollo in the sky,
immortally ignorant of real life

the other one, the silver one,
he's quite the gloomy character
he likes it loud and rough, wears black
and looks so ******* tough,
my heart takes off on a high paced run

and yet i find qualities
that remind me of the other,
the way they've torn my words away,
scattered them on the pages,
ripping thoughts from my lips and fingers

they make me like the dam, burst
and overflowing,
both boys are so distant,
too much of a leap,
yet i can't help my fascination with those i cannot reach

so yes, these boys are different
the prep and the loner
but alike, they've stolen my heart
and those blue, engulfing eyes
have dragged me continuously under

this is americana.

this is the sound of family get-togethers,
or the lack thereof.
the sound of awkward pleasantries
because we see each other
twice a year on the major
holidays. there are birthday cards
sent back and forth, necessary
games of monotonous tag and we
bleed our thoughts in between the
general conversations, we look
into each other's eyes and share thoughts
telepathically. we are not close,
but we are joined.

this is americana,
small town edition.
they call you family as
they look through your cupboards
for ***** dishes. they smile
and laugh with you as they dish
out gossip and revenge. they
stab a knife into your butcher-block
counter top. they sever your spinal
cord and make you a puppet, a
voicebox spitting out the message. they
make you their ***** and they call it
friendship.

this is americana.
grilling burgers and hot dogs
on the fourth of july, fireworks
across the town, city, nation.
you drive on interstates for miles
and miles and miles and every tree looks
the same even with mountains behind it,
until there's nothing but a great red
stretch of desert and you wonder if
the cactus really holds water, but the
honda civic or the minivan or the f-150
is going too fast to stop and find out.
you end up in a thousand starbucks,
a million mcdonalds, a billion little places
filled with a trillion little life forms
and you think about the way home smells,
how your mom made the home baked goods
when you were little but stopped as you
grew because not everything stays
golden.

this is americana.
united we stand, divided we
fall. we repeat a pledge from birth,
more often than we call for our parents
and before you learn what you're
promising. they say our nation is a
melting ***, free of religion, discrimination
and hate. we see a different truth;
we still say "god" as we pledge to a bleeding
country; races of every color suffer, every
gender is beaten down by society, and
we are not allowed to define, to own
ourselves unless we're white, rich, "powerful".
americana is a genre, a taste, a sugar-coated
glimpse into promise and unbeatable dreams.
the truth is we're all in debt, we're being
drowned out by the wealthy, we're all falling
prey to the powers that be.

we are americana, and we are broken.
whatever you believe, let us pray
that there is a chance left to
heal.

i think about what kissing you
might have felt like;
butterflies landing on skin,
gliding across uncharted valleys
and plains; waves
gently lapping at the tips of
electric toes, returning home after
witnessing battles and carnal instinct
and bottles drowning, cause of death
stories that never found the desired
reader because the ocean is a selfish
being, rebellious, desperate
for shreds of humanity in
the middle of vast wilderness,
tenacious, ferocious jungles
kissing you might have been
gentle like the girl in pastel
pink, pale thighs quivering, mountains
of goosebumps erupting across her arms
when the indie rocker with an
"always" tatto and a phoenix teardrop
swirls galaxies into the milky
way that is, what her Lord sees,
sin
it might be the hummingbird heartbeat
of a first date, the aftermath of gunfire,
slow as toxic death. or kissing you
may have set me ablaze - a living, breathing,
burning bush. it might have been
the anchor i thought i
wanted, needed, pleaded for.
perhaps you would have forced me afloat
instead of seeing me drown
myself, not stopping it, turning away. kissing you could have felt like oxygen
being pumped into my lungs if i had
courage, wits, half a brain, a heart.
kissing you could have sewn
me together or ripped me apart.
kissing you was the end, kissing you was the start
of
everything.

"if you count to ten, do you feel
any lighter at all?"

another night. another set
of infinite numbers.
every one that i
count weighs down on me,
pressure building behind my eyes,
boulders on my shoulders
and shackles to my wrists.

another day. alienating
everyone.
pushing
for the sake of pushing,
kneading at pressure points -
boom.
pushing and pushing every button
like a kid in an elevator.
punching at raw material until it sags
and self-destructs, until they
whip back and attack me,
make me feel the anger and hatred -
oh, the hatred -
that i feel for myself.

because i want to feel this way.
i want to be alone, because
i deserve it.
i deserve tears and blood and burning.

i deserve isolation.

i am terrible.
i am not human.
i am the monster,
every form of it.
i am the oozing jealousy
and the sting of cruel
wit. i am the slow burning
loathing and the white hot
rage at something so inconsequential.
i am the deepest pit of
black and the void that
cannot be filled, that
vacuums every living thing
down into its belly.

i cannot feel lighter when
the whole of this world i've
swallowed rests on my
back.

no, i'm not lighter. i'm
weaker. the weakest, most
wicked beast
to roam these halls.

it is all too much.
all too much.

i deserve the weight.
let it drag me down into
black oceans, because
i won't fight it anymore.

when you were thirteen,
you told me how
you hated it here, and
wanted to escape.
i idolized you then,
because i needed someone who
understood
the heavy desire
of needing to be anywhere,
everywhere,
but here.

when you were sixteen,
i told you my plans of
traveling to London
and going to school there for one year,
maybe two.
you asked me why, and
i couldn't answer
because you didn't
remember.

i have long since
closed
the book that i desperately
attempted to pen
about "us"

there never was an "us";
there was me,
desperately in love,
clinging to to someone who did not
feel the same

there was me,
foolishly thinking that someday,
in another world, in the future,
whenever,
that things could change

they will not change

i am not
the girl that you seem to seek
i have tried, for three
long, hard years,
to fit that mold

as i come to terms
with who i am,
with what i believe,
and with where i am going,
you do not quite fit

and that is not a harsh truth,
but honest reality;
we are on different paths,
heading to different loves
and to new lives

i have not wasted my three years
that i have so carefully
handed my heart to you,
and let you stomp me into
pieces

but i have realized
that another day spent
fooling myself
into believing that we are fated
is another day lost

in this world, i cannot afford
to throw away
precious time just to
write of how your eyes sparkle
when you smile

and so,
it is with a great struggle
with the girl who still believes in
a false dream, and the girl who knows
there is more

that i must, finally,
admit the truth to myself;
there is no "us",
and there never
was.

but i still hope that you have
a wonderful,
full,
wish fulfilling,
life

farewell,
first love, first heartache,
and the only one that i
would have stayed
in Hell for.

these stubborn lungs
just won't give it up
dandelions, clovers, rabbit's foot
for luck
i've been trying my hardest
not to aim too high,
to shoot for the buildings, not
the petulant sky
wide eyes, open heart
concave hopes, brand new
start
aching and craving
thundering worlds anew
awoken to beauty
among a faithful few

there are beasts inside me
with yellowed claws
and gaping, black pits
for mouths
who grin with sickly teeth
that are dripping
with the blood of
my past selves.

selves that they have carved
into shreds and chunks
until all that was left were black stumps,
ashes, and fragile bones
left to rot,
to poison the remaining
pure
pieces that remain.

and in the dark
i can feel them.

i can taste
the venom
pulsing through my translucent veins
as it slides through my system
effortlessly blighting my mind,
soul, and body
with twisted, dark thoughts
with loathing, weariness,
and with concepts that are rooted in truth.

they remind me that i have no place here,
that i do not deserve to waste
the precious oxygen
required to keep me alive,
nor am i worth contributing to
the depletion of natural resources
that will someday
run out.

a voice that once whispered seductively
from the outskirts of my dark,
tortured brain,
and trained me on ways to rip myself from life
with only a bottle of pills
or a blade,
now screams at me.

costantly reminding me that i am not good
enough
or that there is
nowhere
for me;
no matter how far i run,
my ghosts will follow.

as these ghosts are not the people
or this town
or even corpses that rot,
confined underground.

my ghosts are all the same,
and they are all
me.

i am the demon,
the murderer,
the ruination of my past,
my present
and, eventually,
my future.

i am the monster in the closet
beating against the doors
and pleading to be set free.
i am the behemoth who is suffocating,
forced to breathe in my own virulent air
and i am the demon
that i have battled,
the demon i have conquered
over and over again
if only for the time being.

the black war that
rages
inside of my mind
is the monster's fault
and by extension,
this battle -
all of these battles -
can only be solved by myself
and perhaps,
if i were a hero
i could win.

but i am just a mortal,
straining under the weight
of one fraction of
the world
and no mere mortal
has ever been
their own hero;
no mere mortal
will ever win
against
their shadow twin.

hollowed out
a vast ravine
my vessel is vacant
with rooms for lease

empty
my soul is weary and tired
blackened
crumbling to ashes in its cage
a crater
poignant with despair
while beasts with crimson claws
eat their way inside

like the shadow-lands
my body carries carasses
of past evolutions,
and my previous sanguine mask
made of paper mache
falls
apart
as icy winds strike,
raking sharp fingernails across
my skin,
marking it read, black, and blue.

rooms for rent until july,
until life has ended,
until the black becomes a champ,
capturing the beating of my heart
and stilling my insides.

there were days of gold -
just yesterday, i swear -
but they are as coy as spring,
always replaced by the inevitable,
irrevocable plague
of the vicious winds and icy breath
of monsters
rising from hibernation,
taking their rightful place
and murdering the light
starting to reappear in my eyes.

the echoes in my mind
reverberate off empty walls
the lights flashing in kind
whisper that time is so, so small
the butterflies gnash around
a sea of expectations
the urgency is drowning now
under the weight of communication
suddenly, my sight is clear
though my eyes cannot see
the way time has ticked off the years
and how i've grown to simply be
in this shrouded concrete jungle
we all run rampant in daily races
though the rest all have their angles
i can only match their paces
the rain shudders on to the sidewalk
impatiently unwilling
and though i hear someone talk
their words read like tired billing
our hands brush and i'm paralyzed
i've never been touched
you move on and i'm terrified
i think this was all too rushed
the sun shines, my skin burns
your words sink deeper still
the moon shines, my heart yearns
my mind still runs like a ******* mill
the terror overtakes me
the people clamor in throngs
and even as my fear attempts to flee
i let go, and fall quick
the wind carries me gaily
the ground is near, i'm feeling sick
the news reports on these kinds of things daily
a failed attempt, or not, perhaps?
perchance this was a failed mishap?
regardless, the world spins on its axis
and i sit here, still attending my classes

don't carve their name in trunks,
with your father's father's father's blade
don't scrawl across your papers
initials and immortal dates
don't buy a pet together,
don't let them into your bed.
nothing is permanent,
not even the ticking time bomb
dangling high above,
don't let them be everything,
don't attach them to your soul,
until there's nothing that's quite yours,
until you're one being, fused and whole
don't let them touch your heart,
or say that you are their's.
with every utterance of "mine",
a piece of your being dies, right there.
you can't get back the words
you strung across their lips, for
nothing can return
when it's touched new skin.

never has my life looked
so open, so vast with words
leaping to greet me, lapping
eagerly at my fingertips
with undeniable zeal and
delight for a new life, a
fresh start and beginning
i could only dream to see
with you out of the picture,
with you far from sight,
i am reigning supreme --
in this kingdom, you
will see me step up to
the role of queen --
and i am ready,
prepared to take flight
should the duty call
me to the skies,
prepared to send
you floating down
the river like the
unwanted child
(and always is
something i shall
mean forever, but i
need to spread my wings
before i lose all these
glorious feathers)
never again do i plan
to see your face, except on
my facebook feeds,
never again will your shadow
stand so greatly over me
i'm free --
DO YOU HEAR THAT,
THE ROARING OF THE AIR?
CAN YOU SMELL THE SEA SALT
OR TASTE IT LINGERING RIGHT
THERE INSIDE OF ME, DARE
I EVEN BLINK, DARE I
LOOK UP TO SEE THAT
FINALLY I CAN
THINK?
never again will i
bow down to your influence
because you are gone
and, finally,
i can rebuild
theses run-down
ruins.

i kind of want to *******
and be through
with that smug smirk
gracing angelic lips
and the infatuation brewing
in the folds of my washed out brain
like i have the patience,
let alone the time,
to sit here aimlessly
and fantasize.

there's something wicked
in how your hips move
stealthy like a panther,
midnight inky blue,
something bitter in my mouth
like your ******* attitude.
you don't say my name,
you don't bother to know it,
i don't share it;
got no reasons to show it
waves upon waves,
blazing brilliant azure
sin walks alive, fractured
and malignant
your lips twitch sinister,
and i find myself enraptured, captured,
fixated
on your voluminous luxe cherry lips
how delicately your tongue slips
god your hands should be here
i need them on my hips
gentle pressure from the very tiptips
is this what it's like,
weightlessness?

each day i see a shade of you,
crimson bled, royal hue
shadows stretch inside my head
while you break the springs of my bed
demons wrestle; my fingers grip your head
i let you create chaos and slay fleeting time
set ablaze, burning alive
i'm paralyzed here in the heat of the day
your toxins thrum on,
zinging through my addict's veins

i think i need to *******
before i'm swallowed whole
a million little pieces suspended,
helplessly on hold,
in a moment, london comes crashing down
and i'm broken, unable to make even
a fraction of coherent sound
you filthy beast, on the prowl
now i'll steal every precious hour
go on and lock me in
your ivory tower
let your hair down, ***** gold as corn
i'm forever yours,
no longer forlon

black as night
chiseled stone
spirits ramble
orphans roam

lover's eyes
masquerade
9 to 5
come out and play

drop of blood
alabaster
frozen heart
encased in plaster

open mouth
parted lips
shared breaths
sway and dip

swish and flick
atmosphere
moody blips
no need to fear

stormy skies
vivaciousness
gentle touch
tenacious kiss

cotton candy
flushed and wild
sapphire eyes
mother's child

wide grin
break apart
fleshy dawn
beating heart

We are all part of the Dead Poets Society,
in that we are all adeptly capable
of free thought and expression.

The difference, between
true romantics and the (in)expressive realists,
lies in the passionate mumblings which echo across prairies.

The difference is simply that we
cling to life, to dreams, to desperation and to death
as though they are the buoys of a great journey - invincible.

While the realists puncture holes
in dreams and death alike,
sinking with abstract thoughts like great boulders - motionless.

The difference between two polar opposites
is the brazen stroke of being
and the frenzied, wild dash of living.

you smile in my direction and
my heart
skips
orbits have changed course,
empires fallen,
centuries passed
since you last smiled
so familiar.
warm and welcoming
waves crashing calmly against
marbled sand,
teaching my heart to beat however you direct
i am yours
a slave to love
but you are still
blinded
and oceans away
too far to
reach.

tonight, as you danced
on a platform of heroes,
surrounded by a blur
of faces you have never seen,
i was ****** back
in time.

as dresses swirled,
visions of a distant time
assaulted me. i could
envision
you and i
swirling the way the actors did -
the way you did -
in a ballroom
with souls fitted into
ballgowns and formal suits.

i could almost hear
you laughter
burst above the
orchestra, and
the buzz of excitement
zipping through the air.
i felt your hand
against mine;
one gripped my waist,
scorching my skin
and marking it with uncharted masses
of land.

as you lead; i follow
you twirl us around,
until we float
far above the crowd,
the clouds, straight
into the stars
when suddenly -
a flash! a spark! -
and i am back.

alone in my seat, and
stuck in a different world.
no longer twirling,
towards the land of the Gods,
but spiraling back
to unwelcome
reality.

drowning;
i'm drowning.

pools of blue
cast their spell
and then i'm
floating.

defying gravity,
breathing you in -
captivating,
hypnotizing,
teasing.

one world flolats in
those two pools of blue.

so close yet so far
minuscule in my mind until
suddenly
there.

looming over me and
overshadowing my insignificance;
coloring it dark with your smile,
larger than life
itself.

as you move,
i breathe -
now, i am
whole.

words shriek in my head
creep out from beneath my bed
bouncing, bouncing
opaque veins, violent blue
bark that cracks, centuries new
drowning, drowning
you soul is trapped; restrained
my fingers cannot quite grasp
save me, save me,
the water stings, slaps, unclean
and we monotonously grieve
empty, empty
walk a line, thick not fine
cast a whisper to the gallows
sing, sing
walk alone missing patches of skin
pretending something remains
help, help
eye level, shuttered blows
sagging shoulders and echoed cusps
follow, follow
sink and bob and ebb and flow
i follow the River i follow the Sun
go, go

these ***** white tiles,
slick with someone's hot
pink nail polish. the caress of a piano key,
the strum of the guitar resting upon your knee,
the ashes of those walls you once demolished.
these hallowed halls, laughter bouncing
across those cinder blocks. by the office
desk, i must confess,
a Cheshire smile suspended. textbooks
stained with that starry name, eyelashes clutched in the hands
of the clock. the bracelet burning against my pulse, Facebook
and those pictures by the dock.
this gym stage has ****** you in, while
the volleyball net whistles show tunes.
embedded in lined paper, explosions of blue behind
closed eyes, kneeling before the kitchen sink,
dancing at prom where, in the shadows, ghosts slink.
white trucks are soiled, and go karts too.
singing is yours - it'll have to do. in my heart of
glass, in silver bleachers where i quivered
like grass. there in cloudy days, or when the sun slants
just so, or in the buzz of my anxious phone.
i can't watch grease or hairspray ever again,
even the Bible is full of sin. church pews
moan, wailing for you. microphones plead to
be touched by kindness, and candles burn, gentle
and steady.

i see you in everything. Casper can't hold
a candle to your transparency. i see you in the white hot
part of the flame, i saw you in my first fireworks on
new year's eve. i feel you thrumming through my veins,
and i hear you in my favorite lyrics. i will
always wonder where you are, if you're okay. i hear
you in the static of the radio, in harmonies of a choir, in her
dreadfully happy face.
i can see you in everything.

stumbling around through bustling places
all these people run in personal races
i walk among them, stepping one foot at a time
trampling on the sidewalk the same way i try to rhyme
question and concerns circle 'round my head on the daily
and i know there's no heat under my feet,
nor a passion in my chest,
nor a map in my head,
nor a compass to guide the way
life is either/or, not made for indecision
the weather here didn't catch the memo,
since the sky's half gray, half blue
i'm staring at the skyline missing somebody
but **** it all if it i know who
the going gets tough but sometimes
the tough just need to lie down,
and the world keeps spinning even
when it all falls down
in the here and and now
i sing it loud, sing it proud,
follow the crowd

following a path tread by a million others,
am i a boat flying towards shore or
a girl wading through this
honorific storm?

it's been a lonely night
the stage has been set for fright
with gaping pits full of twisting slides
my heart is trapped on this ******* ride

this soul is heavy with black marks
permanent testaments to my wicked heart
and so i'm the hidden show in town,
where they gawk upon the freaks

in the black of the night i dare not put up a fight
and the circus clowns tie me down
but with you as my ghost
they're forced to slit my throat

and like us, the facade comes crumbling down

demented and sick, you smile something sick,
prize fighter of my mind.
you sneer with my eyes, my lips twist with lies
and poison dances across my lips.

you wicked teeth gleam, sink into my skin
but like a light, i slip
heavenly waves crash across my brain
blurring the edges and lines

you press against me and i implode,
and as the blood rain falls
your cackle reverberates in a mirrored hall
as i'm dragged down,
         down
into the chasm of fire

i blame you.

the demon, my midnight muse,
the human with fangs, a vampire in plaid,
you monster,
you boy,
you mutt with a chew toy,
you impertinent child,
who stomps and quakes
holy ground.

Your skin is kindling
and I am on fire. Burning,
hands outstretched in the white-hot
heat of the flames, palms up.
Beseeching, like my mother when she says
whatever but means I do not understand you.
Palms up. It is not a request but an admittance,
a compromise. She will never really know
me, a confused daughter standing still
in a bi-pass, straight passing bi. Cars passing
in sets of paired tires. I count them, take note
of matching treads and wonder where my other
half rides, if my mother would mind a tire
from the same brand, with all the same parts.

Your skin is a wildfire. I let it rage,
thinking that if this is a death sentence
and your hands exposed wire, electric
on my skin, I’d gladly take the chair. Sit
down; let me touch you, suffocate
in the carbon dioxide you expel. Let this not
be a dream. I have been asphyxiated for so long
in dreams my mother had. I was to be wed
to a nice man, to have the children she lost.
Create new souls to take root in the lifeless
plots of her prime. I think that this moment –
me, throwing myself on you, pyred
like a Salem Witch, would disappoint her.

She would love you if you were a man,
or at least if you could ease me into complacency.
If you had put me in that box that she or society
or guilt has built me, that casket-like thing
moving down the river like a Moses myth,
she might love us both. She would love me,
I hope, if she knew I have wanted men
the way I want you; singed and parched.
Palms up: an appeal to my senses. I’ve come out
of them already, and I am holding your hand,
on fire. Palms up: my counter-appeal. I become
Joan of Arc. She knew herself; she, at least, didn’t beg
to be heard in her final moments. She became
silent ashes and trusted her God. He would love her
even as every back she’d ever loved turned away.

Little star, shines so bright,
guides us through these frozen nights.
Little star, glittering,
someday you will reign supreme.
Little star, kind and sweet,
lighting sparklers on the street.
Little star, lean and tall,
you hold us together, don't let us fall.
Little star, the bravest knight,
holding steady after every fight.
Little star, mighty and true,
you can't see how I think the world of you.
Little star, handsome and bold,
you strum so pretty with hands so cold.
Little star, destined to be great,
You gotta explode; don't be late.
Little star, do not fear strife,
for you will be larger than life.

vampiric intentions
collapse my insides
hollowed chest
sunken eyes
lips cracked like eggshells
tears threatening to fall
the best season is autumn
yet it's the worst time of all
life begins anew
regrets come freshly packaged
illusions are shattered, too
memories pump through me
leaving traces i can't forget
broken hearts and shattered bones
earthquakes rip through this broken home
glimpses of agile fingers
and voluminous lips
of bruised pink down
whisper poisonous
trecharous melodies
that haunt my every dream
the ghosts of my life
follow me during this seasonal time
spectors of the past, of a simpler life
echoes of bedtime stories
too fearful to repeat
autumn is a shuttered closet,
locked and bitter,
a tale of caution for the weak.

i haven't searched for you
these past few days,
hours, minutes -
shuffling by, ticking,
homecoming countdown, seconds
until the winning pass
changes the course of

thousands upon thousands of
waves, sweeping cluttered shores,
stealing possessions and castaways;
sinking, sinking, sinking
sinking into

the ashes of cities, ones we
rebuild because Americana, nostal-
gia, and sinful pride.
we are gluttons of

ages and times and the faithful
pronouns me, myself, and i shout
into the void of inevitable oblivion
and each time i touch pen
to dead, amnesiac trees i am
begging for it and

you look like a time that
i will reminisce on to
kids whose father i settled -
that "i" again, so vain
and undeserving of it. so

your eyes light up, stars,
the northern lights. do they still?
do you pray? you must. it's how
you've been commemorated in
this barren landscape

graced with crystalline blue
pools, i remember,
tinges of you are seeping through
i bet you own the same guitar, treat it
like a child, i bet you're too close
so then you distance

is a bittersweet thing, but it has
given me a strange sense of zen,
peace, clarity, serenity,
finality.
because i haven't searched for you
these past few days,
hours, minutes -

i'm trying i'm trying i'm trying i'm trying
i am, i am, i am
trying, eradicating,
disease.

if i could
i would fly

i would soar through clouds
and i would wave
at tiny people
through windows;
thin layers of glass, protecting people from
speeding dangers
on trains, and planes,
and automobiles.

but more likely, i
would fly to your window
and watch
as you dreamed about
city skylines and
country fields, as you sang
about stars in her eyes,
and i would think
how heavy you were;
so full of potential
and unbroken dreams.

maybe, if i could
fly, you would write about
me.
me, the bird
with the fragile wings;
the bird who flew and gave
you back inspiration in return for
faith, and belief.

a bed is just a bed
until it's not anymore
it's refugee from trouble,
it's home away from home
it's where your tears well
undisturbed in the dark
it's where two people ******
and another two made love,
it's where he turned with pits
for eyes and said, "maybe you should go"
it's where he ran when hope evacuated
his body and his soul
it's where your dreams knit together,
where you ghosts reappear,
where your body recharges
and where your fear stalks near

a bed is permanent, a fixture
in your life
yet this bed is not, could not,
ever be mine

dressed in disguise, wearing
a pad and a topper,
this mattress has felt the bodies
of similarly empty hundreds,
reminding me that this bed is an illusion
much like this life i live,,
the sheets constantly coming untucked
as they reject my existence
still, it accepts me during the night,
offering no tangible resistence
though beds are inanimate objects,
there souls find ways to roam
and in this bed, i am acutely aware
that i no longer have a permanent home

i feel a weight in my lungs,
a pound on my chest;
i can't salvage my body
with only the band-aid on my head.
i stare with empty eyes at beating,
living hearts; in my mind's eye, i
contemplate my non-moving parts.
loneliness blossoms in the corners of my soul,
the stars hang lonely in a blacked out Seoul.
though my time is short,
my night seems long.
though my corporeal form
stands here, my mind has gone.
dreams are blank, no longer a refuge, and
unreality is a mirror, a rainstorm sending me askew.
each breath is a mystery,
each laugh a crater in my chest,
each moment i'm alive is one step
closer to death.

some part of me will always want you.
it's not a statement.
there is always going to be one solitary
flower in the attic of my heart, withered
but still clinging to that one ray of sunlight
peeking through the wooden slats
barring the windows from viewing life.
and this is it; this is the summary of every poem,
every single one. i can't let you go.
i can't and i don't want to and yet in less than 3 months,
i'll never see you again. and god, thinking about it empties me
and pours out every ounce of my soul, until i'm standing
in my own essence, not able to do anything but blink.
then i think about seeing you again, in some cruel twist
of fate, or maybe at satan's hand - because god knows i'm not
good enough to be blessed - and i see you again, and you're so
beautiful, so vibrant and thriving and everything i dream and hope
you become. and i look at you and i cry, and i choke on my own breath,
and i grin until my insides spill out in front of me. and as i bleed out, you're there
ten thousand feet away and you don't understand, you never could
understand. but i see you, and time freezes, and everything inside of me bursts
back to life and rushes forward, seizing me with paralyzing fear
and an intense surge of happiness that cuts me open
at the very core, so thickly that everything i locked away comes toppling
over me, until i'm weighed down with every emotion slipping off of my
fingertips. and there's a thousand different places, a million
different ways it all plays out, but you're always handsome and so very much
exactly as you are now, and all it does is make me want to crawl into a corner,
forget my name and let everything drag me below waves of memories.
no matter how i think of you, no matter where and when and if i see you
ever again, it's too much to bear. too much to think of, too much to let
sit on my shoulder filled with expectations and disillusionment.
god, even then, part of me will want all of you.
but i still won't deserve it. i still won't deserve you.
i will never rack up enough good karma to earn you.
maybe it's for the best you'll be gone. because then i won't have
to think about you. out of sight, out of mind, right?
that's my lifeboat right now. because you'll sing to me,
jokingly and like you do to everyone,
and i'll just stand there immobile. it's like walking on glass whenever
we're near, and i never know what to do. how do i joke with you
when i see you as this mountain i'll never climb, this idol that
i'm praying to on my ****** knees? out of sight,
out of mind. it'll be over soon. it has to be, or i might go insane.
i love you so much i can't breathe, and yet i've convinced myself i'm not in
love with you so many times now that surely it has to be
true by now. oh my god what will i do without you
when you're so much and you're everything and you're my entire
high school experience even though we stopped being close a long time
ago and even though maybe we never were anything serious in your eyes
i still define myself by your laughter and that ******* voice
of liquid gold how can i sit and watch you leave me here when i want to leave
too and i want to be far away and i need to get out oh my god don't leave
me here it's terrifying and lonely without a familiar face that is the only
one who i've ever related to so fully and still managed to plant myself in the opposite end of the galaxy you reside in please come back why do you have
to leave why does everyone leave
i need you don't
go
please

i'm trying to map my way
to happiness, to reach that feeling
of euphoria, of bliss,
and not follow it up with a
"i'm never going to get this feeling back"
thought.
it's like i know there's this bundle
of energy inside of me, waiting to
be tapped into; i can feel it
sometimes, when there's something
so funny i can't breathe, and my legs
collapse at the same time my lungs
do. but even then there's this
mantra in my head, this "oh my god
do they think my laugh is horrible
i wheeze like an old lady just like
that boy told me once in the fifth grade
and it's not attractive, and it's not like i've
got a lot going for me now, not with
a hundred pounds too many
and these hideous patches of
irritated red across my whole face"
and i can't hold on to the buzz
of joy and pleasure and living;
it's like getting high for the first time
and crashing back into reality with
sickeningly crystal clear vision,
and then you feel like everything you
do is this act, this mask that weighs
twenty pounds and hurts
so much that when you take it off,
it's like crawling into yourself
and falling unconscious for the next
15 hours.
and i'm trying, i'm trying to
reach this inexhaustible
source of happiness and golden light
but it's like everyone else has found
the key to happiness and peace
and life, and i'm drowning in the middle
of the night in the moats outside the gate
because i can't ******* swim and
there's monsters coming in from
every angle. and i just
accept it, because it seems like
despite all the effort i put in, there's
this bitter ***** that's seeping through
and she's angry, she hates everything
and she wants to ruin it for
everyone else if she can, and behind
her is the little girl cowering that
wants to believe in fairy tales and
saving people and flying
and Peter Pan and God,
and she's whispering
"Look, it's right over there,
let's just fly over that wall!"
and she can't see that life
isn't that simple, you can't skip
the middle bits to get to happiness;
you don't get the laughs without tears
and the better bones without a few
breaks and stronger hearts only
come around when you've gone
through enough that you
feel it turn to dust behind your
ribs, when it first beats to life
again at the sight of the blue
eyes sitting in front of you
in english, or the shiny black hair
that swings across your desk
smelling like lavender and cigarette
smoke and you want to be okay,
you want everything to be okay
but you still can't pass the **** gate
and there's no key to be seen
so you're left hollow and
desperate, filling yourself with
anything that makes you feel,
food and music and words and jewels
and things from your past, holding
on until your knuckles are pouring
blood like a waterfall.
you get so full that all the oceans
and seas and bays and lakes
lap against the walls of you and
push while sufficiently weighing you
down and slamming you to a
stop and you're lazy and you can't
get up, can't get out of bed without 12
hours of sleep even though you're
only getting five on good nights and
you can't even get ready in the mornings
until you can clock the time left in at
10 minutes, and life is ticking around
you in milliseconds while you're
pushing through, and you can see
the light at the end of the tunnel because
you've pushed through so much already
and you're only 16 milliseconds in,
there's at least 50 more to go and that's
a whole lifetime.
and you wonder "what if that lifetime
isn't enough? what if i need 70 milliseconds
ore than 16 and i only get 23 milliseconds
for my whole life? what if i die right now,
cardiac arrest, or i step out into
a car going 180 miles-per-hour,
or i just go to sleep and don't wake up,
not even when prince charming kisses me?
what if i die before i ever get past
that golden gate? what if i never get
to bathe in the glow of that ball
of glee sitting behind those
ivy covered walls?
what do i do
if i die and never grasp
the true concept of day to day
happiness?
what if i'm like this
forever?"

i am a body bag
full to the brim of
inadequacy, sure to sweep
you away with the same
seventeen words, all
bruised like ill-handled
peaches at the end of summer
as the farmers saunter off
towards fall's freshest fruits.
i bled green because envy
seeps from my pores; i lived a thousand
lives and still they all mix
together in monotonous shades
of gray.
we live and live and live
and get hurt; i have been
hurt but yet i cannot say
i have lived. which realization
is the more bitter?
in what world are these
two things never hand in hand?
i am weak and bitter and
poor where i am to be
rich.

"I'll be right back",
"See you soon",
"I love you" -
all code words for goodbye.

In a society of easily forgotten,
casually replaced, and faulty
relationships, I am one of them;
one of the ghosts.

Not privileged enough,
not quite as sharp,
nor do I have a fraction of their
glittering, Golden luster.

I fade instead,
floating in and out of view,
opaque in body;
I am naught.

With their gleaming teeth, sharp
wit and poisonous
tongues, you outshine all
in my unseeing eyes.

Through objective eyes, you
are equivalent to the ones I loathe,
and perhaps the Highest
Priest of the Golden.

Just as monstrous,
with poisonous fingertips
injecting my skin by accident,
intent to ****.

For you cause my chills,
and elevate my pulse,
and corrupt my nervous system,
eliciting pure, electric desire.

Maybe I do despise you,
the same as the other Goldens.
I might hate your grin, and
your silky, alluring voice.

Or, maybe, I only pretend -
confusion is the question,
yet your clumsy touches
are the deadly key.

we're two beings
lost in outer space
missing pieces
never on the same page
floating further away
it's a sight to see
the moon girl
and the sun boy
constantly receding
flying away effortlessly
not even gravity
as a solid chain link

i'm a princess cut from marble
and love doesn't come easily
christmas night, another fight
in sleep he sang to me

listen to my heart
you didn't close the door
don't you cherish me to sleep
dreaming my life away

i don't know where we're going
i had a feeling once
you and me are the same
remember that song i sang to you?

i look back to the one and only summertime
i'm not saying it's your fault
i'm out here a thousand miles from my home
there's no saving anything

welcome to the real world
you know i've always got your back
don't breathe too deep
another summer day has come and gone away

when that moon gets big and bright
i don't wanna talk
i wish i could hold you up
the mirrors don't reflect my face

i don't need nobody
the power lines went out
10 o'clock, late drive home
please know i'm trying

would you like to take a walk with me?
in the night i hear them talk
you said i didn't cry out to the clouds for nothing
you were always hard to hold

you've seen so many faces that i've never seen before
i just can't do it alone
but i know where you stand
i don't know where you've been

i'm lying in the ocean
"calm yourself", he says to me
i'll gather up the avenues
times square can't shine as bright as you

i'd run away
don't you suppose it's such a waste?
if my heart is always searching
when you're floating farther away

i'll be waking wishing i was right
is it me, is it you
we're not the same, dear
but i think we should run

if you hate me, why'd you come here baby?
no one has to understand
i guess it was never enough
there can only be one

let's be candid, here.
this is a **** joke, your
ability to waltz back into
my world as though you didn't
make your escape, leave me to my
peace, pick up your cap
on the way out
it hurt; it hurts because
it mattered, you matter,
still, after all this time
you were more than something -
you were everything.
everything i hung my hopes on,
the coat rack for my dreams.
the day you left was the best thing
that's ever happened to me, so
why are you still here,
haunting me like the Holy Spirit
in the doubtful parts of my brain
take your charm and words,
serve up that famous smile to some other
poor girl, give my condolences
to the next body first in command
on the unrequited train to hell.
no return tickets. no turning
back, either crash or die here, doomed
unless there's an emergency escape hatch
so how dare you come back
here, how dare you show your face?
leave. get out. find another soul
to terrorize with your laugh.
you're not welcome here. never, ever
come back.

adulthood.
some restrained feeling
of weightlessness. some glorified
illusion of freedom. someone's swan song
towards the next novel of their fleeting life.

graduation.
ceremonial sacrifice
to the beings well-versed in
control. we dance for the puppet
masters until we are nothing more than
cogs in this twisting, rusted machine.

change.
excuses aren't acceptable;
shut up and do what they say.
be the person they're molding always,
every second, as the sun falls down and the
moon reminisces on your beaten down dreams.

thought.
an unadulterated process,
at least, it starts that way. we start
like a blank state, tabula rasa theory and all.
we end up "cultured", crammed with discrimination,
hatred, disappointment, and drowning in the media's grip.
we are all slowly dying, becoming the very thing we swore to
forget.

"it's nasty," she says,
the words dripping
dancing acidic ballerinas
tumbling from her lips
pirouetting between
decayed yellowed molars
and exhaled
like tasty, toxic, treacherous
nicotine.

nasty? how?

nasty like the way it tastes
when you roll my flaws
around like a toothpick
and pick me apart like a corpse
on the side of the road?

nasty like shoe polish medicine
slipping down your esophagus
just to ease the guilt for a night,
dragging you away to a restless
rem cycle where your troubles
melt away?

nasty like your childhood and the
scars on your shrunken skin,
like the memories that smell distinctly
of top shelf gin;
like the echoes of the places
you used to haunt, the denial of
what happened there hollowed out
and gaunt?

nasty like denying yourself freedom
in the most euphoric way
because you never learned how to ask,
command, what would please you
if only you had stayed?

nasty like the marriage
you stay in every day,
a dead end since you met,
fated to be a prison cell to whom
you're confined?

or nasty like the way
you can't look at yourself
in the mirror
without finding something that
you wish you could change?

in life,
where do you dream to go?
is it nashville,
new york city,
or maybe tokyo?

where will your heart
lead you towards?
out of my life,
through wide open doors?

how long before
i see you again?
wednesday,
next year
towards the end?

will you remember me
in ten years, twenty?
when there are crinkles
by your eyes,
or when there's gray hair aplenty?

one thing is for sure,
i could never forget you.
not tomorow,
not ever,
not even when i'm eighty-two.

but if you forget me,
i won't hold a grudge;
because life is too short
for you to trudge
through old, forgotten faces
and memories long buried,
or to revisit old races
that you've already won.

i don't ask you to remember
my visage, my dreams,
let alone my name.
just please remember
my voice, and dancing
in the rain.

i want to crawl inside of you,
know all the things you know,
duck in the corners of your mind,
drink your pain and swallow,
slurp every toxic shot down, down,
my throat, lose my inhibitions,
fall down the rabbit hole

i want to dig myself into
your godforsaken bones,
wrap myself around you and blow,
squeeze some life into your eyes,
those blue-black, bottomless holes,
the windows to your battered, ravenous
soul
let me breathe into your mouth,
hot and wet and whole,
until i'm drowning and you've been
sewn, sewn, sewn,
broken heart beating again,
until you've been filled to the brim,
until my body runs dry
and i remember i can't swim,
until i'm a canyon of ruthless
desolate despair,
until i'm just a vessel
that Hades found of use,
bleeding through your fingertips
to scorch me inside out,
and all is dust and ash

sacrifice is such a common theme;
i'm ruined so entirely that it's beyond tragic,
yet even Juliet never looked
quite so **** classic