salt seas
and cold nights.

narcotics atop sand:
your bellied laughter,
a little dry gin,
the rising sun warming our faces as it wakes the world.

and here with you,
maroon painted and
drunkenly dancing around words,

everything seems so
light.

your soul is dark,
and sullied black
by life.

it must ache
to be so              hollow.

to be so empty.
without substance,
without light.

a pit of mystery,
buried inside of you.
water so murky
a swimmer should not risk,

but boy,
i am drowning.

time takes us
and we let it.

i want to fight it,
but i do not know how.

anger will do nothing to slow it.
but i will still rage, in hopes that it will.
(it’s the only thing i know to do)

when did the flowers
start demanding blood
instead of water?

when did life
start demanding thorns
instead of petals?

i am made of every person i have met,
and every person i will meet.

some are and will be kisses on cheeks,
others are and will be cuts.

i just hope
those that scar will stop pinching as i move.

i’m afraid i am nothing,
without literature, and art.
without words and ink.
without flowers and music.
and most importantly, without you.

‘be careful what you wish for,’ they said.
and i should have taken it to heart.

i asked for change,
for growth,
but i didn't ask to be flooded
with everything all at once.

i didn’t ask for it all to come rushing,
with little time for me to adjust to the weight of it all.