life planted an empty hole
in my chest
and hoped for something
to grow out of it

it stuffed my mind with
crumbled paper
and gave my thoughts
a pen

i never really know what to say
how to say it, and how to get the heavy
vowels and consonants off my tired tongue
in an equal demeanor
and no matter how much i plan it,
no matter how much i skim my
hands through seemingly silky waters,
words become rigid
as they roll helplessly
out of my cardboard mouth

i want to be clean and straightforward
clear and understandable
but i always seem to come out as
a jagged line or illegible handwriting
my mumbled words and thoughts
that lay behind my paper thin skull
stand still like secrets
in whispering houses under the moon
and they beg to be let out

i only wish i could speak as easily as i write
because words have much more meaning
when they are finally let out of cages
made of paper and pen

lying awake
and looking for all of the answers
in my ceiling.

asking why
it has to be me who feels this way
               (feeling completely lifeless, and absolutely hopeless)

asking You
               “haven’t you taken enough from me?”
               “why must you haunt my dreams?”

and the only bit of light i have
comes from the streetlight by my window,
it shines on You.

and from the corner i hear You,
with a vacant and harrowing tone.
and the detached vowels and consonants
echo throughout the hallways.
they hang themselves on the wall
as a reminder.

               “they say nothing kills a man faster than his own head”.

for so long,
i made one with the cracks in the road,
making sure i never stepped on one.
and i never cared to notice
how tired i was from doing it.

maybe it was because
the innocence
and easygoing youth
shielded my eyes
like the white linen curtains
that used to hang lazily on my window.

for so long,
the nine o’clock news
never bothered me
as much as it does now.
and the fact that everyone seems to drag their feet
at the same miserable pace
never struck my mind.
days keep growing faster
at an undetectable rate,
and i’m just starting to see that.

maybe it was because
reality tore the drapes down,
letting all of the light
shine on the things that were
left in the dark.
because growing older
was one of the things
that i chose
to leave in the corner.

i find it hard to let you know
what is really going through my mind
because words tend to stay locked
behind a wall of confusion
and the looks you give me
only reflect the sadly truthful words
you had said not too long ago,
blinding anything i’ve ever wanted
to give to you
and leaving behind only a shadow
hiding away the limp thoughts
i regret not saying sooner

but there is still this hollow feeling i get
that begs for recognition in the midst
of moving on
that makes falling seem just so right
again

because when you ask me if i love you,
i only wish i had the courage to say
“you make it hard for me not to.”

i stand in a graveyard.
i see, though i am blinded by the past.
i see millions of tombstones surrounding me,
each one has words i dare not read.
i am scared,
and i am alone.
though i am not alone, there are ghosts who hold faces that are familiar around me.
they tell me that the light shall come soon.
they promise me this.
i do not believe them,
i have been fooled too many times.
and as i walk throughout this graveyard i come to a realization;
no matter how many ghosts stand by my side,
i am the only one who is of real flesh and bone.
who stands above the ground and not beneath it.
i cannot come to terms if this is good or not.

i envy the cars that end up driving south.
the streetlights are tempting,
and blurred buildings tell me
“there’s other ways out”.
a handful of exit plans,
and empty destinations,
that i am reminded once again
in this world it is truly every man for themselves.
because if it were different
silence wouldn’t be my only company,
as i drive absentmindedly
hating every exit sign i see.

maybe the thought of having nowhere to go
is more humble
than the thought of having no one to give you a place to be.