There's a big difference between
I LOVE you and You LOVED me.  
I am still hoping
But you left me hanging..

is it wrong to plan everything out
so that the stars don't collide when they align?

is it wrong to be terrified of the road ahead, even if I trust the driver?

is wrong to seize everything and make sure I am where I am supposed to be?

no matter what
i find myself
piddling through all my thoughts
my hopes and dreams
my wishes and desires
trying to find the one that paralyses me the least
but they all petrify me
just the same.

this next year is my last.
my last band camp.
my last marching band season.
my last first day of school.
my last new set of classes.
my last time meeting new teachers.
my last time sitting in those classrooms with those stupid desks that creak too much.
my last time walking through the halls of my high school.

it's coming. soon.
graduation.
i can taste the freedom it's taunting me with.
and yet here I am, begging it to procrastinate.

i want to be free, away from high school,
and home,
and this state.

but I've made a life here.
but I've made friends here.
but I've grown roots here.

maybe
eventually
i'll be okay
with
ripping

off

the

bandaid.


but not right now.
not right now.
not right now.
not right now.

WHEN IT'S OVER LEAVE!
DON'T CONTINUE WATERING
A DEAD FLOWER.

I feel as if everyone just

t o s s e s

me aside, like I am

m e a n i n g l e s s

to

e v e r y o n e .

~f.m.s~

I see shapes in your sunken eyes,
pressing like last night's lifeline,
telling you to keep your heart safe,
but I have to look away.

Please don't cry,
I can't possibly turn tears to gold.
I'm not the type to indicate
what should fill these empty spaces
and I don't know what to say
when you don't say it first.

When the shivering starts you'll see,
I can't be your blankets and late-night radio,
or anything you used to believe.
When those eyes mean oceans in mine,
you'll see how nothing I can be.

I want to be their eyes,
to light the match and fall into a trance,
becoming one with destruction by flame;

I want to be the fire,
to eat away the world around me
and rise my wings from the ash;

I want to be the bird,
to fill the hollows of my bones with dirt
and sink into the earth;

I want to be the earth,
to search the surface for your feet
and decompose you into me;

I want to be your eyes,
to see a world of melting flesh
and all things obsolete.

I didn't hold tendons between my fingers like
street boys on rain city rooftops,
crumpling their futures up to smash into shredded jeans,
shredded hearts,
some wrappers escaping, flying over this city
as our neglectful witnesses.

Their hands were broken bottles. The black top
made my guts look like escaping snakes,
my eyes hoping to be Medusa.
Fictionalizing gets me through most things.
Sometimes pain tastes like metal, sometimes like cherries.

I stare at the sideways sunset, a wrapper spit up
and drying out, a pipe dream promise;
reviewing my time strips as if they'd had a spelling change,
recounting every drop of blood word and smile.
Sometimes I forget that I'm real.
Sometimes I'm not.