golden tints in a darkened room
a deceased flower, wilting after bloom
ears sheltered from a visitant

separation from a lust abandoned
desperation for a calm awakened
weakened by a loose grip

frowns permanent on a year
a tear fallen down
a love all the same

a world under construction
consoled by illusions
of a desire you had proven
to have faded from the strain

love's apostate
a former demise
I bloom a fervid admiration
a hatred never heard
commensurable to my own
a soul never alone

in a brief symmetry
in a quiet crowd of us
two is too many
so I'll go
but it's you
forever mingling
and scraping my lungs
against the pavement of
my poetry

we'll hide together on a gravel pull off
a side to a road we travel every day
the chill is beating down on us
setting fire to the grounds we fall apart on
spreading us into the ashes we dreamed of
as our remains dissolve into each other
we are together again

you call yourself an acosmist
walking around believing nothing exists
filling window sills with forgotten promises
and burnt out joints
spending every minute high and out of your mind
it's a comforting delusion if nothing disappoints

well, I think you've forgotten the hair I cut last summer
the weeks it took to get you out of a slumber
the nights I spent a room away
brooding over ways to have you stay another day
spending early mornings smoking cancer sticks
sorting the magic in my bag of tricks

see, I have yet to forget the pain I felt against your hip
the countless songs sung together in harmony
the way I fit above your voice, like a symphony
how come it's bitter if I'm better and it's lonely when I'm not
a disease that will surely make me forget her
it isn't something I could be taught

I took a shine to him
my heart sticking as if covered in adhesive
a silver silence monitored by detection devices
how fast am I racing
incense smothering the scent of my chain smoking
while I document my sadness on graph paper
I try to find reasoning behind every feeling I have
cognitive reality pulls against me
the way your petite body strings me along
the cowardice I reveal while you hold my heart against a knife
I'll plead with you for a title
with it taken away I am nothing

you remind me of clicking a pen
a substantial lack of ink
a relaxing sound of consistency
remarkably calming
and missed when long gone