i miss high school
not really, but y'know
i miss all the things
i got to be.

i go to the hospital because thats what you're supposed to do. because everyone seems to change their minds about their ******* dads when they seem them lying helplessly in a bed for invalids. but i don't. i look at him and i don't feel a **** thing. until the machines shut off, he's alive. as long as he's alive, he's the man that grabbed my wrist so hard it still doesn't bend right. a terminal diagnosis doesn't change that.

all thats left keeping him alive is that life support and all the people in this room, people he's hurt, who are crying over him like he said a kind word to them in his life. *******.

when the doctor comes in and tells us its time, my sister starts wailing. i think its a stalling tactic. so i pull it out myself.

stop crying, its over.

you've got a butterfly melting
on the tip of your tongue and the
crisp of your grapefruit skin
pores through the pours of my
sponging fingers and I had a dream-
starstruck and set on a milky night
that you came to me between the bridges
of a canopied lens, lungs pink with passion,
lips parsed and ready, I set my eyes along
the rings of your chest and waited for it's
plate to aliven, deep breaths heaving up
and down as my cheeks glow hollow,
I touched the rim of his golden
wire framed glasses as he wiggled the
bridge of his nose, struggling to
keep them afloat as they draped and I
asked him, "How old are you, ***?"
as I dusted the blades of my shoulders,
"I lost count," he said,
eyes dimming against the background
of the setting sun, "I lost count 'cause you see,
from my point of view, it feels as though
I've been alive for an eternity."

on a night like tonight
when everything feels
just a little more dismal
than any other, i find myself
missing the way the moon
embraced the slant of my
cresting back. some days,
i sit back and i think about
how sorry i am for hurting you
or if my decisions hurt me
more than they did you

some days i can't help but wonder,
how in heaven's name i was dumb
enough to walk away from all that i had with you. i wait not for your demise
but my very own against your
desires and pleas, if i could symphony you a tale of my dire dissatisfaction of my
daily life, i'd stand upright against
this shallow wall they've built
to help me stay upright and ready

some days, i waft, face drowning
in an ocean of dissatisfaction
waiting for something new or old
to shrug my slumped shoulders awake.