You were drawn to me
because I was a writer.
You didn't understand
that I write well
simply because I lie well.
Such is the art of storytelling.
I'm honestly sorry you had
to realize that
The hard way.

*******
for playing games and
throwing knives at my back
like there was a painted-on target
and you were trying to hit the center-
for changing who you were
every time the need arose,
like you could hide behind
excuses and artificial apologies-
and for pretending you were more
than just an empty vessel
consuming those around you
until they weren't useful anymore.
******* for
lying
betraying
hiding.
but mostly ******* for
all the memories that are ruined,
all the people you've tied
into your web,
all places and things that turned
black the instant you did,
and
all the wasted moments
I'll never get back.

I am a man of simple pleasures
and complex desires

i can't decide
if 2am is for lovers
kissing in the dark
or a girl
who is alone once again.

It's almost 2am.
I'm kind of laying here in the hot, unnatural heat.
I miss you a little bit.
My insomnia has been bad lately.
I guess you're okay.
I'll just write about you for awhile until I drift off into the colourless world of pretend realitys promising to bring you back to me.

the early hours of the morning, when light has yet to show itself, and the streets are quiet.

2am is not for the happy people.

it is not for the lovers.

it is for the shadows that finally feel accepted.

it is for the poets, who are still up because their mind is filled with an unimaginable amount of words about someone they love.

it is for the broken-hearted who have been crying since 9pm.

it is for the people who love but are not loved.

it is for the one who finally feel like they can be whomever they want to be (or need to be) at 2am. and only 2am.