Drink your sorrows not,
For when the alcohol is diminished,
And sobriety creeps upon you,
Sorrow will shortly follow.

my cold blood hits my own skin
while my own patience is
so delicately,
waring fragilely thin

Let’s sleep out
And eat in
Quietly shout
Get mad and grin

Hold tight
To loose morals
Wake up at night
Fall asleep and fight

Shiver in June
Warm in December
Believe a cartoon
Grasp a hot ember

Let’s bloom from above
Speak what we cannot say
Let’s fall in love
*And stay that way

I lied when I told you
that I was okay, that
colors were still colors
and that my thoughts
were still pure.

you should've known better,
dear, that I am the dirtiest
form of clean, gritty smile
and the inescapable nature
of a poet.

don't look so surprised
at the words that bounce
off the roof of my mouth.
I know you shudder at
my carelessness, at my
inclination to destruction,
but don't look at me that way,
darling.

don't come around,
if you can't thrive on decay.
don't think twice about leaving,
I never promised you a martyr.

I wish you'd understand how
deep this truth runs

maybe then you'd open your
heart

If I wrote in rhyme,
with satisfying time,
would you like it?

Does it comfort you
seeing stanzas of two,

And is it pleasing
without any meaning?

Do you mind it?

And if I were to stumble
on my own words and
my thoughts crumble
beneath the structure

of beautiful nothingness
and regress

to complexity that resembles more
the disjointed thoughts of our souls
the pain and ugly in our hearts
the way we might actually speak (gasp!)
and think
and hope
and hurt
--is that not beautiful enough
for your poetic sensibilities?

If not, I understand
and will no longer clash
my words like waves that crash
on the unforgiving sand.

You may find much to see,
but this poem means nothing to me.

You took you away from me,
Now me is all I have
But all I want is you, you see
And to give you all of me.