Paint me pretty, paint me bright,
Capture me in this adoring light.
Wish as you may, wish as you might,
Thing will never be as they are tonight.
Baby blue, cotton candy pink,
A yellow that pales next to my smile, you think.
Never a portrait, always a scene,
Easier to forget if I'm just a color scheme.
Lavender because it's my favorite scent,
Green to reflect how my irises glint.
Willows, weeping, for all that's been lost,
A field once vast now covered in frost.
When they look at the paintings what do they see?
Water lilies and bridges, never me.
Try as they will, try as they might,
only love makes you wonder at this sight.

There is a certain heaviness to the air tonight. It fills my lungs with some indescribable feeling that I once had a name for. I know nothing save for the fact that I am completely alone in this concrete graveyard. Shadows of trees take on human form, their limbs bent at unnatural angles. Lights blur and my eyes lose focus.  Airplanes turn to stars, turn to dust, frozen in space, sending signals that cannot be read. Our frequencies travel at different speeds and in opposite directions. Intersection is unlikely, but I believe we will meet again, someday. There isn't a cloud in the sky that doesn't spell out your name. You have dove deep into the depths of my being. My thoughts are tainted, contaminated, and I can no longer separate them from yours. There is no peace of mind. You are the song stuck in my head, the stain on my shirt, the dirt under my fingernails. I head out onto the highway, into the oncoming stream of headlights. Nothing makes me feel more alive than being this close to death. This is me letting go, this is my release. I am here in this moment; you are lost in time.

Here are some ideas for poems.

1. Write a poem about ideas for poems.

silence is black ink and it fills the room around me
until I cannot see cannot breathe until
I cannot taste anything but your last words in my mouth.
darkness has not fallen but rather it is
dripping
from the ceiling and onto my hair, hands, my face,
spilling over notebooks and cups of coffee.
silence is flowing around me as if someone
has knocked over a jar that contained it
and as if it has been fighting the walls
of that jar
for a lifetime.

it is that empty feeling -- I'm sure you remember --
that feeling you get when you
run out of feelings and salt water and your heart
has stopped hurting but only
because it is gone -- you are sure.
there is only that gap
and it is filling up fast
with melancholy music that you play
to make you feel again
and words you scribbled down
in vain attempts to breathe again.
it is human to hurt this way or so they say
but how does the world still spin when everyone is broken
as broken
as I am?

there is nothing but blank ink
spilling from pages and pages of
where my soul used to be
filling and filling the gaps of hearts long broken
and it is silent and there is no comfort in it
this time
because it is the kind of silence that sounds
like loudness, sounds like screaming, feels like
cars driving in the desert with no airconditioning
feels like traffic jams on highways feels like drowning.

still I write because I
can't.

We live in a world of imperfect people
expecting to find someone perfect

It just doesn't work.

Love as defined in the dictionary: An intense feeling of deep affection.
Love as defined by 98% of others**: Painful.

don't text me.

when it's 4 in the morning and you're tossing and turning but you can't sleep because your heart aches for the place next to you to be filled with a warm body,
don't text me.

when you're downing shot after shot and the girl who's *** your free hand is grabbing sends you home with nothing more than a kiss and night of headache inducing regrets,
don't text me.

when you're scrolling through your photos and the light from your iphone blinds you from the picture of me wrapped up in your jacket with the sleeves too long and the shoulders too large that causes your chest to pound,
don't text me.

when your hand is holding hers and the realization hits you that it feels like lead instead of the softness you were accustomed to because that hand is not the same one that hugged you when you couldn't hold the world's weight anymore,
don't text me.

i won't answer.

"Every man has the right to risk his own life in order to preserve it. Has it ever been said that a man who throws himself out the window to escape from a fire is guilty of suicide?"