Every single wish I spent on

shooting stars

or pennies thrown into wishing wells

was wasted on you.

Have you ever had one of those days
where sadness takes on an edge
of beauty?
It seems like a contradiction,
an oxymoron.
Although, you can't help but see how
it shines
around the shadow of depression.

Here I am, trying to convince the world,
trying to convince you,
trying to convince myself, that
I am fine.
A three-word sentence that hides the pain;
not from oneself but from watching eyes.
My troubles stack one on top of the other
forming a skyscraper that burdens me.
Each day it grows bigger and taller
until it collapses
as did the towers on 9/11,
as it does right on top of me.

I'd much rather hear
your lonely silence,
seemingly with no end,
rather than
your empty words,
which never held any sort of value
to you




nor to myself

anymore...

Head spinning
Vision tilting
Mind reeling
Stomache heaving

I don't recall my feet leaving the ground
or hopping onto a twisting rollercoaster.
Yet,
how else would the world be rotating
360 degrees,
back-and-forth,
upside-down,
all in the same moment?

The words left unspoken
are always harder to stomach
than those which were said.

It's funny
in a not-so-funny sort of way
that the three months post us,
DecemberJanuaryFebruary
and now onto March,
have flown by.

Whereas the final few months of us,
S e p t e m b e r
O  c  t  o  b  e  r
N   o   v   e   m   b   e   r
(then onto the final month of)
D         e          c          e          m          b          e         ­ r
seemed to crawl by,
slower and slower as the days went on.

These bruises and scars on my skin
help me remember,

"Yes,


I am still alive."

I am the yo-yo, hooked to a piece of string.
You are the hand that pulls,
controls the whole mechanism.
As the hand pushes away,
the yo-yo distances itself;
just to be pulled back into the hand
with the slightest tug.
No matter how many times the yo-yo
spins away,
she is always found in the embrace
of the hand yet again.
And no matter how near or far
the hand is to the yo-yo
(or the yo-yo to the hand),
the two are always connected.

My mouth
may be as ***** as a sailor's,
but I promise you
my lips
are as sweet as honey.

I have never understood the concept of
soulmates,
twin flames,
being one half of a whole.

I have never needed somebody in my life
to make me feel whole
because I am absolutely complete
on my own.

Cigarettes and I have a
love-hate/hate-love
relationship.
Each drag is like voluntarily
placing my lungs in an inferno to be scorched.
The strongest people I know have
wasted away
because of that cancer-on-a-stick.
I especially hate how
they taint the tantalizing taste
of my lover's lips.
Yet, on rare drunken occasions
or when a thick layer of red coats my lips,
I crave the **** thing.

Upon waking every morning,
he'd study my cerulean eyes
so intensely, it was as though
he saw they held the secrets to life
and he was a desperate man in need.

Goosebumps dance
on a pale stage,
following after
where your fingertips traced.

Your hot breath pours
across the nape of my neck,
sending a tsunami of shivers
down
down
d
o
w
n
my spine
and through my limbs.

I open my eyes
needing to look into your own,
but am met with
the ****** ceiling.
I was dreaming
again
and yet I wasn't...

I dream that you're out there,
my dear,
living your own life
and maybe dreaming of me too.

What makes it so easy
to write personal works
from the heart,
the soul,
the inner workings of my mind
that then you, strangers,
read at your own will,
like, and comment?
Things I cannot even bring myself
to admit to those closest to me
or even yours truly.
The fact baffles me each time
I start typing.

This black hole to nowhere
appears underneath me
from out of the blue
just to swallow me whole.

The longer I fall
the less I can see
the faster it gets
before I am consumed
e n  t   i    r     e      l       y
to the darkness.

*I am my own savior, yet I cannot save myself.

There is more romance in a simple coffee stain
than there is in a single bone from my body.

I have this
increasingly annoying
affliction with affection.

I'm sorry if my
insularity doesn't comprehend your sincerity,
I've just had the actions of others be
catalytic to the inner cynic
in me.

I try to push myself to feel
an inclination, but it ends in agitation
instead.

I've realized it's
unfortunately an idiosyncrasy
of mine, though I hope to someday come across a
carrefour in life where I'll find my paramour
who will understand.

"You don't know what you have until it's gone,"
Words I've engrained into my brain
from years ago.
Always trying to be thankful
for every little thing.

Yet, you've gone
and I've realized that the pedestal
I always placed you on in my mind,
was simply an illusion.
Every time I said it could be worse,
it actually could've been better.

And now I know
I deserve somebody to value my worth
as a person,
lover,
friend.

Because you don't know what you don't have until it is long gone.

Stars twinkle while suspended
in the dark sky above.
Some dim, others bright;
A handful hued, the majority white.
From their perch beyond, and
when their numbers appear multiplied
as the moon is absent,
they whisper, "destiny," to me.

A walking contradiction;
I do not want anyone to be dependent
upon me.
Yet, when no one needs me
I collapse.

Quite often, I ponder
“What’s worse?”
a love that once was
or a love that could have been
and the ”what if” that follows it?