It took me one sleepless night of writing
poems about you 
poems about us
of quietly suffering under the sheets of my bed
of letting the darkness around me enter
of letting desire consume my head.

It took me one sleepless night of writing
to promise I'll always put myself first
to hold my own hand
to lift myself up 
when I'm at my worst.

Because darling, you may have the most tender fingers
But who got me out of the sheets today?
It was myself
because I'm here alone
and you are so many miles          a w a y.

there are treasures for you but you cannot hold them.  not with your hands stretched this wide because you can know love but it will flow through you.  love can do that.  flowers will wilt and their leaves will dry like they've never known water but the truth is they have.  and i have known you.  and i love you but we will falter.  and i love you but we will rise again.

Did I make the most of loving you?
The words, in a song, stop me cold
Hot tea, mid sip
I remember this summer
Humidity rising
Iced tea on the balcony
Your smile was so pained
You knew what I didn’t
You knew then what I’m going through now
I will always regret not kissing you in August
And in June I’d said it’d be the summer of no regrets

Now it’s the kind of cold that makes
My exposed skin hurt
So I bundle up tighter
Close my eyes to the wind that gives them tears
And on my eyelids, I see this past summer
But it still hurts because I’m looking back
Not forward
Never forward
I can’t.
So many things were left unsaid.

I'm a ******
I don't do drugs or drink
my only flaw is how much I think
I don't believe in God but I believe in me
And I don't know where I belong on my family tree

I don't propose that **** is based on a girl's clothes
I suppose I'm dumb or brilliant but who really knows
You could say that I'm narcissistic or have low self-esteem
with a girlfriend with a pocketless pocket and a head full of dreams

Whoa that didn't flow, that last line
Imperfect effort seems to be an attribute of mine
Look at this rhyme scheme, it's so diverse
I guess I can get away with this; I couldn't get any worse
One favorite, three favorite, fifty-four
Give me validation, I could always use some more
Hello, Hellopoetry! You've been so forgiving
of my beautiful poetry that reflects an ugly way of living
Tell me, tell me: Should I write more?
What if my sadness is gone, and my melancholy no more?
Will you still love me if I write about crinkle-cut fries?

"****. No more suicide poems, does this kid still try?"

Is there still a Josh Haines if he no longer cries?
Is there still a Josh Haines if he doesn't wanna die?
Is there still a Josh Haines if he starts to fall?
Is there still a Josh Haines if he gets it all?
Is there still a Josh Haines after every kiss?
Is there still a Josh Haines after he writes all of this?

Eh. Maybe, baby. Maybe.