bees can't fly
yet they still do
because they don't know
that they can't
of course this holds no relevance to me
I'm not a bee you see
i'm not saying humans can fly
i'm well aware we've tried
it just makes me wonder
about the things we never try
how the greatest musicians
turned into accountants
about what we do don't do
solely so we don't fail

if a bee were to understand
that he couldn't physically fly
he'd just buzz away
I want that

It's crazy ya know
how everything I own
can just be wrapped up in boxes
trophies and awards
pictures and accomplishments
all tucked neatly away
my favorite pens and pencils
stuffed into burlap sacks

it's almost like it wasn't real
the first 18 years of my life
like it was all a game
that no matter what I did
I'd end up here
the only difference being
how many trophies
were neatly tucked away

like my whole life has been a checklist
like I was nothing extraordinary
there is nothing more dehumanizing
than being able to put everything you love in a box
it's just weird that it's over
it was always going to end
but I never thought it would be OVER
that's all

She left me
I never thought she would
I don't know what I did
and she wouldn't wait to tell
I went out that night
I never do
well now it's never did
it became routine
arrive at 9
drunk by 10
home by 1
escorting my visitor out by 9
you know most times
I never learned their names
I never wanted to
too personal

personally I think I'm fine
I don't think about her as often
and if I do I drink
until the thoughts subside
the pain drains away
only to refill itself
every morning I'm woken up
by the same pain I'd avoided
the night before
but over time it lessened
my mind learned it's lesson
it forgot how to love
I stabbed myself the other day
and was surprised to see I bled
the pain didn't register
as I lay another woman that isn't her to bed

you're aching, and tragicly breaking.
living your life in dispair.
your praying, and you're waiting,
for someone who doesnt care,
he was never really there.

you're burning, and you're yearning,
for him to come through,
stop wasting all your time on him,
and just start loving you.

When in love,
I spend more time hating myself
than actually loving somebody.

Maybe that is
why I am never loved back.

heads
i love you
i really do
i listen to music that reminds me of you
and think about the good times

tails*
i hate you
i really do
i listen to music that reminds me of you
and cry about the good times

although i'm not in love with you anymore
i still think about you fondly in my dreams

It is 7.30 and I am still thinking about the way our hands slotted together like days of the week, normalcy perspiring in the air behind us.
It is 7.31 and I am still thinking about your cheekbones, collarbones, hipbones. I am still thinking about your bones. You haven't returned my phone calls in a week.
It is 7.32 and I am still thinking about forest fires.
It is 7.33 and I am still thinking about clocks ticking and how it's kind of funny how we are always counting the days we have left, instead of the days we have.
It is 7.34 and I am still thinking about how my apologies never really cut it.
It is 7.35 and I am sorry.
It is 7.36 and I wonder how hard it is to tie a noose.
It is 7.37 and I am still thinking about the normal length of a pause when you're telling someone you love them, too.
It is 7.38 and I love you, too.
It is 7.39 and I am still trying not to think about how loud the doorbell echoes in the entrance hall now.
It is 7.40 and I am still thinking about the absence of stairways.
It is 7.41 and I am still thinking about hunger pains and alleyways and the warmth of your hand on my spine.
It is 7.42 and there are some things you can't say to other people but holy ****, I miss you.
It is 7.43 and I'm sorry again.
It is 7.44 and I am still thinking about short hands on clocks.
It is 7.45 and I am still imagining footfalls landing heavy on the carpet outside my bedroom and trying not to hope they're yours.
It is 7.46 and I hope they're yours.
It is 7.47 and I am still thinking about the glass in my ribcage digging in harder than your fingernails ever could.
It is 7.48 and I am still thinking about the way our hands slotted together.
It is 7.49 and I'm sorry again.