Forget his name
Forget his face
Forget his kiss
His warm embrace
Forget tge love once knew
Remember he has someone new
Forget him when they paly your song
Remember when you cried all night long
Forget how close you once were
Remember he has chosen her
Forget how you memorized his walk
Forget the way you used to talk
Forget the things he used to say
Rememeber he has gone away
Forget his kuagh frget his grin
Forget the dimples on his chin
Ftget the way

The feelings we once had have faded
(At least for you they have)
We avoid each other the best we can
(I go out of my way to run into you)
Sometimes I'll catch you looking my way
(Please tell me what you're thinking)
Our eyes never meet for more than a second
(Please. Just tell me what's wrong)
It doesn't have to be this way.
*(Can we please just talk this through?)

Today I wore pink
And all through the hours
I felt wide - expansive,
Like a Sahara of embarassment,
The blush of recycled shame.

The color made me think of you,
And how you purred over the shade
When she inked it into her hair,
A blonde head turned to bubblegum filth;
How you smiled and fell in love
With everything but me.
You used to carry sweet words
In the pocket of your cheeks,
******* them like peppermints,
Tumbling them like a dryer
Until your teeth turned red
And then your tongue went sour
And your mouth grew mad,
Spitting sparks and catching my skin on fire.
She wasted you, with her cotton candy highlights
And that incessant, stupid need to be free.
She wasted you, and made you new
For everyone but me.

My mind is a carousel, and my thoughts are
Bumbling to catch one another,
Waltzing and reeling in spirals,
And dizzying the dance with canned lullabyes.
The girl at the bookstore has a smile
That's all teeth and pink gums.
She's pink, if pink were living,
And she's following me like a lost silhouette.
He asks me if I'm okay and I
Nod my head and feed him excuses.
He doesn't spit them up; its easy.
Truth is, I'm a whirlwind,
A pink whirlwind, and the color makes my stomach knot.
The muscles in my chest are whining,
And going stiff with self-disgust.
I'm starting to think I'm only happy
When I'm torturing myself with you.

Music Notes Litter My Mixed Mind,
Day Dreaming,
In My Personal Shrine,
Green Eyes Beaming,
The Ones In Which I Lay Behind,
Walls Of Red Bleeding,
Into The Oulets Of Time,
A Composer's Doubt Retreating,
Everything Is Fine,
Black Walls Enclose A Rhythmic Scheming,
The Core Of Life Preserved In A Hearty Rhine,
Dull As The Midnight Moon Gleaming,
Yet Colorful As The Tranquility Of The Divine,
In My Sanctuary Slow Songs Live--Teeming,
Swimming In Black Walls Which Are Entwined,
In A World Worth Believing,
Subdued In The Warm Scent Of Pine,
The Composer Ponders--Her Own Creating,
A Peice Blanketed With A Matrimony Vine,
Black Walls Comfort, After Days Living A Curse,
One That Is Layered In Every Line In Each Verse

Am I worth loving?
I'd like to think so
Yet the question that seems so simple for my heart to know
Is am I worth loving?
The question does ensue
And I can't help but wonder every time words come from you
But no answer comes from heaven or Earth
Not one constellation can say
Silence is not solace in my utter disarray
And yet I am here and waiting and you are simply there
And I know you are not one who takes joy in my despair
So tell me am I worth loving?
Every complication
Every clogged pore and stuttering word
Would it pass initiation?
For I am flawed beyond comprehension
Beyond you're imagination
And compared to your track record, I'm the lesser if God's creations
Realize this and tell me That I am worth your time
My romanticism and promise only lying in my rhymes
And the questions remained unanswered for a lover that's been left
And underlying's a heart that's dying and a mind which starts to regret
That I even asked the question of whether love can ever be mine
Because I'm the Hallmark writer who receives not one single valentine
And so I look to you and ask again and again
Is this poet worth loving or does love lie only in his end

He is in love with questions
And the lilting world of words,
With the fabric of philosophy
And the taste of fresh ideas.

He is in love with the smell of green
And the shifting sands of dreams,
With the hunt for profound moments
And the hunger-lust for purpose.

He is in love with his books
And the zodiacs cross the planet,
With patterns of chain reactions
And the way we cog and gear.

He is in love with pools of stardust
And fanciful notions of theory,
With darkness, deep and coveted
And the fabric it is made from.

He is in love with one who left
And the poisoned past he bathes in,
With being perpetually lonesome
And floating twixt life’s sabulous banks.

He is in love with memories, and the universe,
And nobody else.

With my choking heart, I’m grasping at dust,
And I am in love with him.