i’ve stopped trying.
i just bump into walls until i find a door,
blindly.
the dull pain is
more annoying than anything,
and i could stop if i wanted,
but at least i’m moving.

i fear that
i’m going to lose you that
i’m going to close my eyes and
i’ll forget to look behind me and when
i finally remember where
i’m at you’ll be gone and that
i’ll have nothing left but an emptiness
only you can fill

blaming yourself
for him
becoming a statistic
of an epidemic
of sad-eyed boys
with clean cut hair
and baggy sweatshirts
isn't right.

no, I'm not talking about the ones with big noses
or greasy hair

not the ones with bad breath
or round bellies

no, I just like them raw
a little broken, a little sad

the ones with scars
a story to tell

I sure know how to pick em' you might say
but I'd never give them up any day

a whole adventure in a person like the outdoors
one with canyons and mountains he would let me explore
only ugly guys give themselves all at once
no parts hidden, everything is exposed

vulnerability is thought to be a weakness but in reality it's bold

I like ugly guys.

june;
before july,
after may.
the influential month of summer.
drinking the alcohol left over from last week.
swimming in pools that don't belong to us.
skipping rocks in the creek by your house.
walking thirteen miles to sit together,
and watching the sunset.
pure bliss,
without anxiety for the school year to start.
contentment,
without complaining about walking those god ****** thirteen miles.
i stub my toe on a rock that i don't see
because i'm laughing at your stupid grin.
that's june.

incoherent thoughts cloud my mind.
i am like a spider
who was never taught
how to climb.
thoughts of what could have been,
our stupid, well thought out plans.
the dull thud of a heartbeat next to mine,
keeping a rhythm that isn't in time.
desire and lust
and everything that we had in between the two of us
gone.
left behind.
like a piece of mold on a piece of white bread.
"it's *******!" i scream as i listen to music
that makes me think of you.
and my purple walls in my dark room
that were painted by our hands.
together.
a taste of something
i feel as though i will
never taste again.
i look at the hole in the wall,
and the broken ceiling fan.
the picture of you on my desktop,
an empty box of soda cans.
and i can't seem to remind myself that
there is always an end.

fire;
engulfed by a heat
that wasn't man made.
a heat that burns
worse than a burn
or a cut
drowned in alcohol.
a desire to feel pain
a desire to feel nothing.
but a breath,
but a pulse,
but the warmth of a touch.
but feeling is nothing.
it was a drug
and these are just
withdraw symptoms.
and one day
the feeling will return
but not today.
today i am burning
without turning to ash.
today i am
a fire
that can only
be put out
by her.