Infectious laugh,
Untamable anger,
Excitable stories,
Well-hidden anxiety.

Misdirected blame,
Unwarranted shame.

Blue eyes.

Brown hair, red hints; I wish I could have seen it with sun tints.

Smiling...

After work.
In the middle of the night.
In the mornings.
Saturday afternoons.

Rushed calls or
A day’s worth of together.

Nightmares as dreams,
Nights without sleep.
Coffee, drugs, caffeine.
Scars.

Hopelessness.
Grief.

Aspirations.
Full of life.

Childlike heart. Easily torn, but never taken apart.
An eye for nature’s beauty.
An eye for art.
One for me, occasionally.

Insecurity. Arrogance.
Compassion. Detachment.
Weak yet enduring.
Unmoving yet learning.

Intoxicating.
Aggravating.
A liar struggling to lie.
A suicide debating to die.

Lustful gaze.
Manipulative ways.

Who were you
And why couldn’t you stay?

you, my love
taught me how to cut my hair
and shed my clothes

you, my love
asked me to go for a swim
and left me drowning because
i didn't know friends could take your breath away too

somehow, you’d drawn pretty lines
between every good thing in my life
and your pretty hands
all you are is a pretty girl
but your skin was so different from mine
i couldn’t help but try and mimic you
become you

i was never as good as you were
at batting my eyelashes at the right guy
i always chose the ones who broke hearts for sport
i never quite got the hang of the distant act
that even i would fall for
and i would never be good at mind-numbing small talk
that we seemed to beg for, just to fill the empty space between our hearts

your life was never real
because pretty girls like you
aren’t just pretty
but mean
and hurtful
and they will leave you
broken and bleeding on the side of the road
because you were a failed experiment

i don’t want to be mesmerised by your eyes anymore
because when i walk past you,
all i see is the despair under your eyes
you can’t fool me
like you did every other pretty girl
you’re just as broken as i am
but i swear to you,
i sleep much easier
knowing i don’t always have to be pretty.

I've given up being a martyr
I did it tomorrow or maybe yesterday
I finally found the door
Spending less time outside
More time inside
Figuring out what's next.

The chapters in our lives end
The end of that story
Or
What then?
Athletes never beat time
Hang on in forever?

The day turns into the night
You're waking up again.

The answers come and go

There is identity in being a martyr
Knowing/not knowing
What to do
Who to be
What to give
Giving it all away
Perpetual obligation
Perpetual melancholy
A purpose, a project
Completed?

What then?

We all have empty nests
Broken hearts

Projects inevitably end

Standing, looking into the distance,  hand blocking the sun
Lingering
Wondering
Is there one more thing

Yes there is

Moving on
Saying bye bye
it's time.

Alone again.

It's rained every day this week.
I don't have what I did the last,
I'm not the same.
I think this may be another world;
It enveloped me, incautiously.
I did not see it coming--
Cool arms blurred my view and embraced me.
I opened.
My reflections are silvery, but I am not.
Everything is gray.
I don't hate it.
The sky's breath is cold
And I feel it soak through my clothes.
I set my umbrella down today and
I stood there. I closed my eyes.
I don't know who I am in this place,
But I feel okay.
I've lost, am lost, but little has changed.
I have not washed away.
Like storm clouds, I hold onto what's gathered around me.
I want to feel this ambivalent nothingness.

The rain brings new beginnings,
But now I must play the storyteller.

There are glimpses of
gold when
your shades are
rose-tinted
and when
the sting
of the past
is a feeling that's
       fading

and the thought of
next winter's
from mildew to
Emerald
and December's
devil
is
no longer
haunting

When there are curtains
of gold to be
draped all around
and suddenly sadness
is a song, not a
sound

and somewhere hums a
hope that
there's more we
can't see

there's a casket of
petals where
grief used to be