Everytime you leave me,
I drown in thoughts and tears.
Everytime you touch me,
I smile, but I still fear.
'Cause what if you'll leave me,
you're doing it,
again.
But what if you'll love me,
my flaws and who I am.
I am afraid that I'll choose wrong.
So I am standing,
in the middle, in between.
I am afraid that you'll leave me,
once you have seen it,
me.

I've reheated the same
Cup of coffee five times
This evening

Trying to write something
For myself that accurately
Describes how I experience

Often I am flooded in the ordinary
By the emotion and the density
Of life itself, in all its majesty

And sometimes I am left
Devoid of sentiment
In moments deemed worthy

I get lost in thinking of
The way the future will
Tangle with the present

I find myself stopped in
A memory as well,
A reminder, a fragment of past

The present is a fleeting concept
A paradox, I think
A circle of thought

At what point
Does the future become the present?
And the present become the past?

My eyes shut.

I flew with the force of a bullet through my windshield. I never thought it was possible for something so drastic to happen so quickly, but here it was happening once again. I feel my head smack against the ground. The sounds of bones crunching echoes through the air, and then the noise stops.

My eyes open.

I see the dark sky, splattered with stars upon stars. I inhale sharply, searching for my breath that I thought that I had lost. I try to move my hand. I can't. I try to move my leg. I can't. I open my mouth to speak, but I can't let out any words. Instead, I scream. I scream louder then I have ever screamed before. My head turns to the side and looks at the car that I was in not only a moment ago. One of the headlights has died, but the one that still works blinds me.

I flinch, and my eyes shut again.

I can hear the sounds of sirens rushing towards me. I'm lifted up, and put into a vehicle. Something sticks me in the arm. My body goes numb. I can't move, I can't move, why can't I move?

My eyes open.

A year later.

My arms bangs against the side of the wheelchair. The nurse yells at me to not to do that, or I'll get my fingers stuck in the spokes.


                            I can't talk.

                                                          ­        I can't feel

           I can't talk.

                                                                ­           I can't move.


My family comes to visit. I can't even tell my mom and dad that I'm sorry for doing this to them. Do you know what it's like to look your own parents in the face, only to have them cry over the fact that you can't open your own mouth to feed yourself?


                  I can't talk.

                                                               ­             I can't feel

               Can't talk, can't move.

                                                          ­                     Why?

                      I can't talk

                                                           ­     I can't feel.

                                             Why?



My whole body aches to be itself, but it can't because it's stuck in a constant cycle of asking itself how to be itself.

               Why?

                                                     I can't move.

                                                                ­                 I can't talk.

                             I can't feel.

                                Can't feel, can't move.


I just want you to know that I made I mistake.

I just want to be able to feel again.

Before it was ever broken
I'd give to you my word,
so clear and legible on the page
but now the lines are blurred.

Before it was ever broken
I'd give to you my dreams,
but the fantasy that we had woven
was tearing at the seams.

Before it was ever broken
I'd give to you my trust,
but the knives we held into our backs
were begging us to ******.

Before it was ever broken
I'd give to you my chain,
but the bonds have since come apart
left rusting in the rain;

and even though we're broken
I'd still go back to the start,
when before it was ever broken
I'd give to you my heart.

when you fall in love with an angel, you must understand that there are things you will never understand.

- when you first go to run your hands through her hair, her halo will slice your palm. and it will hurt like hell. she will mend it with the touch of one golden finger, and leave so abruptly that she is gone almost before you even blink. the thing you will see is her at the doorway. terrified eyes, blood stained hair.

(later, she will tell you that she never realized how breakable humans could be. when she explains what it takes to make an angel bleed, you begin to understand )

- ask her about the sky, about stars and suns and galaxies light years away. ask her whether or not the universe looks like a blooming garden. never ask about lucifer - she will become a soldier before your eyes.

and not, do not, donot, ask about god.

do not ask about rebellious older brothers and absentee mothers.

(do not infer about a war you know nothing of)

- in a science class you are taking simply for extra credit, your teacher will be talking about quantum physics. he will explain galaxies and refer to stars as "celestial bodies," but you won't be listening. suddenly you will only be able to think of the way her mouth curls at the sides, of the way her golden skin glows, of all the puckered scars that crisscross her torso, of the graceful arch on the bottom of her foot. celestial bodies are certainly on your mind but they are so much more than gas and light and heat and touch and --- oh heavens ---

when the teacher asks if you are alright, you will flush an even deeper red. supernova.

(at times it is lovely to be in love with an angel. but at other times, it is not)
- beware when you fight, it is like the world is ending. her anger conjures a thunderstorm, and soon the entire country is three inches deep in water. you shatter a picture frame. a bolt of lightning catches the house across the street on fire. you are screaming at the top of your lungs – something about duty, something about god – and there is a crash of thunder that shakes the foundations. the weathermen talk about the storm for days. you flinch and change the channel.

(no matter how right she is, she will always let you win)

- there are times when she won't visit for months on end, and when she finally comes back to you, she is not herself. there are new scars across her chest, and she does not speak. she sits with you in her arms for hours, her nose buried in your hair, and her arms squeezed tight, so tight. she does not cry. you do not cry.

you do(not) cry.

(but you do remember the miles and miles of white scarring. you wonder if angels are as immortal and unbreakable as they think)

My smile goes from cheek to cheek
While the sun is on its highest peak.
Happiness creeps into my heart
As I make my car start.
I turn my music up loud.
And I put on my favorite song.
I sing at the top of my lungs.
And I feel as free as the waves caused by the base of my song.

you sit next to me, warmth radiating off your posed form,
giving me a sense of mars, alien and cold, but warm on the inside,
you fill me with feeling, a longing for a fishtown I’ve never known,
where it is grey and green and iridescent, and calm,
and you give me long conversations, in a car when it’s raining,
philosophizing with our minds, until we move to the back, and use our bodies,
and you are hard to predict, being an ever shifting scape of thoughts,
flipping feelings like a coin, full of potential, wild and unrestricted,
I wouldn’t change you from the fluid form you currently possess,
moving like water, graceful, and dangerous,
and when you ***** up your face, I use the moment,
to watch you freely, feeling lucky