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  May 2015 Collin Daniel
Ellie Shelley
Darling, you are the moon, and I am the tide.
Collin Daniel Apr 2015
you are familiar.
i know the feel of your hands, the taste of your tongue,
the parts of you that deserve the most attention.
i know you.

we used to smoke cigarettes in my car,
windows down,
music loud,
laughing out the window,
we were alive.
getting high in the sunlight,
warmth surrounding us,
summer days turn to summer nights,
warm,
electric,
real.

but our blood no longer runs crimson.
rather, we are cold and blue,
false bodies, false promises,
fraudulent smoke from a fraudulent pipe.
our teeth are still white,
but our smiles are unfamiliar.

"how are you?"
i ask.
lighting a cigarette, you look at me and reply,
*"fine."
Collin Daniel Mar 2015
breathe in deep,
{deep breaths will help you cope}
chew gum,
a diet coke and a cigarette in the afternoon,
the carbonation burns your throat
{thank god}
another cigarette after work,
another cup of coffee on the road
{black, with two sugars}
park the car,
go inside,
do laundry,
do the dishes,
do something
{distraction is key}

look in the mirror,
tousle your hair,
you look
{normal?}
there are no external warning signs,
{not that you've exhibited, at least}
this deception you're living every day,
has become the norm for you
{who am i?}

{but he doesn't look like an alcoholic}

silent pain,
no one can hear your cries for help.
{are you, perhaps, too prideful to look like an alcoholic?}
you still wake up for work,
eat breakfast,
go to church,
but your faith is no longer in God,
the blood of your God represented in a chalice of wine,
passed through the hands of the faithful followers,
{moderation is key, isn't that what they told you?}
pass the cup back to the holy man before he sees
the look in your eyes,
begging for more,
{one more drink}
{please}

it only matters if you show the warning signs,
as if this addiction
{dare i say, disease?}
could fit into a pamphlet,
neatly folded,
creased edges,
glossy photographs,
all smiles,
1-800 number in the big font
{this is your life, and it fits on a single sheet of paper}

{no one can help you but yourself, and you're not doing so well}
idk.
Collin Daniel Mar 2015
I sat up all night
and thought about you,
darling,
and your lips
and hands
and the curve of your hips
and the way you pronounce things
and all the simple
tiny
idiosyncrasies
that embody you
and how I'll never again be able
to see those lips
and hands
and hips
without thinking of
the bitter contrast between
summer's warmth
and
winter's harsh bite.
Collin Daniel Mar 2015
what is a human
but the chemicals
that make him up
or the thoughts
in his brain or the tiny
little wrinkles
on his palms or even
the warm, red blood
cells that persistently
pump through his
body even though
he wants them
to run
cold.

what is a human
but the anxiety
and worries that
define his every
waking moment
and encapsulate him
in a fear-driven
rage and throw him
into a pit of sadness
and anger until
his humanity is
gone.

what is a human
but the tears
streaming down
his face when he
lays his head on
his pillow at night
and wishes that
he wouldn't have
to lift it up in the
morning and that
instead of a bed, he
would wake up in a
coffin.
Collin Daniel Mar 2015
i built myself a home in your chest
a safe haven, a tightly wrapped package
and you evicted me

i looked at you through my camera lens and saw all the beauty
my eyes had failed to pick up on
the fabric of your soul
the smooth skin of your hands,
twirling your hair in your fingers,
you are beautiful

you are literature
words on a page, kept consistent through years of handwritten notes
passed back and forth between quiet children,
i highlighted my favorite parts of you, and underlined the parts that stood out to me
a well-read novel, dog-eared and leafed through,
i memorized your body,
smiling warmly when you put my emotions into words
i don’t read anymore.

we shared cigarettes together in my car,
letting all the words we were too afraid to speak
leave our mouths in the form of smoke,
leaving only the stale smell of burnt tobacco,
to remember you by
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