some days they are sad. sad about the weather, sad about the thing that happened last night, sad about losing their favorite book, sad about their coffee being cold, sad about the fact that they can't find matching socks. lots of things make them sad, lots of nothings make them sad too. you see, when you have a predisposition for being sad, every little thing counts.  so when you ask her why she is sad and she cannot answer, do not press further. do not go looking for a reason that just isn't there. when you ask what you can do and she says nothing, do not be hurt. do not feel useless. when she wakes in the middle of the night and she is silent, but you can feel the bed shaking as she cries, do not assume you know what she is feeling. you don't. hold her if she wants it, don't touch her if she doesn't. if you ask her if she wants you to stay and she says yes, do. but if she tells you to walk away, do not listen. stay with her, because if you don't, she might not be there in the morning .

indigo dusk spreads across
inexhaustible country sky
torn wet clouds stretched blue at twilight
a big-chested wind comes howling off the lake
dissecting our immortal kiss
as the pink sun meets her planet-doom
leaking on my balcony like a falling curtain
blessed with an affinity for moonlight
lingering drinking pale wine
we took baths in lukewarm vanity

she is a long legged sorceress smoking a cigarette
half awake because i've got the covers again
goose bumps crowd onto her little bare *******
dewy legs sliding among mine
rousing my bones and heart alert
as the bright sun dances silent
like a new carnation dragged from bed
bringing a giant unscrambled sunrise
across my section of heaven's blue sea
but is mercifully eclipsed by the cream-skinned
breast of a purified failed angel
exploring the feather-soft mountain of my body

we drank cointreau in the early morning
against the collage of saxophones
expanding among criss-crossing body odors
and thin magic on my lipsticked neck
i'm gaining strength over my neuroses
all my fear and doubt disappears into joy
no longer huddled in paper misfortune
reintegrated with ecstasy
in the smoky labyrinth of her eyes
as her fingers light as dreams
draw complex patterns in the flesh
of my back and buttocks
like secrets written on wet paper
none of it       was            real        before          this           moment

Is this what depression feels like?
Is depression something you can feel like
or is it just       as is?
I'm not hungry and I'm always tired
and I can't pinpoint it.
Everything is barreling down on top of me
and I can't surface for a even minute of air.
I quit my job.
Drowning and collapsing
I feel like the world around me is getting smaller
and I only have
so much time to do so many things
but I can't      there's nothing
and yet           there's everything all at once.
Help me.
Guide me.
Show me the light
so I can run towards it      full speed
and never return.

at first i did not realize what you meant when you said 'i love you'.
i thought you'd said it because you knew just how vulnerable i was to you.
you knew what i felt was real. but what you did wasn't
you were hiding behind a mirror that only reflected the love i had for you.
the things that weren't really there.
i did love you
i shouldn't have
but i do not regret kissing you that night under the lamppost
and i do not regret staying in my room all day long with you
but i do regret that first kiss
by the ball field
the night you vowed you would never stop loving me. the night that i was truly undoubtedly beautiful to you
i felt that.
but now i feel nothing for you.
you were the closest thing I've felt to true love and definetly the closest to heartbreak.
for months i couldn't breathe
my eyes were the red of blood
my checks were puffy as clouds
my skin was salty and id lost all passion for mascara because it only seemed to run down my face within minutes of applying it.
i laid in bed nearly all day
i couldn't move or speak
you had shattered me
and here i am
being you're friend
watching you kiss her
watching you hold her hand and watching you love her.
but i don't feel pain anymore.
i feel something worse
i feel empty

do not date a girl
who writes.
she will internalize
everything,
carve poems
into your eyelashes
instead of
kissing them,

she will analyze you,
calculate age
from the rings
your coffee cup
leaves
instead of refilling it.

she will memorize
the way your
lips curl around steam,
but not that you
take it
two sugars,
no cream.

she will read your
palm instead of
holding it
against her chest.

she will not
blink
when you leave,
because she is
already
romanticizing it.

i will stop writing poetry like a eulogy when you start making me feel alive