Sometimes I just stare blankly at my wall
Looking at the emptiness of my hands
I am expressionless as I try to count the grains of sand
But they are long gone

How was I supposed to know
how ******* impossible it is to hold on to sand

******* sand

When something hurts
people always say
"This hit me like a ton of bricks."
Like a car running directly into a solid wall
It is completely totaled
But the car stops immediately when this happens
No one considers the lifeless bones in the body inside of the ******* car are still going 60 miles per hour
And you wonder why I can't get over this
How was I ever supposed to know it was going to stop
The body doesn't freeze when the car stops and that's what kills a person
They are hitting the windshield
They're trying to keep going
Even if you slam on your breaks before you hit the wall
You still jolt forward and the seatbelt still hurts your chest
Your body was not ready for the car to stop

I was running down a hill and my feet had picked up a pace and eventually I was unable to control how fast I was going
It almost feels like your feet have a mind and entire body of their own at that point
They are just carrying you
I was getting carried away
My feet can't just ******* stop when I'm half way down a hill

How was I supposed to know
How am I supposed to stop?

How could I know you were the sand running away from my hands and back into your own familiar oceans

How could I have considered my body would not stop with the car
My body will eventually hit the bricks
but what difference does it make
Sand is so small and fine it seeps through the cracks in brick walls and rests in the crevices
and when the water comes it'll be gone again
I understand now why I stay
staring blankly at my wall
this ******* brick wall
looking at the emptiness of my hands
I am expressionless as I try to count the grains of sand
but they are long gone

I have nothing left to write
I have reached a point where I am too sad
to turn it into art
or something beautiful
Sadness is not here to be a metaphor
it is trying to drown you
There is nothing beautiful about that
my pen wants nothing to do with it

I say it comes in waves
Because it is not a constant
It doesn't always hurt
It doesn't hold me under the water every second that I breathe
But when it comes
a simple, brisk wave is no way to describe the way this engulfs my being
when I remember how you kissed me
No this pain is much more like
I am anchored to the bottom of the sea
I am unable to breathe
my finger tips are barely reaching the air
They nip the very end of the water but they can't quite reach out to signal for help
They can't grasp any chain
It is right there in front of me
But i have failed to hold on
I slip
You were always just a touch out of my reach
You could say it comes in waves
But many things do
I've always gotten sick at sea
I know you want me to get out of the water
But you keep washing your hair in the shores
my body is stiff every time I realize that's all it is
And that's all it will be

A simple, brisk wave
And I will always have my feet in these waters

My recent writing has been all over the place.
My thoughts are all you.
My writing now lives in scatter plots
and the hair that you made messy with your gentle hands.
The cluttered sheets beneath your back
as you are beneath me.
They rest themselves in lips that linger
as they barely press themselves against
bare shoulders and cold necks.
Teeth hitting teeth.
There is no precision.
That would be impossible.
And yet it seemed foolproof, perfect.

I don't know if I am really talking about my writing anymore.

It was brief.
I still remember your arms woven around me.
I remember the light scratch of your nails,
dancing across my back
as if it were brail.
Like you were searching for some kind of message
written in my bare skin,
but you soon realized


it was a message I didn't have.

Summer is hot and sticky air
Cooled down with water you aren't sure
If you should be swimming in

But you dare yourself to try

sleeping all day
Or not at all
But you never sleep at night

Summer is washing your face in the sink
to convince yourself you aren't tired

In the summer you find my words bleeding through your veins
and burying themselves in your skin

You think back to winter
everytime you see the white of your knuckles
creeping through your skin
as your fists unknowingly clench
to convince yourself you are fine

Summer is washing your hair twice a day
to convince yourself you aren't thinking of me

Summer is a warm night in a big shirt
Summer is the girl you met too late
Or not at all

Summer is realizing maybe you don't have that many friends
It is also realizing that is okay

Summer is ***** shoes
and straight teeth
good news
and clean sheets

Summer is hot and the weather changes at night
It is too immense and too short to let her go
or to waste anymore time washing your face in the sink and washing your hair
twice a day
Because you a r e tired
you are thinking of me

Summer is the girl you met too late
and you aren't sure if you should be swimming in this water

But you dare yourself to try

And even though it was brief
I still remember your arms woven around me
I remember the light scratch of your nails
Dancing across my back while the music played
as if it were brail
Like you were searching for some kind of message written in my bare skin but


It was a message I didn't have

My mom needs me to get out of bed
But I am stuck with a water logged chest
I cannot get you out of my head