But who will remain
to fill the spaces
between my fingers?

Whisper to me 'I love
you' regardless of its truth.

the most beautiful day
brings impermanence to mind,
the sunshine won't last,
the wind will cease...

joyful memories
will eventually be forgotten
and the gerber baby
died a long time ago,

so how can anyone
smile?

I miss the days,
when monsters
were tearing apart my closet,
and happiness
was for no apparent reason,

I miss the curiosity
I had in the world around me...

but now I know it all,
I know of my own mortality,
my heroes have fallen,
naivety shattered,
we have no control,
over life,
over death.

so how can anyone
smile?

I found my smile
in you.

death by your side,
makes a life fulfilled.

and this lack of innocence,
is lost in your eyes:
they make the sun shine again
(even at 2 am).

they cause wilted nature
to spring up in endless beauty.
and force the wind to blow again
a warm and calming breeze.

they cause all that's been exposed,
to revert to how it was,
when there were monsters in my closet.
simple innocence.

i dont really know what im interested in,
but right now my interest's in you.
right now the only ambition i have
is to hold boomboxes outside your window.
and that sentiment was cute when i was 15,
skipping gym class to spend
some more time as a friend,
but as of right now, i should have a drive
towards something more responsible,
than the feel of your cheek
against mine.

i have no clue what im capable of,
but how can any feat compare,
to the brilliant warmth that is
found in those eyes
when one of these jumbles of words
makes you smile?
or better yet, laugh?

these curls, these crunches, these chinos, these white strips,
these copies of The Economist and the New York Times,
are all in attempt to make sure that the glow
that emits from those pores remains visible.
health is a clever cover-up, without the motivation,
i'd listen to The Smiths for just the melodies,
and help myself to another portion (of bacon).

right now, the only reason i'm writing this down,
is i hear that chicks dig poetry,
they're constructed in this way to feign substance,
so that you might associate substance with me,
and when i go on stage to perform these words,
it's in hopes that you'd hear them,
or at least hear that i'm a "slam poet".

these moments of knowing and not-knowing,
make this life worthwhile
and honestly i feel like that's f*cked up,
but i'd rather the question be,
one where you're the answer,
than one where you're not a factor.

paying for my poems
to be put onto a site
this must be a joke

You won't be comfortable with what I'm about to say
How you won't acknowledge what you really need
It's not the fear of failure that keeps you away
It's that you can't imagine the pleasure of succeeding.

I'm praying that you'll come around
Because your heart's already true
Just take a risk and convince your mind
I will accept you at face value.

I want to study every single freckle
Because they promise more days in the sun
I want to watch how your eyebrows move
When my hair comes all undone.

I'll watch your lips say all the proper things
While your eyes can't hide what you really mean
They'll give me glimpses down deep inside
And reflect on what you're really feeling.

I'll touch your nose with the tip of my own
And breathe in what you hold back from me
And tell your ear what it wants to hear
Until I convince you to trust in me.

I'll trace my finger around your face
Especially the lines that frame your eyes
Directing me to the places you've been
And the ones I'll visit with you in time.

Picturing you now, chin in the palm of your hand
Pondering why you sacrifice so much to stay true
The universe couldn't shout more loudly at you
Just do it now. Take me at face value.

Lo! Death has reared himself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim West,
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest.
There shrines and palaces and towers
(Time-eaten towers and tremble not!)
Resemble nothing that is ours.
Around, by lifting winds forgot,
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.

No rays from the holy Heaven come down
On the long night-time of that town;
But light from out the lurid sea
Streams up the turrets silently—
Gleams up the pinnacles far and free—
Up domes—up spires—up kingly halls—
Up fanes—up Babylon-like walls—
Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers
Of sculptured ivy and stone flowers—
Up many and many a marvellous shrine
Whose wreathed friezes intertwine
The viol, the violet, and the vine.

Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
So blend the turrets and shadows there
That all seem pendulous in air,
While from a proud tower in the town
Death looks gigantically down.

There open fanes and gaping graves
Yawn level with the luminous waves;
But not the riches there that lie
In each idol’s diamond eye—
Not the gaily-jewelled dead
Tempt the waters from their bed;
For no ripples curl, alas!
Along that wilderness of glass—
No swellings tell that winds may be
Upon some far-off happier sea—
No heavings hint that winds have been
On seas less hideously serene.

But lo, a stir is in the air!
The wave—there is a movement there!
As if the towers had ****** aside,
In slightly sinking, the dull tide—
As if their tops had feebly given
A void within the filmy Heaven.
The waves have now a redder glow—
The hours are breathing faint and low—
And when, amid no earthly moans,
Down, down that town shall settle hence,
Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,
Shall do it reverence.

Once it smiled a silent dell
Where the people did not dwell;
They had gone unto the wars,
Trusting to the mild-eyed stars,
Nightly, from their azure towers,
To keep watch above the flowers,
In the midst of which all day
The red sun-light lazily lay,
Now each visitor shall confess
The sad valley’s restlessness.
Nothing there is motionless—
Nothing save the airs that brood
Over the magic solitude.
Ah, by no wind are stirred those trees
That palpitate like the chill seas
Around the misty Hebrides!
Ah, by no wind those clouds are driven
That rustle through the unquiet Heaven
Unceasingly, from morn till even,
Over the violets there that lie
In myriad types of the human eye—
Over the lilies that wave
And weep above a nameless grave!
They wave:—from out their fragrant tops
Eternal dews come down in drops.
They weep:—from off their delicate stems
Perennial tears descend in gems.

It was many and many a year ago,
  In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
  By the name of ANNABEL LEE;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
  Than to love and be loved by me.

I was a child and she was a child,
  In this kingdom by the sea:
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
  I and my ANNABEL LEE;
With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven
  Coveted her and me.

And this was the reason that, long ago,
  In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
  My beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
  And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
  In this kingdom by the sea.

The angels, not half so happy in heaven,
  Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
  In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
  Chilling and killing my ANNABEL LEE.

But our love it was stronger by far than the love
  Of those who were older than we—
  Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in heaven above,
  Nor the demons down under the sea,
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE.

For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And the stars never rise but I see the bright eyes
  Of the beautiful ANNABEL LEE;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
  In her sepulchre there by the sea—
  In her tomb by the side of the sea.

Dear love, for nothing less than thee
Would I have broke this happy dream;
    It was a theme
For reason, much too strong for phantasy:
Therefore thou waked’st me wisely; yet
My dream thou brok’st not, but continued’st it.
Thou art so truth that thoughts of thee suffice
To make dreams truths, and fables histories.
Enter these arms, for since thou thought’st it best
Not to dream all my dream, let’s act the rest.
As lightning or a taper’s light,
Thine eyes, and not thy noise, waked me;
    Yet I thought thee—
(For thou lov’st truth) an angel at first sight;
But when I saw thou saw’st my heart,
And knew’st my thoughts, beyond an angels art,
When thou knew’st what I dreamt, when thou knew’st when
Excess of joy would wake me, and cam’st then,
I must confess it could not choose but be
Prophane to think thee anything but thee.

Comming and staying showed thee thee,
But rising makes me doubt, that now
    Thou art not thou.
That Love is weak, where fear’s as strong as he;
’Tis not all spirit pure and brave
If mixture it of Fear, Shame, Honour, have.
Perchance as torches, which must ready be,
Men light and put out, so thou deal’st with me,
Thou cam’st to kindle, go’st to come; Then I
Will dream that hope again, but else would die.