There’s a certain way about humans
and how we always search for answers,

A cyclical pattern marks our every move
as we live and we die
with tranquility as a lofty goal,

But we can't help dissecting the tiny pieces,
the gears that grind against the grain;
We wonder why dad has to check and double check the lock,
why mom counts the seconds until the day is over,
why family conversations always happen in the car—

And that’s when complexity engulfs simplicity:

We quickly shed layers of blame,
like the scarf and the hat we toss to the wayside
as soon as the worst of the storm has passed,

Because we know better than most
that when it rains,
it pours,

And all we crave is stillness in the air.

You're in every crack on the tar,
Hiding beneath layers for days and weeks.
You're there when I close my eyes,
Arms painted purple by your fingertips.
You're in the front of my mind holding my hand,
blowing out smoke
Or blowing a kiss.
You're holding me against the bed,
Running barefoot across your lawn.
You couldn't control your fists
And I couldn't control my heart
So I guess we both killed each other in silent ways.

My mother always told me to be careful what i say in mixed company, for some words could offend one party but not the other. But instead of being cautious of the words i spit out, i am more scared of the words i swallow. I have caused a rip in the balance of life, taking years from others i am undeserving of. I should have died a long time ago, but instead i am here stealing oxygen from those who need it more.
I was told that when i sleep, i mumble incoherent sentences. But your walls hear what you say in your sleep, and thats where all the cracks come from. I have choked on bits of the ceiling that has broken off from my sorry language and i think thats why i wake up in fits of not breathing. That persistent feeling of falling is not an illusion, its God trying to tell me He wants me back, that i am not welcome in this bed, so Hes trying to find a way to pull me through my roof but He is not stronger than the forces of suffering. I am Suffering. I am the sacrificial lamb that must be given back to the heavens. I am the ambrosia stolen from the gods and they're descending to take me back.
Every ***** in my body has the natural instinct to survive, but my heart is telling me to escape, that it'll fight off the rest so i can do what needs to be done. My heart is the kindest of them all, it has met my soul that is too old for my body. My soul is crying out to the clouds, wanting to be released but thats why i have refrained from sticking that knife to my veins for nearly a year in fear of what i might let out. Sometimes its blood, sometimes its  pain, but sometimes its freedom and tonight i will be drunk in my liberation until God has seen my insides deflate, watch a sadness so heavy that it grinds my bones to dust. God does not know what this body is capable of, God has seen nothing yet.

9:57
Vinyl Morrissey on the record player:
Window down,
Hair riffling in the breeze.
Guitar in hand,
strumming patterns guaranteed to relax my shoulders.
Crinkled papers line the floor
Covered in unused song lyrics
And scribbled what ifs about the girl you used to love.
For a second the sun hits your eyes and you look
Fragile.
Sensitive and vulnerable like myself.
Drops of rain shoot from the sky and kiss your window sill.
I slide my hand toward yours,
Stroke the outline of your fingertips
Until morning came,
and changed your eyes from blue
To gray.

Happy spring*
I whispered to the pine
What I couldn't tell your eyes
Because you weren't human after all;
Just another loaded gun.