And so we keep waltzing in, walking out, and hardly keeping up with our lives. And I can't say it's fair to you or to me but when we talk we're really just sitting quiet. Like the damage was done and then healed but left us scarred and alone. Are we so disfigured from this relationship that it will keep us so afraid of love?

And when that love turns to hate or just disdain and maybe apathy, can we keep it all quiet and think "this surely isn't happening." To me, my friends, and my life, and the ground beneath me all are shattering. And if you're feeling the same, can we be missing out on everything?

Why is it always this way between the people who care and myself and all these walls I place? Why can't I look you in the eye and say you matter but my actions aren't reacting straight?

And so you'll say your goodbyes after waltzing in, you're walking out. Don't keep touch.

We so often talk of breaking bones and slashing skin but never how to fix or deal with it. As if, in the back of our minds, we hold on to these sufferings. Because they're the things that make us feel human. And ain't it the only thing that matters?

And it's every breath, every finite movement of the hand against wrist. Every bit of our existence is a defiant stand against God. And it's God that has abandoned us. It is God who has left us all.

And so abandoned, self destructive, we break bones and slash skin. But we don't pray to God to save us. And we dare not trust our friends. Not our family. Not ourselves. We'll just wash away our sins.

I painted all the walls in my room a mix of black and blue. Except for a small part above the window, I painted red. And that was you.

So when you came in with a fury, the anger of a hurricane would look at the piece I called love and be subdued.

Instead of trading in our last dance for broken granite for the heart wrenching eternity of a tomb, I beseech thee to cast out your doubt, your insecurities, shed the armor that protects you.

And open up, and let me in, betray all of the worst you hide inside you. Fear not my love, nor my ambitions, for I have nestled my heart within you.

It's the things you love and the things that you learn to hate. It's the feeling of despair and indescribable rage. It's the things you try to hide but you always seem to find

That the human aspects of life are fickle and flame. There's a communal need to pass on (not shoulder) the blame. When you stand back and look away, can you handle all the shame

Of the things you know you should have done but you chose to neglect? And you say you're doing fine but you're an emotional wreck. The things you try to hide cast shadows in your eyes.

It's the things you thought you knew and the things you try to forget. Is it a life well lived if it's a life filled with regret? If it's a shocking turn of events, will you trudge on through the end

Of the story to see how it all will surely unfold? Isn't there a strange sort of beauty in the perils of telling truths untold? When the questions that you have are the ones you'll never ask

On a search to self proclaimed enlightened truth and you seem to think you wasted time on this ill fitting youth. The things you try to hide turn my stomach and make me cry.

It's the things you did and the things that I know you regret.

It's funny how you use photographs to remember the things you want to remember the best. Using colors and shapes to isolate what you love and to forget about all the rest.

And how I draw out scenes and emotion using poetry and prose. Capturing the minute details and the seemingly superfluous differences and nuances in the way life and love flow.

I know you despise being called an artist and how you claim yourself "lackluster!" in romantic expression. And I know how you call me poet even when I write too much about death and it gives your heart some trepidation.

But, love, the difference between our art isn't in talent or creativity. It's in the vulnerability in my words that I've penned for you. It's the realization that my art isn't good enough for you.

The difference is you don't let your art let someone break you.

It's okay. I never had much hope in it anyway. And besides. I'm horrible.

I've spent years of barely living. I've spent summers full of fear. When I had the chance to tell you that I loved you I knew I should have brought you here, to this over pass I used to sing at though I hadn't been in years, but instead I let you leave with out a goodbye. I watched you disappear.

I used to watch you in the moonlight out of the corner of my eye. I would listen to you breathing as you looked up at the sky. And I know you were counting stars and trying to figure why I could be so painfully reserved as the silence passed us by.

I started having dreams about having finally got it right. I gave you all the letters I wrote you every single night. I told you the things that really matter and I said it all outright. But instead I'd say it with a stammer and follow with a sigh.

You would say I never listen but I don't think you think that's true. The timbre of your voice is soothing; I could spend each night listening to you. I had to give up on the things I wanted and what I wanted most desperately was the chance to follow through with the scenarios in my dreams, but I fear there's nothing left that I can do.

Before night fall, before I nod off to sleep- I am the worst of all the things that have always bothered me.
The devil of all the worst to keep.

The stories and what they meant- behind the pen and words to describe them so patiently.

Without purpose, and of no direction to speak. I paint them in a line dividing my mind and my reality.

Of these things I've hoped to have accomplished but have failed and how if you've succeeded then it bitterly depresses me:

So, dark streets with no lighting but for the car. A long drive seemed fairly uninteresting. All thoughts about the girl sitting next to me.

And how she stays quiet for a while before she starts to talk about the things she seems to thinks we need.

And in that moment I can sense it- a destiny. Not for the rest of our lives but for the hint of self discovery.

All the fallacies we believe, can they start crumbling?

It's short lived, the quickly dissolving feeling of warmth. The lines falter between the physical desire for lust now and the need for love more than anything.

And if I missed out on both was it fear of further failure or the consequences of love that's been shattered?

I never wanted to get left behind. And so I treacherously denied myself the feeling of hope and watched it all slip by.

Without hesitation, no doubt of anything at all, I pushed on to try and find meaning. No meaning. We just expose all the carnal parts. To try and find healing in the arms of those we hope to know.

I want to experience love without doubt, without wondering if there went something wrong. I want to bury the ghosts and put them deep in the ground. And I fear the dangers of my fears that have been overwhelming me. I want to know why I fear to love the most out of everything. I think it's a shame that I just can't seem to get over you.

Why am I so scared?

I see her blank stares. As she tries to read me. Tries to understand. But it's not dreams or fairy tale land. I'm being haunted by the past and all the broken glass used to cut skin and write out the names of sins.

So was it ever half as much as it seems to me? Or is it just a gentle whisper of what I had thought it had been?

Just us grasping to nothing and holding on tight to the ropes in the hopes of something glorious happening when we sense those feelings we so long to forget.

And so all we know is regret, and I am afraid to admit that I might be ashamed to be feeling. So I try not to feel anything at all, and so I let you leave and you forget and you forget and you forget what we were close to feeling anyway.

What's the difference between beauty and poetry?
Is the latter an expression of the former's reality?

Is it poetry if one is simply rhyming things?

When things are even, is it symmetry?
Or is it poetic assembly?

Is it possible to enjoy each individually,
As a separate entity?
Or is there a relationship between them,
A mutual duality?

Does it make a difference anyway?

All these midnight hours, I'm still alive
Catching fuzzies passing before my eyes
There's no great idea here, no! No metaphor
I'm catching fuzzies because I am bored

I have yet to catch one, no, not tonight
I'm catching fuzzies just to waste my time
The world passes me by, thinks I'm insane
I'm catching fuzzies, so I can't complain

Tired and frustrated, in all sincerity
I'm catching fuzzies to avoid humanity
The status quo of humans makes no kind of sense
I'm catching fuzzies to retain my innocence

Do something productive, tell me lots of lies
I'm catching fuzzies, instead of taking lives
Everyone lives with too much regret
I'm catching fuzzies just to prove what I have left

We need something to hold on to
So we don't have to forget
I tried to catch a fuzzy
But it slipped through my fist

I'll never know why I didn't answer. I just needed some time to pull myself together. And I was fine just for the moment. You were quick to hope but I was faster to anger. And now you're gone. Headed northbound. And I was hoping you'd stay but now it's time to move on.

The ******* in me says I'm not good for anything. The liar in me knows it's true. I was thinking last night about my purpose for being here. I spent all night thinking of you.

So here's to you. And all the fall out. And the fears you left behind in your desertion from this town. And I'm still here. In my parents' basement. Singing song after song about my discontentment. And all my friends- they feel the same way. But we're not giving up after these disappointments.

I want to break you with a jaded memory. I want to leave you like a faded misery. Fading quickly, but you won't break me. And if this world starts collapsing, I'm sure I'll be okay.

We spit rhetoric in rhyme,
Who will save us this time?

I'm doing fine without you asking.
So don't ask and save your breath.
I was fine before you waltzed in.
And I'll be fine even now you've left.

You were the last good thing in a world of "I don't care anymore."

All of my life I've been picking at scars and scabs
Mending my bones and counting the stars and
Everything I've known has just disappointed me
But I can't let these disasters keep on defining me

All of my life I've been sitting in silence and
Watching myself be affected by the trivial things
Biding my time and biting my tongue so I
React out in anger at the breaking of illusions

We walk
Down the
Sidewalk until
The concrete
Runs out

I am bothered by the slaughter
That her hands had cost her.

"I swear this time
Is the last time."

I dug my nails into the dirt so I could tear the continents adrift to rid myself of the petty distances between us.

I kept pulling at the seams until the mountains started crumbling. Sweat drip, drip, dripping from my brow, but I'm still prying at the pieces.

Until at last I raised the oceans. High tide and high time, I pulled myself from the ocean floor.

If I let go, I would disappear.
There would be nothing left to keep me here.

I built castles made of sand and built them strong upon the shore. I laced in my fear of the ocean and of waters running cold

into the foundation and these walls; of these places I'd call my home, but can I really call it home when I'm feeling all alone?

Until at last I raised the oceans. High tide and high time, I pulled myself from the ocean floor.

If I let go, I would disappear.
There would be nothing left to keep me here.

We spit rhetoric in rhyme.
Who will save us this time?
There's nothing left to say;
I like it better this way.

You said you'd like to start again and maybe then you could feel fine and maybe you would be less afraid if this were a different life.

I was hoping you could forgive yourself for all the things you thought of but didn't ever do but you kept wearing away at yourself until there was nothing left of you.

I know that you'd sell your soul to any agent of change if they could give you what you needed most, but instead you waited in vain.

You left here on a north bound plane, never to be heard from again but I like to think you found your peace and a whole new life to begin.

My father said, "Son, your poetry is technically proficient and you certainly have mastered style, but you just say the words outright. You don't hide the meaning behind guile."

He told me that poetry was for interpretation of the reader, I was just to merely guide feeling but it was up to the reader to have to think.

Well, Dad. I think I'll have to disagree.

For me, poetry was a way to confront my fears of failure. To say the words I couldn't speak. To handle the loss of friends and family. To cope with the things that make me weak.

I suppose what I'm saying, Father, is I think poetry can be a narrative, just like any prose. So I'll keep writing the way I do, and hopefully it'll be good enough for you.

And if I'm wrong, I won't be great. I will fade into the obscurity of eternity, but somehow that seems satisfactory to me.

It's become exhausting being a caricature of a human. All at once, I'm too over-the-top to be considered normal and much to internalized to have real depth with the people I wish to have depth with.

And god knows, I've gotten better at being honest. Not that I was much for lying, at least in perhaps the most traditional sense of the word. But I certainly was incapable of having real human interaction. Maybe it was fear that kept me frozen and unable to communicate what I wanted most to say.

Surely, it was a defense mechanism. It's a lot harder to be disappointed by someone when you refuse to let them be close to you. And it's certainly a lot harder for someone to break you into insignificant pieces when you don't allow them any hold on you.

But somehow being distant because of the fear of people breaking you leaves you even more vulnerable to it. I lost ----- because I couldn't be a real person.

I lost you too.

And perhaps it's too late to make amends and say, "I swear I'm not quite as horrible a person as I've pretended to be. The caricature I've become is definitely not what I intended to be."

But I just want you to know that I'm trying to be honest. And I'm trying to be happy.

But I know I'll never let you know.

Once again I feel like exploding
Tear it up before it lets me down
Inside out and I never feel like trying
I hate it more than you will ever need to know

Borderline and thoughts written in margins
It's not enough to get me through today
Always thinking I haven't got enough time
Hard to believe it's only a lifetime away

I spoke a word too soon it seems,
Expressing my pity and my doubt.
Isn't it a pity that your pity
Was your only way out?

Your words still echo in my head
So long after they were said.
Well after all their meaning has been spent
But they're still searching for a way out.

Serpent tongued thieves
Were sowing seeds of insecurity
With their silver lined whispering.
Painting silver all our self doubt

I'm a drop out, working full-time
But I never had a doubt that you would save me
You never saved me, now I'm worn out

Of this empty town, of this tired frown
Oh, please forgive me

So I'm shouting from rooftops, and at the top of my lungs
And bottom of my heart, "Get it up, get it up, get it up
Don't let me down"

So I'm shouting from rooftops
But no one seems to hear
No body ever cares
So what, we all fall apart
At the top of my lungs
From the bottom of my heart
But not even echoes respond

Working nights now, sleeping all of the day
Laugh myself to bitterness, can I sleep myself to death yet?

You torture my brain, driving me so insane
But you can't do this to me.

You know, I'm never sadder than those moments I realize how much I miss you.

And at first those moments came frequently and without delay but the pain they brought was simple. Dull; an ache.

But how as time crept slowly, the moments so frequent would come intermittently when I was most vulnerable.

But that dull ache was replaced with a deeper longing and a pain I couldn't shake. And it would stay with me for days and haunt my fevered sleep with memories I just wished would go away.

But I fear if they were to stop, I would lose all sense of self.

I already write so sparingly.

So please, just spare me the impertinence of soliloquy, that indecent exposé.

You see, it used to be therapeutic. Writing. But I guess it's just like any other high. You get used to it, and then it stops being enough to help you cope with what you're trying to cope with in the first place. And I don't even know what I was coping with anyway. All I know is that it's not working anymore. Not like it used to. I forge beautiful language and it's not enough to keep me from thinking of my own impending self destruction. Am I going to take a turn too fast or maybe not at all? Or just crawl in my room and live out the rest of my life with no interaction period? I'm pretty close to that in the first place, I think. Even the music isn't enough. Not to cover up the lies that are force fed to me. They say they won't betray me or leave me. That we will always be friends and that no matter what. No matter what. And they all lied. And maybe I'm just complaining for nothing. And maybe it's just a pity party, but I don't think it is. I just feel so deeply and I'm exhausted from it. So yes. There's not many pieces I've written that aren't about you. And fewer still that weren't for you. I never kept anything if I didn't think you would like it. Which is why most things I write even still don't have curse words. Those that do I deemed the word critical and unacceptable to replace with a more blasé word. So.... I don't know why I did this. But I guess it is in some ways disgustingly therapeutic. My poems betray me. They were always yours anyway.

Gray streets where cracks marble the asphalt.
Long walks and each foot step echoes.
Dim lights casting shadow on shadow.
Headed northbound - southbound - every which way the road goes.

The chill wind questions in whispered timbre.
The leaves answer in their choir of rustled refrain.
The trees moan with a creak and whistling sway.
The body feels tired and if the heart feels nothing, it feels everything in spades.

Searching dark streets for the answer for everything.
And cracking knees and the clatter of rubber soles.
Hands in pocket to protect from the autumn cold.
And winter's coming, and I can feel it's death in the depths of my very soul.

Bitter biting of nose and with gnashing teeth.
I travel further in search of finding everything.
The wind breaks and leaves whistle and the cold sings.
To harken the demons of malcontent and of apathy.

So at crossroads, I scream and I beg and I plead.
I wrestle with these demons and with the cross I bear.
And if I can't find an answer, I do not think I can care.
So I'll trade these arms for wings to take me away from there.

In bitter seas of ruin is where you cast yourself to drown 'til tides of fury would carry your body back to the shore to rot upon.

And gleaming eyes in life are now dead and staring cold. Lifelessly your body lays in its repose.

In death you have now traveled to places I dare not ever go, until my time to join you in the vastness of the God Knows.

And I recall your stuttered breath and your final sputtered words. How your breath cut like knives, and how your words had cut like swords.

I remember the upheaval of my heart and how you snared it with your claws. And how your bitter end etched into my brain gave me a cerebral pause.

And how I wondered if I had caught them, if I had acted on warning signs, would I have been able to stop it: your self inflicted demise.

But now you've left me to go on to a place I dare not ever go. Until my time has come and when you finally call me home.

I know how it seems. I'm lost and empty and tearing at seams. I stare at walls and off into nothing. I know that I'm boring.

I'm just trying not to scream. At these strange feelings, when I'm not feeling anything. I'm afraid of myself again.

I know how it seems. I'm awkwardly tugging at sleeves. I don't like to speak. I know that I'm boring.

I know how it seems. I'm pacing my room again. I know how it seems. I've got a heart made of porcelain.

I'm afraid of its brokenness. I'm afraid of myself again.

I know that I'm boring.

I swore not to leave you
But now I don't know you
What changed you so drastically?

Was it lies by your bedside?
A glimpse of the inside
A shadow remains of once was

Torn from my own mind
Lived in my own life
Succumbing to faith I don't have

Was it all in the season?
Did it have any reason?
Would you swear on your life for me now?

A fire extinguished
You've become so distinguished
But who can you say you are when?

A life held at arm's length
A soul on it's short leash
Go on and cut it all free

No one will miss it
This day, go and kiss it
Maybe you'll bring back a smile

A walk on the lone mile
Your heart isn't on trial
Only the brains you once had

War of this same kind
Found in your own mind
Casting a bright light it's own

All fresh red roses
Alone at the window
Will wilt if you don't keep care

It's not so bad outside
But who know's what is inside?
A darkness that hides our true self

What's beneath our faces
A soul... ever tasteless
What's going on inside your head?

This rain never ending
This world ever sinning
One day I'll burn it all down

Your lack of real thinking
Your brain's always shrinking
Your own box is all you'll ever have

This life that's misleading
The trek that we're treading
Where will it all end and how?

This line begs a question
What's our destination?
Were we there before we ever left?

So tell me dear. Assuage my fears.
That these tears don't flow in vain.
Your self harming is disarming.
Such an alarming way to cope with pain.

So I'm still waiting for your self hating to start abating but you won't listen.
And so you cry, afraid to die, the blood is dry. Still knife glistens.

So you wear wrist bands. Trace scars on your hands. Give into demands of your heart soaked in crimson. So draw the blade when the scars fade and don't you dare evade the questions.

Will you not come home? Are you not alone? Aren't we made of stone, of which will crumble? Is there too much strife to get things right? 'I hate my life,' she mumbles.

All these lines in the pavement
Start to feel like home;
Like cracks in the foundation,
I've got fractures in my bones.

Baby, you're a lightweight.
It won't take much before you're gone.
Say good bye to heart break because right now, nothing could go wrong.
And when you wake up, you'll wish you'd stayed home last night. So when your mom comes home, you don't have to lie.

I saw a dead stare in your eyes. Shot in hand and a beer can littered life now.
A dull laugh etched upon your face. Seems you've left without a single trace now.

You thought you had it figured out.
    You had no idea what we're about.
Can you even recall what I'm saying?

Baby, you're a lightweight.
It won't take much before you're gone.
Say good bye to heart break because right now, nothing could go wrong.
And when you wake up, you'll wish you'd stayed home last night. So when I come by, you don't have to lie.

You spilled your guts, I couldn't care. You thought that I would always be there waiting.
It's such a shame to call you friend. I always thought that this would have a bitter end.

You were nowhere to be found
    No one picked you up when you fell down.
Can you even remember what I was saying?

Baby, you're a lightweight.
It won't take much before you're gone.
Cigarettes and ******* because right now, nothing could go wrong.
And when you wake up, you'll wish you'd stayed home last night. So when the cops come by, you don't have to lie.

Baby, you're a deadweight
And you only bring me down. Say hello to good byes cause this time we're not messing around.
And when we wake up, we'll wish you'd stayed home last night. The medics came. We're swear you almost died.

Baby, you're a lightweight.
It won't take much before you're gone.
Say good bye to heart break because right now, nothing could go wrong.
And when you wake up, you'll wish you'd stayed home last night. So won't you please come home? Please come home tonight.

Baby, you're a lightweight.
And you've been gone for far too long. And you never came home.

So I guess I'll say so long.

I write uncomfortable poems
I write a bit too much about death
And of these feelings so familiar
And about how she would cut her ******* wrists

And how she would call and recount the horror; I can recall the shaking of her breath
And how every word seemed to break like thunder over telephone lines
And how she'd curse her name with razor blades
And how the feeling of helplessness always kept me awake.

And I write disasters down on paper
And about what else life has left
And of these destructive behaviors
To forget my own, I write out hers

And how?

With bitter decay, I've felt my heart gone to ruin. Behind its cage of bone, flesh, and cartilage.

And when the sinews break and the heart sinks to the stomach, I feel a retching in the back of my throat. All the synapses in the nervous system start to snap.

I feel cold. I wonder what death feels like. Hands plunged in ice, but still the forehead sweats.

Lumbering between doorways and up and down halls. Collapse on the bed and pretend to not feel anything at all.

And just sleep. Restlessly.

This sound is filling up my ears
Your eyes are flooding up with tears
Our lives are weighing down with years
But this place has always stood still here

You always said these people jeer
And make excuses year to year
But I'll keep smiling ear to ear
Because you're in this place, still here

My head is playing out these fears
I'm getting left out by my peers
I'm seeing shadows in the mirror
But you're always in my heart, dear

It feels like I'm choking on this air
Every time that you are near
You turn around and you can't hear
That I'm glad that you're still here

So close your eyes, and I swear this won't be goodbye
Good night

Good bye

We don't know what we don't know
We're not reliant on the fallacy of tomorrow
We're not reliant on, relying on tomorrow
We're not reliant on, relying on, we're lying

You stopped cutting your skin so you're cutting your ties now, to help you feel strong but you're just feeling alone and the things that you feel just make your heart sink like a stone.

If it's hard to relate it's because you don't have enough time. So you sit there in school and get drunk off of cheap wine. And you're not feeling loved so you wonder who will sleep with you tonight.

And since the last time, I don't think I can stand you. You play my guitar and sing hallelujah. You won't look at me twice and I think it's alright if you just say good bye for now.

You went off to college and followed in her foot steps. Blank stare and things best left unsaid. You never said "so long." You just left it all instead.

I've got a name, but I'm known by a number
All of my life, controlled by computers
Bottom half, but I say it's an error
We're just a number, our lives just don't matter

She has a name, but the doctor won't see her
She doesn't exist, until she shows that number
15%, but she won't accept it
The doctor gave up, just because of a number

A person just died
Their name's in the paper
Some people just died
They became just a number
Am I the only one
Who sees something wrong with the picture
I know that it's wrong
But we're all just statistics!

All of our lives, we long to be different
We never will, we're all part of statistics
Names, they mean nothing
Lives, they mean nothing
God, he means nothing when you're known by a number.

Don't you miss the old me?
The old me wouldn't ever be.
What a waste of anything.

If I couldn't lie again
I would never have a friend.
Here I am, so hear my plea

Call the play. We'll burn the sea.
Breaking bones and I can see
Nameless fears I can't believe

We're losing sight of you and me
Rebel fist sink into teeth.
Golden hearts; they cease to beat

I was born in silence, bored of me.
If only death can set you free...

What kind of life is in store for me?

It's okay to stay today but not tomorrow cause everything is ****** up

You got something going on I can't place my finger on you. Keep talking and I'll just keep on keeping on. Turn the lights down low and now you gotta go.

It's elementary and dear it's becoming clear to me. You're a fistful of rage and I guess it's kinda cool to me. Turn the lights down low and now you gotta go.

You've got tons of secrets and god knows that I just forget. You have lots of soul and I know just as much regret. Turn the lights down low and now you gotta go.

I know what you've been thinking. Not sure what you've been drinking but you're one of a kind. The kind that'll just be sinking. Turn the lights down low and now you gotta go.

We're going down in flames and
I'm trying to hold on but everything's just burning to the ground

We sat in half lit empty corners in the basements of friends' houses
Wondering where these thoughts would take us, but they only brought me down
I feel an emptiness now, I felt that same emptiness then
We sang of all our petty anger that we thought would never end

But see, I've shouted out from rooftops, and at the top of my lungs
Spitting blood and venom from the most poisonous of tongues
We felt our sudden death encroaching, felt it pushing us aside
Dragging us by our wrist, and setting love on fire

We're burning down the lie we've been believing that we're never burning out

We're breaking bones, but we're not dying, breaking hearts but we're not crying
Breaking down, we're breaking out, we're breaking free from our desires We're ******* up, we're getting ******, but I know we're not giving up
Not giving in, we're spitting in the face of faith, love and denial

We were waiting for a life time for a life well worth our time
But all we found were shades of gray in the corners of our minds
And so we hung ourselves from nooses as we were falling from the stars Crying out to heaven, screaming, “God, here we are.”

But I could swear He wasn't listening, I could swear He wasn't there
I was left quietly alone, alone in my despair

And so the prayers: they turned to silence, and that silence turned to anger
And my anger wore a bitter heart, and my bitter heart wore all my anger
So I fell away from hoping, and all my friends were strangers
And I knew that I was empty, and so stopped looking for the answers

Always saying the wrong things at the right time

Or the right things at the wrong time

And I've ran through these conversations in my head.
Thought about every word and breath.

And how I could have somehow failed to mention that:

Dear, I love you.

And if it's not
Love

Then maybe it's something greater.

And perhaps it is.
Perhaps

It is

I've spent the past seven years reading secrets from post cards and the last 24 trying to act like I've got a cold heart. But I'm still sleeping with the blanket I stole from my brother when I was four and was afraid he'd get mad and say he didn't like me.

And my grandfather died, he wasn't blood and we called him Tommy. His real name was George, but he loved us like family. I visited him in the hospital when they pulled the plug and I brought my guitar and sat alone on my car.

And I hadn't written anything since he passed. Not a word since October. But this is me at 2:30 am  watching old 90's tv with the lights on and writing this down and I'm thinking of where I want to be.

For the past six years I've been waiting patiently for you to call and say that you've missed me. But I've waited in vain, and now your vanity's wasted. You're a ghost of the past and your sincerity's faded.

I built a new book shelf and changed rooms and painted my new walls a shade of gray and I hung up red curtains. And it was ten years ago that we moved here to the place I would call home though, then, I wasn't so certain.

The last eleven years I've been writing to try to forget you. I've spent so much time staring blankly through windows. This is me apologizing for the past and conceding hope for the future. This is me staring out at where I am and where I want to be.

It's the first of the month and end of the year now.
As I lay in my bed and think about how,
Everything that I've held on to just keeps on slipping away.

So I'll keep holding to these: letters and keepsakes.
And all of the car rides, missed stares, and mistakes.
Anything at all to keep me from falling off the edge.

So if you're getting lonely, I'll come by to see you.
And if you can wait, I've got lots to tell you.
Flower in hand and heart bleeding on my sleeve.

And if I'm choking on words, it's because I don't have the right ones.
Not in a million poems, stories, or love songs.
Oh well, I guess I'll just leave here like it was.

My problem is that I have to play the devil's advocate incessantly. To the point where I turn the best of relationships on their heads and seed doubt into everything about it.

And I can't ******* help it, you know? Like, is it not bad enough to be self destructive? Do I have to be destructive too? Do I have to tear at the hearts and minds of people that love me?

Can't I just simply love them in return?

No.

I have to claw and mangle. Unappreciative and unimpressed. Emotionless and cold.

What a striking indifference. Is it a lack of self fulfillment? Is it just a masochistic need to push myself from others. Is it a plea for help? A cry for attention?

Does it even ******* matter?

You know:

I started reading about self harm.

And I found that it was the only thing that broke my heart- my scarred and bruised heart was finally broken.

My heart swelled and gushed and broke for you.

And all those gashes.

How the skin swelled. Blood gushed.

How you broke.

And especially how you would lie. And say you're fine. Until your depression forced the truth from your lips.

And I remember all those bracelets. All those things to hide your wrists. And how TWLOHA was seemingly permanently engrained on your arms.

And I remember thanking God that it wasn't from a blade dug into your skin. And how it was funny and ironic because I didn't believe in Him then.

But I kept your secret for all these years. And I hope you're doing better.

I pray that you are.

And if you aren't..?
    Well, I guess you'd never tell me.

Not anymore.


And you see:

That's why I'm bitter. Why I'm angry. Why I'm hurt.

Just tell me honestly that you're fine and don't you dare tell me a lie.

Cause I was there.

And I remember.

And I still think about it all the time.


And believe me when I say that it has consumed me.

It affects the way I write.
And what I say.
And how I meant it.

It's about the only thing I write.

Words like: scars. Wrists. Etched. Carved.

See. I'm a liar if I say I still don't think about you all the time.

I'd rather choose to die young than be stuck here forever taking pills and taking shots and hoping my heart will feel better. Taking chance after chance but it feels like I'm dying. Not from fear or disappointment but because my father is crying.

And if I feel disenchanted, I hope the feeling won't last forever. I've been choking on words that are the only ones that matter. And if you wait for me here, then I swear I'll come back to you waiting patiently but I just don't know what to do.

Or what to say or what to feel and if my heart is made of steel, then it's not broken, it's just rusting. It's just heavy on my mind. And all the drawings and the letters, and the praying I'll feel better. And I'm not breaking, I'm just bruising. And how I wish that you were mine.

We traded car rides for skylines in cities we never share.
And when I'm driving I'm still wishing that you were there.
Wrapped in a blanket, or my jacket, and playing with your hair.
We'd go on adventures, roads open. I'll take you anywhere.

You took my compassion and warped it.
Yeah, you bent it.
Broke it out of recognition.

Left it crumbling on back seats.
Oh, in crutches.
Rotting on top of church benches.

You don't even have to know.

I told you I'd never be angry.
I'm not angry.
Just a bit infuriated.

You tell me that I never listen.
God, I listen.
You're just talking circles around me.

You never say you're sorry.
Sorry I'm not sorry.
You never had to say "I told you so"

You don't even have to know.
No, you don't know.
You don't have to, I told you so.

You don't know.

There's a laziness with which you speak
There's an apathy
That seems so easy
Ambition is not part of your routine

We're not looking for excuses
     We're not looking for anything at all
We're not waiting for the end of times to be
Cause we're feeling restless
Feeling desperate
Can you feel this yet?

You lie awake at night counting sheep
Through bloodshot eyes; are you feeling weak?
There's a world outside of this
And it's crumbling quickly

You're choking on stress and everything much less than that but you'll never listen cause you're never wrong.

We know you're not stupid but you like to pretend you are. So if you're playing dumb then we'll play along.

And when the winter comes then it gets hard to breathe. And when the spring arrives, it won't mean much to me. Cause summer's way too long. I know fall's just a waste of time. I'm starting to believe that, baby- you're a waste of mine.

We know what you're thinking- that nothing will ever happen. But we'll keep on writing and singing these songs.

We know that you're smirking in shadows of a shadow of doubt. But you keep on laughing. And we'll laugh along.

Washed away by the waves of the vast sea,
I cannot help but to go with it, after all it’s only me.
In this world filled with life, an uncomfortable truth.
We cry in silent desperation, a different kind of youth.

We’re all self-aware, we see you standing there.
Nothing really matters if you never really care.
You want to have your peace, all your security.
You’d stay inside warm, while other people freeze.

So take a look around, what is it you're about?
Do you find you stand for nothing? You’re on falling ground.
So look outside, I dare you to look me in the eye.
Tell me with all your conviction that you’re really right

If hope is for the naïve, hold on to naivety.
If you really want to change something, you’ve got to believe.
But instead I see you there, so fine without a care.
You’re never going to change nothing a blank television stare