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kissing you was like swerving into oncoming traffic

i can never tell if i am more haunted by empty picture frames or the ashes of their contents

you taught me that the saying "pick your battles" meant not answering when love was at the door

sometimes when i drink whiskey i swear i can hear your voice in the creases of my bedsheets & i sleep on the floor

i still catch myself running my hands over things you touched the most, looking for the echoes of your fingertips

i practice things i'll never say to you

i remember the day you told me you didn't like poetry, how "everything's already been said" & how "nothing meaningful can be captured without being cliche" you know, i don't miss you like the sun and moon, i do not miss you like tide bent waves crashing on the shoreline, i miss you like a chernobyl  swingset misses children

rumor has it that drowning is a lot like coming home, that drinking bleach can **** the butterflies in your stomach

for your love of cigarettes, i would have been an ashtray

this halloween i want to dress up as the you when you loved yourself and show up on your doorstep

i never understood what you meant when you said i was an instrument, back when you would cup your hands around my chest and breathe through the holes in my heart, i still wonder if the sounds i made remind you of wind chimes

i never paid much attention to abandoned buildings until i became one

in my dreams all the flowers smell like your perfume

i am the only person who has ever wished for the same snowflake to fall twice

if i could go back, and rewrite the definition of audacity, it would be how when we lost the bet of love, you said "we never shook on it"

i love you, if the feeling is not mutual, please pretend this was a poem

the only apology i want from you, is to have you repeat the names of children we will never have in your parents living room until they *****

we are the same person if you find yourself up at 4am dry heaving promises, or if you are kept awake by the laughter of those who've abandoned you

nobody ever told you that goodbyes taste like the back of stamps

sometimes i'm convinced that the only reason we hug, is so you can check my back for exit wounds
 May 2014 Daniel Regan
I need you to understand that
the divine does not become divine
by sitting at desks
my double helix had light shining through the cracks
but that only explains why
there is an ache in my fingers
and a need to run in my feet
as long as there is not only darkness I can make my own way

a spotlight illuminates the desk
at which I sit
I am a soul being carried in a cradle
and my hands keep slipping
my eyes are starting to blur
and they just keep watching
sitting in a sea
I can't even hear them

I am writing a script at age 17 that I will refer to again
and again
until I am dead
I am writing my future
and I'm not sure who my arms think they are
but they write me entering stage left
and when I exit stage right my cells will have replaced themselves
and my arms will be different arms
the only thing I can hope for is that they will have held what they needed to

I do not know the girl I am writing about
but she knows all about me
she doesn't hate me
I know this because she smiles when she thinks of me
she loves me
but I am her burden
my decisions
affect her decisions
and that is so heavy for my pen
I still see her light shining slightly through the cracks

she will whisper to me
farther along
"It's perfectly okay"
"I was afraid too"
and we will take solace in our decisions

The script I'm writing is for both of us
I just hope we can meet
in the middle
I am looking at colleges
I am writing my script
I am afraid
You see the soul that's torn and cold,
Where demons lurk with tales untold.
The idea of speaking and letting it out,
Shall forever fill this soul with doubt.

To confide in another and lay it all to bare,
They'll take on this burden or they won't care.
Why then should it speak just to bring others down,
Or talk to the walls who don't hear a sound.

Don't ask this soul if it's doing alright,
It hurts more to hide it than it hurts to fight.
This soul won't confess and let others in,
It will lie in its' longing until the bitter end.
Pluck a few strings to induce happiness,
for what's life without melody?
The way you play brings back memories,
memories of the simple things,
back when my life wasn't labeled with tragedy,

Back when I believed things weren't so bad,
and even thought they might get better,
if I fought for what I believed,
so play me a melody, bring me back to those days,

The days that were care free,
golden hair and evidence of sunny days on freckled cheeks,
and blue eyes that sparkled like diamonds,
Instead of radiating darkness,

I'd give anything to relive those days,
where the most I had to worry about,
was going to school during the day,
didn't have to worry about coming home to misery,
day after day after spiritbreaking day,
To crawl into bed at night and wish to die,

But I guess those days are gone,
so I'll put on a smile and move on,
like things have never been better,
and the only ones that will know how I'm really feeling,
are the acoustic, and you,
because now, you've seen all of me.
Spend a night jamming out with a friend of your uncles, and then get into a conversation about your problems, and you'll end up pouring your heart out, just like I did tonight.
 Jan 2013 Daniel Regan
 Jan 2013 Daniel Regan
A singularity is therapy
A circulation of serenity
A shared sequence of someone else's integrity

To fully understand an others perspective
A Mind set of silver able and willing to reflect it
Intellectual radar that can always detect it
But you differentiate explaining every sentence

But there's one thing no one could mention
If you don't posses this feeling its beyond recollection
 May 2012 Daniel Regan
- K T P -

Yet again, I a(struggling)m to sleep,
Yearning for m(soul)y to keep.
Day by pa(day)ss with no remorse.
Death scouring the lands on his tire(horse)less.

There was Mar(First)cos,
There was Ka(Then)in.
De(coming)ath is for all of us,
As morale beg(wane)ins to.

Shots are fired in hot spu(sporadic)rts,
du(I)ck for cover as my shoulder hurts.
Blood flo(down)ws my arm as I grasp my gun,
I close my eyes as my comr(run)ades begin to.

I am paralyzed, planted in the ea(bunkered)rth,
My comrades car(me)ry as they flee.
I fig(sanity)ht, refusing to see my own worth,
As bullets fly by, in an endl(torrent)ess of maniacal glee.

The pain sears, racing through mi(my)nd.
Muscles, tissue, bone, to unw(beginning)ind.
Con(crosses)cern my comrade’s face,
As he looks at my pai(disgrace)ned.

Earth spews the gro(from)und to my right,
Launching us into the thick fum(air)ed.
I scream again as my pa(rears)in its roaring might.
My vis(fading)ion as my body lands on my earthen lair.

whi(Death’s)sper then did creep,
His bre(cold)ath in did seep.
I no pa(feel)in as I know its time,
To join m(mates)y, out here on the Rhine.
In(Peace)ner was written to show a more post modernistic approach to the poetic verse, by adding the adjective of a word into the word itself, or the noun embedded within the verb.  Hope you like it!
Words are hollow.
Eyes are deceiving.
Thoughts are far fetched.
Illusions are broken.
Looks mean nothing.
Expressions can be fake.
Emotions are assassins.
Senses don't work.
Heart stops beating.
Light turns into darkness.
Does this mean I am dead?

— The End —