a pack a day.
feel yourself waste away,
let your teeth decay,
so you can put your addiction on display.

i'm a weeping willow tree,
a hot cup of black irish tea,
a door-less skeleton key,
i'm an undefined wannabe.
pedantic as can be.

I'm living in squalor.
It'll be summer again soon,
And I wish that I could call her,
But I've gone from prince to pauper.
With every silently warm night,
Her memory fades red,
Like a doppler.

I can't write poetry anymore.
I'm not much pride to swallow.
I'm a mended heart gone sour,
A paper maché shell, now hollow.

She can't really be blamed.
Lovelessly alone with my bones,
Blood long gone, long drained,
That fault is my own.

I can't really be blamed.
Now she's all alone,
With our bones.
That fault is her own.

Your constructive corruption,
Wrapped me in, like a soft cocoon.
And with every day without prosper,
Your memory grows blue,
Like a doppler.

act like god,
think like girl,
never awed.
look like pearl,
feel like fraud.
heart with a hole,
a lonely god.

you're nothing.
you know,
i know,
i'm nothing.

i'm nothing.
you're something.
i know,
you know,
we're nothing.

we know.
we're something.

Four figure eights,
Only on the edge, never straight,
Slowly swimming into madness,
Calmly chaotic, never sedate.
Frantic fingers, fumbling for a fix,
For without it, we're ever anxious

Painted poetry,
All along the hallways.
Hidden in ingenuity,
Your ideas wasted away,
Living in me, almost lucidly.

A talk,
With someone,
Whom you love.
Always turns sour,
But only for you.

A cake,
Imaginary.
Only two files,
And a coat of paint,
Deep blue.

A drink.
Maybe two.
Caught up,
Remembering regrets.
Maybe a few.

A smile,
A day saved,
Pasts destroyed.
Heart enslaved,
By an open world view.

An innocently wise girl once taught me,
How to know that old souls die young.
Then the bridge offered to throw us into the sea,
We could've drowned brightly,
But we chose a different perspective and reality.

All you had to do was ask,
I've almost left.
You're almost here, ethereal.
It's all in your head,
I'm sorry I'm no longer in your bed.
But can I get your numbers again?
It was only a few words I said,
Sorry that I was mistaken,
Can you banish them from your head?
In the morning I'd make you bacon,
I'd even serve it with toasted bread.
It could be a perfect meal when you awaken,
But that's an If Only, because you're already dead.

Left lost after love's deep virulence,
Leaving me in deep need of a metaphysical therapist.
Her heart harder than the blindness of erebus,
But the relationship was based off of panic trusts,
So forever until never it was, a manic driven worldless wonderlust.

why do i bother writing these words down,
when all i get in return is a lost soul and a self roll.
write on and write black and white swan songs,
on and on, all for someone who's already gone.

You can hear the break in his grown up voice,

You can feel the cracks in his weathered skin,

He can see the solidity of his most painful choice.

He can sense that his mental end is about to begin.

Even when we're lost we can still see.
But the store of human kindness is much like the Aral Sea,
So let's speak humankind's long due eulogy,
And be the best of the last beings we can be.

Roll the dice, do it twice,
The rules of paradise are never nice.

I always treated you,
Better than you treated me,
I could see you didn't care.
Treatment is life's social key,
It can lift away all the hurt and despair.
I was drowning, and I tried to make you see,
But then again, you didn't care.
I'll remember when we carved our names in my heart,
But I hope I'll never remember where.
Because I'm trying not to care.

"Cry my a river,"
Whenever you would cry.
Drove out of town,
To drown in that river,
But it ran dry.
So I drove back, singing,
"This won't be that the day that I die."

Don't let me go,
I need you to burden me.
Those memories no longer grow.
I needed your roots to feed me, too.
I hid behind every one of your regrets,
So you never said you hated me, but I do.

I walked alone.
Ran apart.

Here we go,
That's what I'd tell myself.

I'd run in,
Throughout puddles,

Into heartlessness.
But that's fine,

I'll be just alright.
That's what I'd tell myself.

My opinions are quiet,
My strains subdued,
I listen before I speak.
Please, don't take that as rude.

I'm not asleep.
My ears are not closed.
My head is simply down,
With my thoughts undisclosed.

Writing is a way of formulation,
For my poor thoughts, exploring.
On the outside my countenance is dull.
But here in my head, it's anything but boring.

Until I learn to die,
I'll thrive, in the cesspool of my mind.

After I learn to shine,
I'll realize that the stars never tried to align.

What won't **** me, deepens.
Shattering what's left, sending me off the deep end.

I'll never learn to condemn it,
And you're sheltered by my effort to transcend it.

Recurrent words, boiled your blood,
The same that painted my roses red.
But those flowers no longer grow,
Where your thoughts turned sour.
We parted with seeds left to sow,
In strong minds full of power, no more.
Where the rain turns beautiful,
An unusual question becomes an answer.
In a deeply melancholic cave,
The surface of a stoic puddle, turns dancer.

Hold my heart close,
It believes it's sleeping,
But you sung it to insanity.
Now it's too dead,
To realize that it's screaming.

You'll be okay with me,
And I with you.
Set ablaze, burn the sea.
Eyes bright, an indigo hue.
With the crushing weight of nothing,
Fallacies are born,
Setting fire to your words, never bluffing.

Can eyes boil?
Frothy, glazed gazes,
Steaming into all-seeing clouds.

Minds can melt, I'm sure.
Flowing into tendrils of emotion,
Searching for victims to soothe.

Hearts cannot sing, cannot weep,
With tears forming worlds, purely out of desire,
Creating remembering ebbs, longing for limerence.

I'm cutting my hands to bone,
Trying to pick them up,
Shattered memories of heart,
That I never wore upon my sleeve.
Quick, painful glances,
No longer longing stares, stealing.
Lost words, shared thoughts and,
Differing views of past futures,
All coiled into a cold noose,
By which I'll enter your world.

Sad, half-jazz songs.
Smokey table views.
Dimly lit cantering, cigars lit,
Softly droning drums,
Rhythmic, longing-filled voices,
And a silently humming pianist.
All, hard at sloth, least at work.

You know you,
No better,
Than I know myself.
Infatuated.
With the dying ideas,
Of glimmers.
Not of hope, but,
Impossibilities.
I don't mean to.

Builds ups.
Racing hearts and,
Escalating chests.
Precursing,
The death of everything.
Not made.

Hectic clashes of empowered,
Godlike forces.
Torrential.
All within,
The unsteady beating of my heart.

Take this,
Read that,
Eat this,
Buy that,

Orders issued,
Traps laid,
Information seeded,
Robots made,

Clean you up,
Hold you back,
Dull you down,
Here's another Prozac.

Sit back down,
Wait until dismissed.
Don't worry, don't think,
Ignorance is bliss.

You wake,
I sleep,

You dance,
I dream,

Of all the things,
We couldn't be.

Holding hearts,
Walking apart,

I'll hold you,
Like I need to,

I don't mean to,
I don't need you.

I wonder,
What it's like,
To fly.

I tried too hard,
You were often,
Too shy.

And then,
When we met,
I got by.

Even now,
When we part,
I partly die.

I now regret,
The final time,
We said goodbye.

Dipping beneath a dismal horizon,
The moon slowly deserts the night,

Giving way to the scarlet rays of daybreak,
Blood-like light soaks the dawn sky,
Forebodingly warning of sunrise.

I messed up.
I wasted days away, never letting you be.
I never did this, or that, I was never that, or this.
I keep trying to figure it out.
I keep making excuses, I don't know what happened.
I'm trying to figure it out.
Too much distance, never enough for you.
I keep regretting, but nevertheless it was nothing to you.
Never too real, never too serious.
You never truly answered, never not being mysterious.
I write poems to cope, I draw pictures to remember.
From you I lost all my hope, never bitter.
I was never bitter, always despairing.
I was never this, or that. Why, however, is what I wonder.
I'm trying to figure it out.

Once connected,
Facets jaded, and
Faces faded.

Once departed,
Always behind, but
Never unkind.

Once forgotten,
Love ended, and
Wounds never tended.

I seem to be overrun with myself.
My thoughts bubble over,
As boiling water from of a ***.
Feelings and phrases bounce about,
Between the walls of my head.
I cannot help but seek an escape,
From lowly emotions,
That make my heart feel dead.

Damp aromas arise from the ground.
The morning is almost here.
Smells of fog and drizzling days wasting away,
The dawn is almost here.

Crying skies give birth to a moody guise,
Where melancholy dies, giving in to prying eyes.
It's about time for sunrise,
But through the murky skies, no sun rays shine.

I haven't written a poem all day,
That fact makes me a little sad.
Sometimes, I have less to say,
And I guess that isn't all that bad.

I'm stricken with poet's block,
My heart is sickened with a lack of love.
I can't find anyone, with whom to talk,
And that loneliness is helpful, sort of.

Skin stretched like a drawn canvas over an empty rib cage where my heart used to beat.
It wandered off, and fluttered away, as if it had given up all hope on getting better.
Much like my mind is slowly but very surely losing grip, losing faith.
My poor mind isn't getting better.
I sometimes wonder if it can, or if it will, ever.
I'm only hoping,
That hope is a glue strong enough to hold the pieces of my shattered heart together.

Wandering,
Into the silky sadness.
Traveling,
Into the murky madness.

Bustling,
To the place I waited.
Clinging,
To the same words you hated.

Through this looking glass, opting out,
From this windowed hole, I hope this makes you less sad.
We'll both grow older, as many tend to do,
And move separate ways with thoughts never leaving,
Forever bitter, never regretting, never bitter, never.

I've never wanted to leave.
I've never wanted to come back.
I've never waited to stay here.

You've never wanted to stay.
You've always wanted to come home.
You've always waited to leave, though.

Crippling ideas and curiosities spark my emotional engine to turn long forgotten gears back into action as I look at pictures of her.
The soft lips softly speaking words that were violently engraved into my thoughts, ironically contrasting the simple meaning, helping me remember and overthink them yet again, months after she ruined me.

The night sky,
Never fades to black,
As many think their souls do,
It just fades to a darker shade of bright blue.