I still think of you some times,
why these wounds have yet to dry
What else could closure be
besides an endless loop of agony
because that's all we've proven to be
passionate toxic ecstacy
that will leave us shrivelled and worn
like a ****** on the side of the road
What a sad sight, they would say
watching us writhe in pain
and when we awoke from
whatever nightmare we acquired
we would try to explain
just how this couldn't stay the same
We would exclaim
that this is the last day
I loved you dearly
And I can only hope my emotions
are not misplaced
and I hope that one day
I will see you again.

the winds swept me towards the great birch kingdom,
where thousands of kings and queens pirched gloriously upon their timber thrones
before the crackle of a twig snapped by my toe swept them away.

not long until I found myself upon a mountain, in a cave, where I began to whisper gently to the void
and listened back for days as my voice stayed.

when my finger touched still water I watched the ripples dance for years
until all of the oceans were dancing
and they danced their way into the night's sky.

tonight the music is the same; no glitter or fuss, just an excuse to forget.

it's a February blizzard which is the coldest kind
and we'll stand outside, smog-laced snowflakes caress our faces and I'm standing three feet from your body
but I'm warm because I feel close...
or maybe it's the rye.

I've been clutching this bottle more so lately, it's been holding on to me
to the point where I can't see
but that's a trite story, except for the February blizzard,
but even so… it's snow, it's cold.
it's biting, frosty, white blanket kind of cold.
it's a dampness inside of your bones kind of cold.
it's red-nosed winter blues, thirty below with a leather coat, and I'm warm because I forget.

I was eight and in math class
and I wrote your name over and over again in my little green notepad hoping that you’d notice or that you’d feel the pressure of my pen tracing your name over and over again.
at the end of class the teacher asked me to walk up grab some chalk and long divide
but I hadn’t a clue and no where to hide so I tried, with minimal effort, to sketch some numbers on the board, curling my 2 and crossing my 7 so that you’d notice me.
I looked at you and your chubby face looked back at mine
and I loved you for a long time, then.

everyone's got a little to say about nothing,
nothing at all.

even lying next to him, it was never about him… somehow it was always you. it's only you.

sometimes I can feel the earth's heart beating with mine - her heat often boiling my core. a burdensome blessing to bleed when others fall.