fast forward three years
you're living on the coast binding books and your hips together
and i'm still in the small town that turned me into a sinkhole
you got out though, huh? you got out just fine, you have always been stronger than me
you have always been able to get well and get up without anyone bringing you bouquets of hands

you sit down to explain to her that love has made you reckless, that too many people
have been easygoing with your heart; let it cross the streets alone.
drunkenly leaving it in cabs in other countries
so for a while there you weren't sure who to give it to

my dear, I know now that you were never a hotel I could check in and check out of
you were in the best way possible, the mental hospital,
the time I woke up with nobody but the voices in my head (they were all yours)
(I couldn't leave until I got better)

you tell her you fell in love with a girl who never burned your letters,
who showed love in all the wrong ways, never picked up the phone, "honey", you'd say,
"she was nothing like you" ... "kept her hair light to contradict the dark inside of her,
didn't trust anyone to blindfold her and walk her down the street"
you try to tell her my name, but you can't
you can't remember what they call me, call me, call me,
I never picked up the phone

fast forward three years
you're living on the coast making love and mixed drinks a little too strong
and i'm buried near the sinkhole in town, next to the dog my dad kicked a little too hard
out the door of the house he lived in with my mother
i've got your name tattooed on my neck

The sun may not always shine in the sky,
but it will always rise,
and its bound to set again.
It is not the end,
you will wake again tomorrow,

Sometimes people say things they don't mean,
but they don't love you any less because of this,
they're only temporary feelings,
in the morning it will be all right.

Sleep is only the enemy if it's permanent,
put down the pills,
throw away the blades,
and if you have to,
even throw up the *****,
these are things that will harm you in life,
and when you lay down at night,
don't wish for that to be the last time,
you lay with open eyes.

The mere memory of that feeling will haunt you.
You mustn't let it, you're meant to live,
you're alive; stay that way.
No matter hard things get,
there is no such thing as a sad ending,
only a bumpy road, to a new beginning,
and that should be all the reason in the world,
not to end your life tonight.

to you, sweet stranger:
remember, remember.

hold a miracle in your hands-
lights; the light of all lights;
beyond the darkness,
before the end.

be like the roses-
know how it feels
to be sad. pathetic.
but alive, and real.

let nothing daunt you-
not fear. not might.
at the brink of deliverance
be truly infinite.

we break we burn
(the casualties are ceaseless)
to be the first to say goodbye
will never be a weakness

remember the sound of
the planes in the night
before the dawn breaks
so fair, so bright

let the light tremble-
let the trade winds blow,
may you never forget
all you have ever known.

for all that is lost
to the churning seas,
the kindness, the strength
never forget to be.

for truly there is no battle,
no war to be won.
the world is full of stories
but the stories are all one.

I don't quite know how I'd describe the taste of your lips, but for now I'll go with the rim of an old porcelain teacup, or soft rain from a bruised sky, or kerosene, you're about to set my tongue on fire with the taste of your love. You're an uprooted tree from a ghost-town-like night, filled with screaming tornado sirens and broken windshields from gulf sized hail. You could carry me quite far, you were damp new leaves weathering from Fall's best storm, and I destroyed you just as completely. With you, I like to forget boundaries, I like to let you dance on my fingers, and let my mouth hang ajar when you punch my jugular, stealing the breath I breathe. You always reach for my hands like they need rescue, they are safe in my pockets, safe by being still, not black and blue knuckle shaking fighting fists. I find you in scalding water, as I wash the past off of my history book hands, my Father has an anger building up in his throat, he knows about our love, the love we never say out loud, the love we don't want anyone to mourn for, he wants to preach a different kind of sermon, a sermon mouthed with cracked sidewalk-like hands, a broken heart, grease stained jeans with worn knees, tired eyes, and an unshaved beard, and chapped lips and a tasteful tongue ready to throw swear words at me like rotten tomatoes, but I can only hear the time bomb in his voice-tone. My teeth are doors, but they only welcome certain types of people in, people like you. You're that abandoned building with a Danger sign hammered to a white chipped painted door, and I'm so happy I judged you for what's inside. Before you, I never experienced any touchy touchy feely feely crap, but you have the veiniest arms, like the roots of a tree cling to you. My hands get all clammy, my palms get soaked, as if I'm holding the ocean in my hands, this is what sweaty palms of nervous love is. I find you in muddy rain puddles, I feel like I'm splashing around in the color of your eyes. I find you on my fingertips, the scent of your favorite food, French fries, lingers in between my fingers. Do I burn your skin with my furnace-like touch? Are my finger tipped fingerprints really trails of left behind scars from a burning match? You make me want to scratch at walls, these walls around me don't feel like home, I'm chipping away wallpaper in hopes I'm chipping my way through your chest, I'm searching for your heart. I've done a lot of thinking, you taste like rusty spigot water, but I can't stop drinking you, it's like I'm living in a drought and you're my only source of water supply. All the words you speak have a certain echo, and echo that lacks reverberation. Your words taste like you learned the hard way. I'm going to hold your hand so long you start to question what's wrong with me, I'm going to stare into your eyes for a long period of time and you're going to nervously smile and say you have to use the restroom. I want to love you so hard the sky explodes into pink and orange jealousy. Autumn is beautiful, much like our love, (the leaves change color), like our cheeks when we blush pink, (then gathered into piles), like you and I picked up each other's broken shattered vase-like hearts, (and then burned), like our love burns more and more passionately day by day.
(k.m.m)

I pray for your fingertips. That each edge of this world you touch will walk away equally blessed as I am each day to have you. That the blood that circulates through your skin considers itself grateful to power such a beautiful monument.

I pray for your shoulders. For they will hold the weight of our universe for no other reason than love. That the stars will remember your constellation. And with the strength of god himself you will move mountains.

I pray for your feet. Each sinew of stretched promise embracing the footfall of your everything. Your presence, a fossilized stone blazing trails of altruism with a smile. And for a foot massage when you return to my hands which have Awaited you ever so eagerly.

I pray for your eyes. The cinema they are will tell me stories. Displaying travel with a short film of service and the ending credits written in forever. For your eyes are filled with life and will be memories in dreams for those wanting a better tomorrow.

I pray for your lips. As waterfalls of words will slash into the immensity in front of you, remember the power you possess in your tongue. Always speak in tongues of forgiveness. In tongues of acceptance. Your voice alone, is proof that god is good.

I pray for you mind. Finding patience in washed clothe pockets. Slow yourself to anger and quickly grow to understanding. Keep a treasure chest of memories that I may find when you return. Peace shall be present upon you, If not don't forget to ask for it.

I pray for your heart. May your heartbeat find the same channel as mine. Absorb each and every fiber of the moments you exist there. Carve drawings telling of your life on the walls. Pump life into the air current so it reaches me. After all, we are under the same sky.

I fell in love with the little things you do
Like when you whisper "I love you"
It sends shivers through my soul
And now my heart shines like gold.

Do you know how it feels like to have a stomach that can only survive on intimacy and nothing else?
To be prodded to love all the things that touch your skin whilst simultaneously not being
allowed or able to tell the difference between the things that love you and the things that want to leave you barren?
How it feels like to see the solemnity and grandeur of an omnipotence within all the sinless intentions of the skin cells that you'll never be allowed to hold?
Well...
It feels a lot like the romanticization of an eating disorder.

Sometimes you fall in love and then begin to forget how your organs are supposed to behave.
You look in the mirror and realize that you're still thinking about someone else when you're
Analyzing your own body.
You clutch at your own skin,
your arms,
your hair,
your throat,
and begin to try and disassemble a mind that does not want to be associated with the body that it is working in.
Before you know it,
Every time you cross the mirror you clutch more and more parts of yourself and wish that they would not feel better in somebody else's hands besides your own.
You're getting thinner everyday,
you're losing sleep
you're forgetting how to breathe,
And somewhere,
out there,
There is a boy in a place far away,
giving to someone else what you are about to be killed
without.

You realize that you turn your own bed into an ocean everytime you think about his face.
You feel the hydration of the salt water from everywhere around you,
tickling into your senses and diffusing into your nose,
but you do not taste it.
Only sense it.
You're grabbing the sheets desperately.
Holding them onto your chest, covering up your shaking body, and
almost certainly forgetting the difference between imagining the embrace of somebody who does not love you and drowning alone inside of your own bed.
You look for a lifeboat in the form of a thought that has no relation to love or association to the idea of affection.
You're hoping to find a distraction that will either save you from your peril or help you breathe in a way where you can still be conscious when there is water inside of your lungs.
You're beginning to see dark shapes and figures and all of them are sprouted by the idea
of just having a little taste of the very thing that's about to drown you.
All of the dark figures are in the shape of your face,
And nobody is here to save you.
You begin to sink,
And sink,
And sink,
and sink
and...

You are empty when you wake up.
Your chest is not an *****,
but you find it funny that when it feels empty,
your stomach also wishes to feel the same way.

So you make sure it does,
Whilst yearning for a meal that does not wish to be consumed by you.

That is the only meal,
that you will never stop craving for.