The sadness has lifted up
No longer dragging me down
By my cracking collarbones
But as it lifts lifts lifts
I feel those broken pieces lifting too
*Am I still me without them?

On nights like these my bones ache
Quivering, swollen ribcage,
Sometimes my insides can't be contained.
Sometimes my hands
Reach out into the darkness
Grasping for god knows what
Maybe you know what
Maybe you are the one part of my past that I need to keep.
Maybe you are the steam from my tea,
My favorite socks,
That perfect song on the radio.
Too many times nowadays
I see you crossing the street.
I see you getting a coffee,
Running by as often as I feel the wind on my face.
Too many times I want to say something
But it catches in my throat
It catches in the webs we always weave
Most days I stop myself before I start.
My head, my heart, it's all a mess
I always put us in the position for drowning.
I can't keep my head above water anymore
I can't find you anymore
If I knew that 3am was the only time you would appear
Maybe I would try harder to swim
But now I get lost in poems
That never have the right ending
Maybe because we never have the right ending
Whenever you pass by the window
I want to throw out a paper plane
To somehow send you a warm smile
I get so cold.
All I do is write because we never get to talk
And god I miss your voice.
I wish I wasn't so confusing
And that we weren't an undefined word
Because maybe then I could know what to say to you.
You are the one part of my past
That I don't want to let go
But I still don't know just how I can hold you.
These sorts of poems
Are the kind I hide under my bed sheets
But on nights like these my bones are aching
And the shaking won't stop
So this time
I will throw the paper plane out of the window
Even if you don't catch it.

She rolled the sixpence between her knuckles,
As she thought about everyone she'd ever loved.
Was it love?
It's easy to say no, in hindsight.
Theoretically, your love should grow, along with that person,
Each person being loved more than the last.
The next person is one step closer to perfection,
Because we love, and we learn.
We learn who was right, and who was wrong.
Like the sixpence, currency, it changes, it evolves with time,
It gets stamped with a mark, true to its origin,
Even after decades of changing hands, that mark is still visible.
One penny could travel the world, collecting fingerprints.
Or it could stay in one place, as a collectors item,
You could savour and cherish it, waiting, waiting for its original value to increase,
Or you could let it go, passing it on to someone else,
Letting someone love it better than you did,
There's a reason we change hands, why we're shared out as we are,
Money is *****,
Just like our hearts.

.I should stop shouldn't I.

Just when I thought I've found you,
Behind my back,
Speaking of the most wretched things,
Breaking me.

some night i just stay up till 4 in the morning
i don't know why
but i like the sound of morning
i like it when the sun just starts to rise
and i like the smell of the ground
and when the very first rays of light
caress my eyes
that is when, i know
i can sleep quietly
beneath the sounds of the city
beneath this world
broken beyond repair