I remember when i found out
my heart had left my body and my hands were trembling

I remember when you were my best friend and we were inseparable

I remember making forts together with the basement cushions

I remember dancing through the days with the top hits of 2002

I remember when you started staying out all night and sneaking in 

I remember when you changed your friends

I remember when your eyes didn’t look the same

I remember when you showed me a green plant

I remember when you showed me a small pill
I remember when I took drugs with you
and we danced through the day just like old times

I remember when you were dragged down the hallway by your hair
and all I could see was your feet flailing
and all i could hear was your piercing screams

I don’t remember you for fourteen months

until you came back for thanksgiving

I remember your eyes didn’t look the same

I remember your voice was different 

I remember your legs looked like small branches
and your cheeks were sunken in

I don’t remember you for two months

I remember when you went away
and you said you were going to get better

I remember before you left
we laid in my bed
and you showed me your scars
and told me your stories

I remember you looked me in the eyes and told me everything was going to be okay

I remember you crying through the nights
taking endless cold water baths
and throwing up until the sun came up

I remember the day you left and all you wanted to do was smoke one last cigarette

I don’t remember you for three weeks


I remember you when you came back
I remember you gained weight

I remember you looked healthy

I remember you glowing with beauty

I remember my mom finding a spoon in the drawer of the bed side table
with burnt cotton

I remember her telling me not to come home because she didn’t want me to be there when she told you to leave

I remember you called me and you cried
and you said sorry to me

I don’t remember you for eighteen months

until you called your dad three days before my birthday
and said you used his insurance for rehab and you needed money for your prescription

I don’t remember you for two months

I remember you at thanksgiving but your mind wasn’t there 
just your body

I’m sure I won’t remember you for another seven months.

Over the past few months 

it’s been easy to get by 

without my mother-

but my father,
on the other hand,
is the pair of scuffed shoes
I keep tucked away in the closet

my favorite shoes,
they once were, 

I wore them until they fell apart


I kept them hidden
so no one could see

that buried underneath all the shoes, 
my once favorite shoes,
lay ruined,

just like my father

who was once
my favorite too

"Do you see the sky?" I asked
as I waited for a response.

I waited,
and waited
and waited.

I realized that there wouldn't be one,
because the conversationalist
I speak to
(in my head)
has left.

The sun sets to the north of the mountains,
if you're standing in the front yard it's hard to see.

But I see it when I dream,
when I think of happier things,
I wonder why I feel so distant,

I wonder why when I pull my irises back into the socket where they sleep.

"Do you see the sky?" I asked
You responded, finally,

with the most dismal response one could conjur

"that I do."

When all I wanted,
was to share it with you.

the train in the distance moans like a lion
searching for its baby cub

and every night I hear this moan
as I lay, sinking slowly into the couch,
wishing for something to take me away

I wonder what happened
why all is lost
why the feelings in my gut are bewildered and tossled

something is different
something's not right

and just like the train
I do this every night

when I think of the days I've burned at both ends
it's almost as if I'm dreaming
as if the memories I've stored in my head
are distant and non-existent

writers block
with so much on my mind
how does one write
when they can't even gather the words
to express the emotions in their mind?

I watched you sleep

your hands pressed to your cheeks 
your belt buckled tight 

you slept in jeans and t-shirts

and said you got used to it

when you didn’t have a home 

when you wandered around with heavy eyes

sleeping under playgrounds 
and waking up to children’s screams

you spoke to me about the days 
when no one loved you 
because all that you did 
was take from them
you spoke to me of days 
when you didn’t think

because you had to many drinks 
and took too many pills 
and broke windows for fun

I watched you sleep and all I could think 
was,
you are the dandelions 

growing in the front of my house 
beautiful but rooted with disfigurement and misunderstanding

I watched you sleep 
and I found refuge in your eyes 

I felt secure and tranquil

I did not see this person you spoke of 
you are immaculate
in all that you are

and all that you were