You can tell a lot about someone from how they describe themselves,
Or what they tell you when you ask them about themselves.
You can see it in how much they talk about you,
Or the look they get when you perceive that they are thinking about you.
You can tell by how close they keep you whether you're an enemy,
Or a friend.
You can tell by the frequency of gestures
Or smiles in the hall
Whether they regard you as an acquaintance.
You'll always know when they give you their heart-
And then they give you their all from the very start of things
It warms you from the inside out.
You seldom think about the paths down which you will travel with the ones you love,
But when you look into their faces
You see a mirror of who you're becoming.
The past is in, it's all about the funny coincidences, the secrets you share,
When you first cried together and why-
Your love for each other isn't meant to be kept in a closet,
No matter who has come out (does it really matter at all?)
Just be there, please, to hold the door open for me.
The art of friend love is dying and I've been trying to keep us alive.
I just want to say that when I see a new face,
I'm not letting the good times slip away.
I'm trying to preserve us like wax in other peoples' hearts
Until we call catch fire
And we burn like a fire-
And when it's all almost over,
We can slow down together
And melt with eachother.
Love is patient, love is kind-
Love doesn't judge
Love somehow brings us together to judge,
Strange as it seems to the solitarily righteous.
Love is old, love is new
Love is all, love is you.
And love is being friends with you...
Friend love with you, it's all I've known.

I've always wanted to step out into you
Where the waters are dark and uncharted
Alluring
But the first step is always shaking
Because I saw the wind
And I was afraid.

I breathe and taste
the colours of heaven and earth
on your skin.
I kiss away
the traces of liquor and regret
on your lips.
I fall in love
with the way you allow me
to wrap myself
around your heart.
I spread my wings
around your body
as it curls against mine.
You call my broken wings
majestic.
I fall in love
with the way you move
against me.
I breathe and taste
the colours of heaven and earth
on your soul.

I would fly,
but I don't have wings...
Not anymore.
You tell me to soar,
but I don't know how
and what's more
is that I swear,
my soul is sinking,
everything about me is drowning
except for my doubt,
my fears,
they know how to swim
and I don't know if I have
another
way
out.

(Inspired by Ethan Smith's poem of the same title.)

You’ve taken so many different pieces
of others’ personalities
and put them together to form me
that I don’t even know who the real me is anymore…
Let alone knowing that I am still partially you,
as much as I hate it,
I have to recognise it…
and what’s more
As much as I hate it,
I don’t hate you
don’t hate the way you still bore a hole
into my heart,
Remember that.
Sarah…
I haven’t said your name in so long
because I’ve spent years trying to convince everyone-
myself included-
that you were gone,
that you are nothing but a distant, fallacious,
distorted memory,
that the thought of you drowns out my reality
and leaves me shaking and broken
and that at the same time,
I haven’t changed a ******* thing about myself,
but we both know that
that’s complete *******.
We are two completely different people,
you made me feel like a prisoner within myself,
but I suppose you were only doing
what you thought needed to do
to survive.
It’s a shame it didn’t work,
I’m sorry, that we ran out of time.
When grandma said her baby girl had died,
that the light had gone from her eyes
she was wrong,
I told her so
but she’d be incorrect to assume that you
are still living inside of me,
instead you are ticking inside of me,
ticking like a bomb waiting to explode,
Sarah.
The name sounds foreign
your eyes are terrifying me
your old friends are boring the hell out of me;
your voice is one I don’t recognise.
Hell, I barely recognise myself anymore
and I guess I have you to thank for that
But remember
as much as I hate the fact
that you still exist inside of me…
I have to recognise that
I can’t hate someone who was me for so long.

I want to turn my self-hatred into something physical,
I want to keep feeling like death because
I'm so used to these feelings of guilt and regret-
in an ever-changing world, it's my constant.
You say you despise change-
then how on earth will you be able to stay by my side
as my eyes change with the seasons?
This nicotine tastes like (self) destruction
and I can't get enough of it,
because without it I could put the devil to shame
with the way my mind bends
and seems to snap away from reality,
leaving me shaking and seemingly broken.
The razor caressing my skin
takes my blood and breath but it gives me life.
This old journal I found reads about how
the voices in my head were trying to **** me,
the epitome of my anxiety
tears drip down my face,
I'm getting more light-headed with every passing moment
and I can't help but smile
despite the fact that I'd given up on life
a while back.
Up, down, my moods change with the hour
and these thoughts devoured my sanity
a long time ago.
You say you despise change-
how on earth will you be able to stay by my side
as I change with the seasons?

Smoke dances out of my mouth
and through the cold November air.
A lit cigarette in the dark of night
sparks a flame bright enough for me
to see past my own doubt
for one more night...
Or maybe the smoke reassures it.
I can't breathe cause my lungs are failing me
but I think maybe I deserve it,
I am in love with the reduction in my lung capacity,
in my vision, enhanced by vertigo,
I'll never know what's beyond
the veil of smoke,
wrapping itself around me as if trying to
console me
because it figured out that I'm afraid of
what lives in the dark, afraid of
what lies in the nightmares that I still don't remember.
Walk an empty sidewalk, 2:00 a.m.
Walk back and forth, music blaring
into my ears, let me block out the world
for all it's worth.
I contemplate taking half an hour
and getting a drink with the 2 dollar bills
in my pocket,
but then I notice my fingers are burning.
I look down,
I'm at the filter.
Wrapping my jacket tighter around my torso,
I use the almost-gone cigarette to light another one
and I start walking.
I'm not sure if what I see in front of me
is smoke entirely, or if it's mixed with
whatever breath I have left.