8/12/14
11:11- i wished you were here with me, holding me, whispering in my ear, telling me how you love me, and how you'll always keep me safe.
10/6/14
11:11- i wished i had never met you, so i wouldn't have to know what it feels like to lose you. i thought, i really believed, that you would have fought for me harder. that no matter what, you would do anything to be with me.
10/27/14
11:11- i didn't wish for anything tonight, because no matter how hard i wished for you before, it never came true. instead i'm just lying here, wondering how someone who caused me so much joy before, could cause me so much pain.

Art is what happens when you let go of the fear that comes from ditching the status quo.

It doesn't have to be born on paper, or drawn with a pen. Art is a lifestyle, not a talent created by men.

I never drank before I lost you, but I still feel you coursing through my veins.
Your lips fit my mouth better than the bottle ever will.
I tried replacing my blood with alcohol, so I wouldn't have to carry you around as a constant reminder of what I've lost.
I still feel you in the morning when I can barely feel myself.
I still feel your hand in mine when I drive alone at night with the windows down, music blasting.
I still feel every beat of your heart in my head and it just won't stop.

I took a blade to my skin to get rid of the alcohol -- Or was it to get rid of you?
Either way I'm still stuck thinking about you as I'm laying here bleeding to death.
"I'll never leave you." -- At least you kept your promise.

Maybe if I drink, I won't remember what I've done - or maybe I'm more frightened by what I haven't done - and I'll start to forget. But ignorance is not bliss, and now I'm drinking to forget why I wanted not to remember what I've done or what I haven't done and now I'm stuck remembering what it is I tried so hard to forget.

I am wood
You are fire
-scratch that-
You are an exuberant inferno.

There was no doubt in my mind that when I first saw you, I felt the sparks.

When you aproached me, I felt warm, and whenever we talked, I could feel the electricty -scratch that- I could feel the flames.

Then you left, but I was far from help. You set me on fire and then you were gone.

You destroy everyone you meet, leaving nothing but ash and ruin in your path.

They say the good die young and that used to scare me but now it just kind of makes me stop and think, and in a year or two, it might just make me smile.

I stopped being good a long time ago.

Soft lips
that stung like alcohol when we kissed.
Blonde hair
almost as vibrant as your smile.
Pale skin
pulling me closer, begging to be touched.
Blue shirt
I told you it brought out the color in your eyes.
Dark room
truth is I couldn't see your eyes in that basement light.
Hard floor
the truth is I just want you to hold me.
Intoxicating
you make me feel dizzy and I want to walk straight again.
Intoxicated
*you make me say things I usually won't, you make me do things I usually don't.

Crooked nose
Shy smirk
Freckles
Thousands of them
Eye lashes
Eyes
Blue eyes
Or were they green
They were beautiful
Lips
God I want to kiss them
Collar bones
Pale skin
Birth marks
Secret birth marks
Scars
Laugh
I wanna fill my head with that laugh
White teeth
You
You
You
Perfect

"Good girl!"
he said, as she took her first steps.
he gave her a hug, and she was proud.

"Good girl!"
he said, when she answered the question right.
he gave her a gold star, and she was proud.

"Good girl,"
he said, after her fifth shot.
he kissed her slow, with his hand on her thigh, and she was embarassed.

"Good girl,"
he said, with a fistful of her hair.
he pushed her head down, and she was numb; she stopped being proud a long time ago.

"Good girl,"
she told herself, when she finally got
it right.
she gave herself a pat on the back for realizing she alone held the key to her own self worth.
and she was proud.

"Poetry rhymes"
that's what they said.
I tried it a hundred or more times
until my fingers were red.

I tried writing about you -
all the things we've been through.
I made memories into rhymes
but not once did you materialize.

Finally I realized that's not what it's about
poetry is something you can't breath without.

Poetry is making someone else feel
all the **** that you've endured.
No, poetry is not about rhyming
and of that I'm sure.

The past, the present, the future.

What I've done, what I'm doing, what I will do.

The old me is not the same as the me I am today. I broke bones and I broke hearts but that's okay.

Now it's the present, time to reflect on who we were. Just don't look back for too long or the memories will burn.

I know I did wrong but next time I'll do right. Next time I won't leave you alone in the night.

Next time will be different, "I'll save you," I said. But when is the next time, if you're already dead.

Love will **** you
It'll bend you, break you, throw you around.
It's like a tsunami:
consuming, powerful, inescapable.
You and tsunamis are pretty similar.
When I saw you I felt you in the deepest parts of my being, smashing around and displacing my insides.
And when you left, you took away parts of me I can never retrieve. Like a wave returning to the sea, taking with it all in it's path.
You and tsunamis aten't that different after all.