Before her I was a still sea of darkness,
Now I am a sea of crashing waves,
And my beautiful sun is overhead.

With time
they dissipate

no harm
but some broken thought

ash-tray philosophies; you
have a lungful

of sorrows.

i don’t want to talk about it.
i don’t want to talk about how for three years
my morning routine  has been prozac and just enough coffee
to disguise the fact that i haven’t
slept in four days.

i don’t want to talk about how
the boy with the subaru coated in grateful dead stickers
loved me and how i ran because of this.

nor about how my birthday is in
19 days
and i still want to die.
another year come and gone.

i am a stranger in my own body.
maps written in a foreign language.
my ship has sailed,
my breed extinct.
going
going
going
gone.

Once upon a time,
there was a girl who was consumed by cigarette smoke.
She loved the feeling of inhaling
death each time she took a puff.  Maybe all she wanted to be was
death and
that's why she kept lighting butts.

Driven by emotions
Stalled by fears
Drowning in troubles
Ending in Tears

Speak to me
Sound like you could be no more
than what you have come to be.
Speak like you've made it
the moment your own.

Cry like you have no fear
that you can't reveal
and you will become one
guidance will shield you.

Shine your light into dark
Reveal truth, a'part
of me is you, you I
together try
to sound
truthful

I want to feel
Even if only for a second
I want to change
I want the new
To move away
From my old self
But I miss it all
So I want to change
But still experience the old
Which can never be
Because it's different here
And to receive love
You must put yourself
Out to be taken
And I do it anyway
Just to feel

My life is filled with half-finished sentences
Letters I wish I'd written
Letters I wish I hadn't
Letters unfinished, like the sentences
And as the items stack up
Without the finality they require
They beg me to finish them
With a pleading nothing else can replicate
The pleading of a thousand voices
Never fully formed
And perhaps if I believed that
If I believed that everything I never finished
Were half-formed fetuses
Sitting in the basement
In jars of formaldehyde
Their tortured faces preserved
As their tiny imperceptible hands
Beat the glass perpetually
Perhaps if I believed that the rows and rows
Of jars were pleading with me to finish
It might be that I would
And the voices would slowly disappear
Until the basement was empty
And all of my sentences
Ended.