We're a generation
of bad habits
and hypocrites
that'll do whatever
it takes to be happy;
whatever it takes
to supposedly
remain free.                
        
         Because
         the truth is;
                  we're all addicted
                 to something.

And   we     let       it       get
       the    best    of      us

They taught her
Not to believe
The sweet nothings
Boys would tell her.
"I would do anything for you."
"You mean the world to me!"
"Oh, darling, I love you so much."

For they were all lies.

Little did they know
That she, too,
Would never believe those lies.
In fact,
She was the one
Who told them.

some days even when
everything in my life is in a crescendo
a part of me feels numb

a small part of me is numb to all the love,
all the joys, all the sadness, all emotions
all I feel is this numbness that comes out of
"a deep emptiness"

I know I cannot fill this vast emptiness,
so I cry out to a something greater than myself,
eventhough I don't have a clue what that might be

I embrace my numbness and accept that
life cannot be lived in extreme highs and lows
I want to embrace stability and not reject it as boredom

But some days I just want crawl into bed and not wake up
I feel so numb, and I have to remind myself that
"feelings aren't facts."

So I get out of bed and go through the motions
hoping against hope that someday my "deep emptiness"
is filled with an abiding love that will fill me to wholeness

He wasn't very beautiful, no.
Nothing extraordinary.
But he was everything I was looking for.
Car rides from school have been imprinted in my memory like hands in wet stone.
His cigarettes filling up my lungs with smoke and leaving my brain rushing and wild.
The way he looked at me, I couldn't even tell you.
I never had anyone look at me that way and haven't since.
It wasn't as dreamy and beautiful as I might make it seem,
Still remembering it with my former teenaged mind,
I spent most of my time wanting him to **** me in the cleaning closet upstairs at our after school job,
Or at least touch me, nervously.
But that never happened.
I did however find myself touching him.
Reaching into his soul and pulling him out until he couldn't hide from me anymore.
I made myself his home and stored his thoughts, desires and pains in myself,
Like his suicidal tendencies,
His misunderstandings and anger,
His love for my friend, Katie.
Different than ours.
I felt heartbroken,
Yet so happy as long he was,
And while it seemed unfair
I finally passed infatuation and found love in its purest form,
No matter how unfair it was.

I am an insomniac by association.
I associate with sleepless nights and mindsets that are too wobbly and shaky to be anything less than a tornado.
I want to rename my veins after hurricanes.
This one's Sandy because it washed away the girl I loved in New Jersey.
Because the ocean is never as salty as my cheeks after I kiss her through the miles.
Because I am not a boy, because my mother thinks I wear black because I used to slit my wrists.
Because of my tattoos that whisper of their memories while I lay in bed counting the stars I can't see.
So I start counting the stars I see in my head.
So I started taking drugs that made me see them instead.
I am an insomniac because I want to sleep but only when I remember the reasons why I can't.

You killed a part of me
it only hurts less
because time
has spread it
through
my body

Would it be considered suicide
If I failed to see the truth
Or listen to friends time and again
That the gun in my hand was you

Who was it that purchased the bullets
Who spun the magazine
Who left the fatal shot in the chamber
Who caused this horrific scene

As it goes it doesn't much matter
The shot has already been fired
The end couldn't have come quickly enough
The hole straight through the heart

So I ask...

Would it be considered suicide
If I failed to see the truth
Or listen to friends time and again
That the gun in my hand was you

Crack a hole in my skull
to let some light in
I’m walking around confused
checking out the numbers
on the side of houses
I’m walking around whistling the theme tune
of a movie I never saw
in light tinted green through newly sprung leaves
I bask in the holy midday sun
everything so fresh and new
it makes one forget about mistakes
and tomorrows
and consequence
pour me a strong, cold drink
I want to live life
on an endless back porch summer night
where the insects and the trees make their music
as we slowly let go
of the parts of ourselves
which hold no real weight
cut me to see if I bleed
I bet the blood would never come
too thick from the sweat induced
dehydration
I’m drinking iced coffee
on an infinite stretch of broad street
I’m climbing the trees of my childhood
to pick the fruits of my memories
they taste like nostalgia
and they taste like you
how I imagine you taste
if we were cast together
outside of time
these are the musings
of a mind riddled with growing up