everytime I think of you
my chest begins to hurt again
is it pain? is what i'm feeling so awful?
no, no, it's wonderful

and even if your smile is a little crooked, a little imperfect
it's still perfect
because that smile is for me
i want to tell you
how much i care
so why must i wait?

for the others who i cannot be with
never touching, never speaking
growing ever further away
despite the constant reassurance and the
'I Love You's
it isn't the same

because she smells like pine and popcorn butter
and they smell of nothing at all
distance grows and i do not like the feeling
i do not like growing apart from those i love
so why must I?

why
must
i?

i see her
everywhere that i look
the curve of her smile haunts me
as i stare into the mirror
to face a stranger
i do not know her anymore
nor do i believe that i ever have
it is a rift between two parts
a split between what used to be whole
she is no longer whole
she may never have been
and i still see her when i look back
into the mirror
she is always there
hiding within the mirror

i know i seem
like i am coping just fine
trekking through life as though
i do not see the destruction
that falls
around
me

you would be wrong
to assume
that i am okay
as i am barely keeping
my head above water
choking on words
that are never spoken
and forcing out
compliancy

and when you ask me
i smile
and reply with a nod
when the real trouble is
that the light
inside is
burning
out

as i sit and stare
at the clock, ticking on the wall
i wonder why the hands turn
the way that they do
and why we
have decided that a minute
is equal to sixty seconds
and sixty minutes
is an hour
in reality,
does time really exist?
or are we all just
hallucinating it
into existence?

do you know
who you are?

because i don't
recognize your face
anymore

did i ever really
know you?

or did i just fool myself
into thinking that i did?

looking into the mirror
i do not see myself standing there
instead, it is a warped,
twisted,
floating head
supported by shoulders that are not mine
and the rest is skin
just...there
no muscle, hardly anything keeping me together
barely a person
barely alive
barely anything at all

i miss you.

i met someone
with your name this morning
it made me feel
some sort of way

i miss you.

and i began to wish that
i had gotten to know you

i miss you.

that i could've gotten to love you
hold you
and given you advice
just like a big sister should

i miss you.

whether it's real
or not
i don't think that's
any of
your business.

i know that
we aren't together
but i want to be;
even if it's just as
good friends
because my jealousy
terrifies me
and i hate being scared.

i notice them on the bedroom floor,
scratching up the woodtile
i know you're living there,
in my home
in my room
who
are
you?

because i have never seen you before
and i am afraid
of strangers.
and i am afraid
of the dark.
and i am afraid
of drowning.
and
i
am
afraid.

are you afraid,
too?

perhaps we could be afraid
together.

would you like that?

maybe then,
we could leave
scratches on the woodtile
together.

you like them
because of him;
i like them
because of you.

when you fake it til you make it
you forget who you once were;

because the reason that you fake it
is so that you'll be close to Her.

a secret society
of lost ideologies
and upset stomachs
acidic with pride
tired
because we woke up our old gods
too early
it is not the end of the world
and now they are making it so

i miss her
as though i am at stay-away camp
with no access to a phone
or mail
and i am instead forced
to wait

The buzzing in the ears
Of the children in the room
Is a cacophany
That drowns out the discussion, hushed, over the phone.

And so the thrumming
Of heartbeats in chests
Rise to the pounding of drums
Which rattle in our brains.

Who is next?

Is it you?

Is it me?


Who

is

next?

I am sitting in the rain,
Awaiting the bus.

I want to go home.

But I am sitting in the rain,
Awaiting the bus.

The bus is here, but I don't want to get on.

So I am standing in the rain,
Considering the bus.

The driver opens the door, waiting for me to enter.

And I stay standing in the rain,
Eyeballing the bus.

"Ready to go?" I shake my head, but enter anyway.

I am sitting on the bus,
staring at the rain.

everyone is asleep;
the air conditioning
is the loudest thing in the house,
and I sit upon the stairs

waiting,

waiting,

waiting.

sitting in the corner
of the room
staring at a corner
of the room
where the ceiling
meets the walls
and the voices
are like water.

sitting on the bus
in the rain
staring at the road
in the rain
through the window
see the people
splotchy and wet
warped in the glass.

eating with my parents
tired and quiet
speaking with my parents
tired and quiet
and the effort put into
conversation
is minimal
their voices are muffled.