"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

I surrendered my senses
to every word
that left your mouth
and landed
on my lips
silencing
all sense
of doubt

343

My Reward for Being, was This.
My premium—My Bliss—
An Admiralty, less—
A Sceptre—penniless—
And Realms—just Dross—

When Thrones accost my Hands—
With “Me, Miss, Me”—
I’ll unroll Thee—
Dominions dowerless—beside this Grace—
Election—Vote—
The Ballots of Eternity, will show just that.

and here i am again
at the intersection
of pedestrian language
& old wives tales
swallowing gum
like 7 year memories
opening umbrellas inside
cause i can't seem get away
from all of this rain
i ******* with my left hand
cause i was told
back in highschool that
"it feels like someone else is doing it"
it gets me wondering
about the difference between
losing you and finding out
that some one else found you
or my sleep
or lack thereof
its starting to tear me apart
i keep having this dream
where you are in
an unfamiliar body of water
trying to wash my poetry
off of your hands
or the one where
something happens in my chest
every time you sit
on someone else's bed
i'm tired of feeling like something you've misplaced
but don't have the heart
to look for anymore
tired of you saying my name
like you're trying to bury it
i'm tired of wondering
if you can tell the difference
between the absence
of my voice & silence
the other day
i almost started sobbing
at work when a woman
asked me about
our equipment
i was explaining how
things come apart
and almost mentioned your name
it made me think
of how you used to say
things like "what would you do
if i showed up on your doorstep
one day?" now, i haunt
the windows in my house
i don't leave for weeks at a time
i sit on the porch like the dog
you didn't shoot behind the shed
the one that refuses to die
until you come home again
i told somebody once, that
you didn't even know
what my voicemail sounded like
i wonder if they thought
it was because you
are so important that i never
let it ring that many times
before picking up
or if you dont know
what it sounds like
because you've never called
you can't be the ****** weapon
and the search party
i'm tired of all the seats
to the ferris wheel in my chest
being empty
tired of your voice
being the one i look for
in abandoned places
that one sound i beg
to bounce back
down vacant hallways
i just seem to stand there
in all of that quiet
like someone looking for a mistake
on an eviction notice
so i guess the hardest part
isn't letting go
it's forgetting
you ever had a grip
in the first place
and since you've been gone
i wonder if when
you pushed yourself away from me
you used your left hand
so it felt like someone else did it

I have a persistent existence

there are echoes in his shadowed clouds
thunder and rain drops falling from the sky
he says he loves me
but I dare not ask why

I share my dreams
so detailed it seems

they're made up things

he has seen me lie
so I tell the truth

until it echoes
   e c h  o   e   s
like how my eyelids open

to the sound of thunder
to the sounds of my mistakes

he shakes the wake of my existence
holds no pride in his resistance

teaches me to be true
in all that I do

even when

staying up late nights
I explain to him what it is I write
regretting nothing
forgiving fights

the words mean more than nothing
because
the confusion of our illusions
that we can't believe in
drop like rain
they drop like rain

singing pain in the untold thoughts
that mean more
than the washed up shore
that had tidal waves
(untold graves)  
seashells sea ringing
(the hells are singing)

so don't stop bringing
your music, your art
the love we have
not yet torn apart

keep playing
keep singing
love bringing

your heart
creates art

he is beautiful
oh, like the sun
dripping golden light,
& God what I would give
to have him make
the flowers in my mind
grow again

This isn't about you anymore.

          I'm starting to see a pattern. It's kind of like, staring at the tiled wall in the shower. You want to slip and fall, maybe break your head, but you can't seem to stop looking at the wall. The art.

             The faces and the places on the wall, they talk and breathe, and the more you see, the more you know. And the more you see, the more you want to know, but it all seems to stretch out into nothingness. Everything blurs together, and the more you know, you find you actually know nothing at all.

          That's where I'm coming from, I've always known where I was coming from, but I have never known where I was going. This isn't about you anymore. I've come to realize that my life is a lot like that wall. Winding and endless, like if Satan was a snake and he made a home around my neck. Coiled tight enough to make me see stars in your eyes, but loose enough to make my head pound with pain.

              So it's all about me, and I'm endless. I'm sad and I'm tired, and I have no answers, and I'm all alone. I know that I'll have to keep going, but I also know that I think I'm going to leave you behind. This isn't about you anymore. I'll take my heart back and leave it for someone more special - maybe my dog or my best friend, Carolina.

      I think they'll take better care of it, and I can focus on what really matters: living a life that doesn't involve drowning. Drowning in thoughts, drowning in tears, drowning in possibilities. I think I've had enough of that.

I think I can swim.

i'm not going to sweet talk into a deep metaphor that punches you in the gut with my last line. i could tell you about how a baby raccoon covers it's eyes when it's scared, and how every time you didn't answer the phone i covered my eyes. i could ramble on about the theory of evolution and how people say it's not real. i believe in it because apparently i evolved into something you didn't want anymore. but that's boring. why don't you tell me how the sun gradually sets? or what would happen if all technological communication was severed? or tell me what you do when you hear someone play a wrong note? please tell me how you slowly lost interest in me and finally cut it all off and acted like i made the mistake. oh dear, i did exactly what i said i wouldn't do at the beginning. sound familiar?

a.h.d.