you know it's bad
when i would rather deal with my unmedicated depression
than this loss of you.
-a.c.b

i told you not to make promises you can't keep
yet you still swore to me
you were in this for the forever.
you promised me you wouldn't leave,
and then you left.
should i even be surprised?
they've always left.
-a.c.b

there are so many of you
that i would love to sit down with;
maybe over a milkshake and a plate of fries;
and just talk.
i want to ask you about the boy that hurt you,
about the anger you feel deep inside
over a father who said he’d come back...
and then didn’t.
i want to run with you through pages of words and say
“oh that’s right, what a lovely metaphor.”
i want to see all your smiling faces and
thank each and every one of you for showing me kindness,
for saving my life.
i want to collaborate on novels of poetry
and laugh with you through the tears of our pasts.
so until we sip those milkshakes and eat those fries...
thank you, to
some of the most beautiful people i have never met.

she walks prospect avenue in the rain.
dead eyes, sore feet
the flowers have wilted into
the shadows of acceptance.

she finds the corner
and the last light lit,
wants a match for her cigarette.

a ****** that has found her god.
a needle and a bed of thorns.


the beep from a car's horn,
so a customer waits,
swings open a rusty gate.

and when that door

slams

shut

the prisoner of light asks,

"where have all the flowers gone?

run naked
in the garden of life

along emilys hill road
the trees are bare

she's skipping stones
across st martens creek

as she turns
smiling my name

her breath comes out
white clouds
mingles
and hangs in the air

the quiet
stillness
in her eyes

she sees something
in me
that I can't
see

and that s why
i love her so



emilys hill road
unchanged

the trees are bare

she's skipping stones
across
st. martins creek

I believe that's the way
I remember her best

A sunflower
Growing in a garden of roses
Searching for its home
Always wandering,
Alone.

A sunflower,
With auras of red,
White,
And yellow.
Hues entwined
In a weave so painfully mellow.

In a garden of roses,
Moving, growing, searching
A sunflower remains
Alone.

and when you said
laughter is like a foreign language
i imagined that i was
teaching you how to
speak it