Twisted tail of me and you
Been so long and felt so true
But I hug my feelings and you guard yours
All I wanted was your stuff in my drawers
But you want to be free
And who am I to plea?
So now you be you
And I'll be me

I kinda wish you'd give me a shove
slap me in the face, or direction,
metaphorically.
Then at least when I trudged down the sidewalk I would be dignified
Bruised but not scarred I could cry you out
But here I am
Caught in limbo with long nights and short chats

Here is the funny thing about being your shadow.
I follow you everywhere, with only two exceptions.
When you turn off the lights and pull her close in the comfort of darkness.
But worse than that is when the sun is shining directly on you and you are happy (then I am really gone).

Trapped in the bottle of reality
I bang on the glass to scream for help.
Trying to tip the bottle with my forceful body,
I begin to roll down the massive hill of the sad truth:
There is no getting out.
I aim the heavy bottle toward the ocean,
Hoping someone will save me.
I am the message in a bottle crying for a solution,
Waiting to be found.

Love is one of the most dangerous feelings I have experienced in this little, pointless life of mine.

It has the power to make one feel like you are on top of the world,
but also has the power to break your heart and mind into a million little pieces that can never be put back together.

I have seen it tear apart pleasant relationships,
and I have seen it mend together even the deepest wounds.
It has the ability to melt one’s walls and let anything and anyone in,
but also forces one to put up every guard he or she owns just to make sure that heartbreak does not happen again.

Love gives one strength to care about others,
only to rip the most beautiful smile off of one's face when it disappears.
It is something the best and worst people will feel at least once in his or her life,
and it is something he or she will learn to love or hate.

Either way, it is an inevitable feeling that I personally do not mind because it teaches me to be a better person;
no matter how good or bad it treats me.

The hills rolled and faded away
in an obscuring gray snowfall daze
and he doesn't want her

A pair of pairs of jeans and a
gray hoodie with thermals underneath
couldn't warm him up to her

His head, three hoods deep, dreams
coddled in disbelief at the time passed between
the last she had him and now

These months, years they may seem,
are minuscule minutes in the eyes of history
and he keeps breathing without her

With the snow now up to his knees
and a want to be buried beneath the damp gray
he hitches deep and coughs