when does the night become us?
at what moment is the soul raised to the sky?
death, say some
and some ask why

the stars are dead,
and because we watch them miles and miles from where they rest
we are still fascinated by
these flames that hang in shapes and forms that make up our night sky

but what if our night sky is really not made up of bones?
if the stars don’t dwell on our dead bodies or take pride in a corpse,
I would in fact believe that
the sky does make up your soul

I do believe your heart's the moon
and constellations map out your veins
so when they ask if our souls look down from above,
I'll say I'll ask when I see you again

death can be the happiest thing,
though not thought gay nor won
to drum the drums made for the king
and to listen to the doves

as I thought of death before I died
not once was it glad or glee
and most of us fear and dread that moment
our souls are finally free

I cut off my hand
to put in a bouquet
that you didn’t keep

and at that moment I gazed up; all I saw
was darkness and emptiness and a non-dimensional horizon.
it was an empty canvas with the exception
of entirely black.
but all of a sudden, little specks appeared,
almost like the moon's reflection on dark, salty water.
rippling waves on the black fickle surface like
the twinkling stars that night.
my ignorant eyes looking at the
faint light reflected on your face.
and that was the sky
I never saw again.

there was a time when I looked to the stars
and I saw your face
it was simpler and less difficult
and I didn’t have to cry when I thought of you

I used to believe that your heart was the moon
and that your sun shone upon me where I walked

but the moon has grown cold
and the sun’s burned my skin
and the stars don’t look like you at all

but the moon shines where it wills
and the sun burns who it pleases
and the stars don’t really look like anything anyway

to take off
to dip low
to feel the chill breeze
behind my old feathered wings
to close eyes
to glide high
to smell pine and wood
and other things of this world
to soar
to explore
to rely and to trust
on wings to do what they must
to taste the flavor of fall
to sing and to call
to be the creature
who's existence is most envied of all

the rocks were cool and rough
under the dark sky last night.
into the vacuum we looked up;
the stars were somehow both dim and bright.
they laid twinkling on their black bed,
as a people, the moon was their king.
he had shown down like a spotlight to the sparkling water,
his reflection danced on the dark stage.
the audience chirped,
and we sat talking by the shoreline,
and all the city lights and noises disappeared
in the beauty of the night.

la luna llora cada noche cuando el sol desaparece,
sus lágrimas son las estrellas.

it's weird that sometimes
when you study books
so hard
and so long
you discover
how every little thing
everyday
has a meaning too

some historical allusion
or literary illusion
that tells you exactly how someone feels about you
or how you feel about them too.

so maybe all those studies
weren't always a waste
maybe the real meaning behind all of it is that
they want you to give you a taste
of all the symbolism of things
before you're too late

for somehow we remember
again we live out what
we once knew

and those precious moments
are stacked away
and scratched on our hearts

yet somehow we forget

I noticed devices,
the signs used in books to foreshadow
to hint at the written future
and at what is ahead to come

like our strides while we walked
or the difference in our shadows
that hints at our now-passed future
and at what has already come

it has been six months now
half a year since we have grown apart
and I'm not asking for you back
to be as close as we had come

just please think about me
was I important to you at all
if you left me as fast as you did
even as close as we had come?

just please think about us
and I'm still not asking for you back
it's just something to think of
if you have time left for me, love

we stare at boxes full of light
it takes what we think it gives
experiences now across wire lines
instead of real events

even typing poetry
I feel that earth has gone amiss
when in fact the 'whole world' is right
behind my fingertips

if we could only lift our eyes
we'd see our world exists
but could you only tell me what's
the purpose of all this?

it's fascinating how fast
time seems to run away
but in looking back
you realize how
much has changed
since then

I started going to counseling this week
because my plants started dying

the roots are all rotted
and the leaves are just slowly eating away at themselves

maybe my roots are rotten too
and I need to fix them before I start eating myself up

I’ve gone and done
something dumb
again
you can’t love me,
but what if
you do?
you look at me,
I *******
crumble
your eyes on me
making me
want you
knowing I won’t have you
probably not ever
now I’ll sit in my car
I’ll pretend forever
you want me too

you called me heartless
but I think you lost your heart
somewhere on the way

it doesn’t feel very nice when
someone likes you and
gets to know you and
then decides they
don’t like you so much

our hands touched for a split second
but it’s all I’ve been able to think about for days

you called me cold,
your frozen fingers giving mine frostbite

I hate when people use the psalm to say,
“our bodies are wonderfully made,”
but they don't teach us that our minds
are made wonderfully as well

I am fearfully made but I am fearful
for I have been taught through this teaching
that my body was made more wonderfully than my mind

when nothing seems to hurt or pain my soul
no knife nor murderous weapon there reside
some feeling lingers through my body whole
a numbness blinding every sense inside

for just as too much darkness in the night
can force you into the abyss of sleep
it is the excess of the brightest light
that keeps you from the life you wish to reap

for the distractions of the joys we hold
might keep us from the blade that we so fear
but also these great treasures dressed in gold
will hold us back from shedding any tear

although I’m overjoyed no darkness comes
I know that all I really am is numb

how can I long for you
when I've only loved you in a dream?

am I a sicko
wanting something different
from what I should want?

every night before I sleep
I pray I won’t see you again in my dreams

every time, you scratch open the wound in my back
and I’m so tired seeing you like that

why can’t I remember the days when you made me alive?
you were the only one who knew me and a part of me died

maybe all of me died when you threw me away
like the trash in the corner you’ve been ignoring all day

I hate that you treated me like that, even more that you still are
I hate that my mind tries to tell me who you are

I know that’s not you, the one I see in my sleep
I know you're not the monster I see in my dreams

please, I can’t watch you slash open the scar on my skin
because you’ve hurt me too much to hurt me again

I know that’s not you; but if it is, then who am I,
but the trash you forgot to take outside?

because you killed me and bagged me and threw me away
I was the trash that you left on the corner that day

and it's black and it stinks and I'm covered in ****
and I thought that you loved me more than this

I've tried and I've tried to push these thoughts out
and trust me, I'm trying to stop dreaming so loud

and I hate when I try to convince myself that's what you're like
but I hate it even more when I'm ******* right