he spoke out his heart
right next to my ear
and it tickled inside
like a soft violin

I find myself tracing my timeline
of all my littlest achievements.
That is the aftermath of all my failures.

6.02 a.m.

sunlight pries your eyes open and i
meet you for the ****** time again and again

nothing mends and breaks my heart more than watching
you fall in love with a novel fragment of me every day


9.35 a.m.

i toast bread with both eyes closed
and i let them char like the edges of my heart

you tell me last thursday's joke
but i erupt into hilarity, anyway


3.17 p.m.

nostalgia is a side-effect of forgetting
you reminisce about knitting parties we never threw

between giggles, i wonder how your words are needles
that pick all of the right places


7.43 p.m.

this world is a stygian dystopia
but you, you are my sole scintilla of colour

i feed you blatant lies for dinner
only to let you sleep with a peace of mind


11.59 p.m.

i watch you fall asleep to the rhythm of my silence
there are all types of silences and distances
but this
this is the worst kind


please, don't forget
to remember
me.

Sometimes a miraculous thing happens.

The body ages,
And the skin crinkles like an old plastic bag.
And even though the body fades, the soul still fights on.
And the soul comes through the eyes.
And the most crinkled, faded old people will have the deepest eyes. Sometimes deeper than any others. Their soul comes through their eyes and draws everything in.
They glow with a brilliance earned over many years,
And even though the body withers, the eyes stay bright.

Why can't we have meaningless talk
the way people have meaningless ***-
you would crash over me into a
river of un-scathing emptiness
and leave marks on my skin-
stories that this was where
you started to tear at
the seams
effortlessly
like the silkness
of your sorrows on my floor.

You would become a sultry verse
in this anthology of every day
lodged between the rush and
vacancy of broken hearts
and anguished limbs.

You would radiate the heat
of your angry, angry heart onto
the cold deadness of mine,
and we could burn and melt
all at the same time.

Meaninglessly you would leave
me out of breath,
gather your clothes
and go home.

I kept chasing
you, as if
you were
a distant dream.
But dreams
are not always
dreams.
Sometimes, we have
nightmares too.

This is not a love poem
this is an I love you do you love me like
I love you poem
do you know me like
you think you do poem
this is a would you be disappointed
if you did poem
an I have been feeling the chilling of the air
and I cant tell if it is just the fault of the season
or if you, too, are cooling
whatever heat you had for me
browning and falling and
crumbling between my fingers
like the leaves of these oak trees
in november poem
a what would I need to do to keep us warm poem
and this is also
an I may be completely mistaken poem
an it was seventy degrees today poem
this is a show me I am completely mistaken poem