Emotions relaxed in reverse,
I can’t imagine it any worse.
The sound of chalk against the wall.
The sound of talk, outside the hall.
The girl of such tall words and steep opinions,
never found the time to leave her voice,
and lend it to another’s choice.
She walked across the smoke filled room,
as if no one was watching,
as if no one noticed.
I see my death in her eyes,
the way a man can only wish he dies.
Wearing that aged cardigan from her father’s early years,
she divided her tears,
and gave me that look,
you only find in mirrors.

You were used to the cold nights,
and the lingering midnight flights.
Driving down a smooth cigarette,
where we were going,
I had not known yet.

On the drive home,
we sat in the backseats of your friend’s car,
The distance never seems as far.
Too many of us for one car.
We left our shoes at the beach,
by nightfall no one could see,
you touch your toes to me.
The reflection of the lights,
and music blaring,
allowed me to see,
you were staring.

Underneath the stretching trees.
Stranger still, my eyes are closing on the road.
More and more, with every heartbeat.
The air is getting tighter.
Its becoming more self aware.
Stranger still, I’m swerving in and out of consciousness.
By now my eyes are fading in and out of focus.
They’re very blurry, so very blurry.
Stranger still, it’s funny how I keep seeing the same faces,
but we are strongest in our broken places.
Stranger still, this moment won’t release you,
but it can isolate your senses.
Drifting into a different kind of despair.
One beyond repair.
Stranger still, the ringing in my ears,
The raining of my tears.
My tears of alcohol.
Stranger still, I can see everyone’s winter trees, as they sway.
I’m wondering what Holly would say.
“What an empty holiday.”
Stranger still, the vultures stood on every light post.
They were staring down at me like wise men on the coast.
They knew my future.
Moving with sound and sight.
They know I can see more in the dark, than in the light.
Stranger still, I sat alone on the couch, in the dark.
The only light casting from the Christmas tree,
I watched them hold each other, as they were getting loud.
The quiet sound of crying, was from me.

Underneath the rainfalls,
between the quiet walls,
of the retirement home.
This is where my heart lies.
Retiring from the depths of passionate want.

At the retirement home,
there is the tranquilizing smell of hush and peace.
It is kept colder than my memories.
This is where my body dies.
Retiring from a recycled depression.

The walls show no emotion.
But it gives me time to think.
I remember the night when we sat in the bed of your truck,
conversing for hours.
I stared at your glassy eyes,
as we wondered how Sunday was given its name.
Since it rains every Sunday.

It rains everyday at the retirement home.
This alcohol feels as though,
it’s not working like it should.
But you are a melody.
A melody that is whispered and heard,
flowing through the halls of this prison
"If we are all fading into the void,
why not do it carelessly?"
There is no sunlight, to call us home.

Sometimes I wonder if a life on the sea,
has anything in store for me.
But then again, I think I’ll stick to complimenting people's looks,
and reading outdated psychology books.
At the start,
our love was running to course,
and like every other love, it will soon fall apart.
Why do people get married,
when they only hope for a sure shot for divorce?

Drinking and writing, whichever comes first,
they have become my obsession, as well as my curse.
This is the norm that I must face.
I will never walk out that door.
Sure, I’ll give you your space.
Perhaps I should drift to another shore.
I don’t even remember what love feels like anymore.
Am I tormented by my own thoughts?
I’ve never spent a winter with someone else.

The bar was about to close,
so we started walking down the road.
I picked you a rose, as we shared sips from my flask,
until we reached the quiet cove.
And though the sign read “forbidden”,
we would never depart.
Because your lips keep your voice hidden,
but your eyes give away your heart.
You looked stone-faced as a statue,
but I’m here to help you cry, if you need to.

Why do we always fall victim?
We eventually fade into a colorless spectrum anyhow.
And why do we believe someone else loves us?
I want to love you more than I love myself.
Weary emotions and exhausting potions are all I seem to find.

Please reach into the back of my mind,
where the darkness lies,
behind my tired eyes.
You might find all my unspoken words,
the lonely thoughts, that were never heard.
Even further, you might see a crying boy.
He wants to disappear, his feelings so coy.

I can feel the lovely darkness taking hold of me,
the influence and lack of confidence taking hold of me,
As I cry each drunken night, staring at her window,
through that blurry rainy sky.

Old flowers falling off the limbs mean we all will disappear into the sea.
A cold hard broken heart means, when the rain pours,
so does my heart.
A sad reminiscing mind means you’re the one I’ve thought about for years.
I make believe to have memories of us together,
when I haven’t even met you…

I want to love you,
like no one has ever loved me,
But I can see your words that no one ever hears,
stained within your skin, buried in fears.
So don’t look out your window tonight,
just stay still.
In the end, I can’t wait to feel the fire embrace me,
since it’s the only thing that ever will.

Peeking through the blinds,
spying on the sunrise.
I live in the dark,
with my memories of The Fable.
hoping to send them away,
with the empty bottles on my coffee table.
My clothes smell of you and beer,
In the linen, are stains of tears.
My heart lives in the emptiness of tombs,
drinking my sad thoughts closer to my room.
In the morning, I listen to the tea leaves hit the steamy water.
Sipping on my cup as I watched her.
Staring at the reflection of your eyes in my cup,
listening to each final bubble burst, as I look up.
I never did understand the meaning of photo albums,
since it makes me cry for miles,
when I see pictures of our young smiles.
Reaching a distant high,
from your beautiful scent, still on my jacket,
From where you wept.
You told me, it’s the people who suffer,
who make good lovers.
I guess you already knew,
what was to be my fate,
ever since our first date.
I don’t want to be just a memory and slip into your past,
I want to be your present,
But it all went much too fast.
There’s no more emotion here,
and soon I will just disappear.
Watching the clouds pass in the reflection of the cars,
letting my life pass with them, to the stars.
Now its late, its half past four
and there’s a knock at my door.
Maybe its you, or maybe its my second death.
Everyone dies the first death, but the second,
is where you are forgotten.
Here is where we first kissed,
but I don’t want to be missed.

The rain still drips through my ceiling,
and I get that isolated feeling.
I reread your note,
slightly wet from the rain.
Over a hundred times I’ve read,
it still brings that similar pain.

On the night of my 21st year,
you were at the bar and drew me near.
Though it was hard to hear,
I could see your brown eyes filled with fear.
Then you described the details of your son,
and why your life was falling apart.
You looked at me asking where to start.
I recall you saying, “You don’t even realize,
how you cannot even see my dark eyes.”

As I stare into the mirror, each drunken night, it does not vary.
because every evening drifts me to the same cemetery.
This is where I sit and listen to your entity’s stories,
as I watch the pages fill with ink of sad memories.

We picked you up at the bus stop,
keeping all the silence, I was about to drop.
As we sat on my mother’s couch, we broke the news of your father’s death.
Never was something so difficult,
wishing it was my final breath.

On the way to visit your stone,
I can remember watching the blades of grass,
pass me by, oh so fast.
And looking up at the codes of street signs,
listening to the sound of wind chimes.
Then we would come to the bridge and I’d watch the still water,
pretending we were soaring over the endless unknown,
of the beautiful shimmering hydrogen way down below.
Once we scaled the peak we’d both smile and look down.

I stare into the mirror and find myself at the same cemetery.
In a passage of existential twilight,
I am securely fastened in a comforting, timeless moment.
Now I let the moment take over,
because there really is nothing past this.