All the times you roll over in the middle of the night and whisper the sweetest words I'll ever listen to.
The waking-up smirks, yawns, and hand-holding.
The scent of your plaid shirts draped over my shoulders on all the walks back from the ice cream parlour.
Each beer can that was tossed away, and clammered onto the kitchen floor.
I have bad aim.
The growing pile of shared space and objects and gifts, exchanged for no reason at all, other than our love, also shared.
The time I fell asleep with my finger in between your lips, comforted by the closeness that one finger had with your heart.
The hours spent driving to and from and circling seemingly endless parking lots.
The cigarettes shared, second-hand while holding hands.
The second glances,
"what" "what?"
"nothing, I just love you so much."

I don't know how hard it's been
for you to learn to cope.
I cannot see the scars beneath
your skin, your flesh, your bones.

I will never feel the wretched feelings
that made you so ****** up,
nor will I ever bear the beating
you still feel in your gut.

I know that all you've made it through
has made you who you are
no matter how much pain you knew,
I'm here to heal your heart.

How do you
silence
your
demons?

Some mornings, heartbreak is in your bones, settled deep inside though you can’t seem to recall sending the invitation.
Your rib cage stands like the bare tree of fall, the wind whistling through it’s frail branches, tapping on your window as if to remind you, you are alone.

Some mornings, heartbreak is in your skull, in the crevices of the pale blue casing that surrounds your every thought, the broken dreamcatcher trying to keep the evil away.
But ghosts can float between the bars, slip inside your deepest secrets, with no regret or remorse for making you cry out in the night.

Some mornings, heartbreak is in your spine, intertwining like ivy on a lamp post, leaving you begging for someone else to hold your own head up for you.
Comfort resides in the hours spent cut off from reality, for at least you have control of that, though the dreams leave you franticly reaching in the night for something unknown to even you.

Some mornings, heartbreak finds it’s way back to your heart, slides through the valves, into the ventricles, mixing with the blood that gives you life. Heartbreak gives you life. Heartbreak reaches every last corner of your body, crippling you and taunting you, but you are still capable of breathing on your own. Heartbreak may be a thief, but you are a statue, broken and crumbling around the edges but still standing after all these years.

Some mornings, heart break is in your body. It seems to make up the essence of you, but it is not your being. You are your being.

Funny how we woke up in the morning
and pretended that tomorrow never happened—
strutted naked in mirrors celebrating our youth,
laughing, knowing suns and moons couldn’t do the same.

We borrowed our arms from the fridge
and peddled bicycles with bad breath—
trading war stories ‘cause we knew
if we came back alive
life would still be the death of us.

When sun shines upon beaded grass,
Do not close your eyes.

When rain washes away the ugly dirt,
Do not zip your jacket.

When leaves color and fall to the earth,
Do not mourn the forlorn tree,
For it will awaken,
In spring.

To live.

There it is
sitting on the shelf
packed away in sacred cardboard,
only it has a more intoxicating effect.
The way the chemicals mingle
with hot heavy heat.
Potent yet powerless in its glass cage.

The lock breaks free with a slight
push
releasing invisible particles that
settle on your skin,
your bare neck,
leaving a hint of sweet acidic sugar.

I’m attracted to this
ephemeral concoction.

How it mixes with sweat:
So **** good
it makes me love,
and you love
like no other.
Our obsession amplified
with poisonous lust.

-S.Kelly Woz