In winter days
as cold as an arctic rush
I find comfort in
the length of your fingertips
grasping the edges of my sanity
and how your dimples show
with every snowflake;

you blush like the summer sun.

It seems that nothing
suffices anymore.
                                                  I
disc­ard everything as
useless, don't pay
attention to the
screaming in my
dusty brain. Seems I
                                                  can't
endure the simplest
tasks, I break and
feel as if the world
is swallowing me whole.
It's so hard to get
out of bed, let alone
                                                  stand
up and face whatever
lies in store for me
that day. Feels like
                                                  this
rolle­rcoaster is stopping
soon, coming to an end.
[My stomach can
stop lurching now.]
The fun is done, the
                                                  ride
is over.

I had a boy on top of me tonight
but not just any boy
he's an angel
a champion
my only hope in the most dreary of days

he laid on top of me in the grass
with lighting flashing behind his eyes
the wind shook the branches around us
and this angel
carried
               me
                       away
gathered me up in
every fold of his heart
we drifted towards euphoria--

I swear I'm in love.

Her wingspan is
a mystery
lost and forgotten
information;

he holds her too close
to even let them
flutter.

One of my friends
quiet as he may be
actually paused today and asked
why I am so against wearing my
seatbelt.

Why?

I had no heart to tell him
that without that safety harness
around my chest
I am one step closer to death
and I prefer it that way,
no heart to tell him
while they all think my
suicidal tendencies are
under control,
never to be seen again.

They think I'm all better
but I've got hidden demons
always begging to come out
and play.

Rich bark
clinging to oak
I am perfect
not yet destroyed
by chainsaws
tearing me down
and suddenly
I'm torn away
goodbye brown sap
and sturdy roots
collapse inward
form into a
beaten log
discarded into many
like myself
thrown into a pit
sold for warmth
not my own
time to disintegrate
into ash
flames surround me
lick burn scratch
so suddenly
I turn to nothing
turn to dust
buried with earth
I'm
gone.

You act as if I planned for this
but you don’t know the half of it,
you haven’t a single clue.

You could never understand
my love for rain;
how beautiful it is even after the wind subsides
bringing petrichor.
I wanted to dance beneath it--
you said people would stare
I did so anyways and
watched as you walked away.

You never bothered to decipher
my love for music
or the particular webs of notes
that made my heart strum like a six string
no--you never bothered looking for a pick.
Your only concern was how my preferred genre
contrasted from yours.

You never once fathomed
watching a full movie
without touching your lips
to mine
never truly grasped the scene
or fell in love with any of the characters
got offended when I forced you
to keep your eyes on the screen--
we were in a theater, for God’s sake.

We never spent a single day alone
at your house, nor mine,
never lazed around
watching the day go by around us
while baking fatty desserts,
not watching our favorite movies
playing stupid board games
I would have loved it
but no--when we weren’t with our friends
you were begging on your knees
for me to be in the same position
wouldn’t take no for an answer.

You once asked the medical
definition of depression,
never inquired for more.
Never unraveled the ribbons that tumbled
out of the dusty corners of my brain
late at night
when I couldn’t wipe the tears away
fast enough.
Never respected the days
where I woke up
wishing I didn’t wake up
I just wanted to be left alone
quit trying to hold my hand
you’re just ******* me off.
No--all you ever said
when those days came and went
was, “I’m sorry”.

Parts of this were my fault too--
I could’ve tried harder
to make you understand--
but the more I distanced myself
the more comfortable I felt.

You never claimed to be a poet, Dear,
but I did;
I claim it each and every day.
You never read the words
I asked you to
but the one good thing
I’ve held on to from our time together
are all the poems I’ve written of you,
all of the words that have collected themselves
to form the patchwork essence of
who you are
and I have finally come to understand
even though you probably haven’t
perhaps you never will
but for this,
I thank you kindly.

Coccooned in my own warmth
of something that's not
my own
I love you
endlessly.

I used to wake up
wishing I could sleep forever.
I used to dream of
living in the stars, away from pain,
away from air
and all things human.
I used to dread what I loved most,
used to think of death
with every possible encounter.
I even used to get genuinely mad because
I was still breathing.

I stayed up late most every night
because my mind would not shut up;
it would taunt and whisper
promise peace with just a handful of pills
or a jump off a bridge.
The devil lived inside of my head;
sometimes he comes back for a visit
but not too often lately.
He's left too many thoughts behind,
thoughts he'll never bring back with him
(wherever he goes)
because they're etched
and scarred
in dusty corners
permanent.

I've written a note
the one that says goodbye to everyone I love
the one that people will remember
and cry over most
if I ever wanted them to find it.
It's all there, all these past memories
and tortured thoughts
sprinkled on my personality to stay.

Sometimes it all floods
every
inch
of
me,
makes me feel like I'm decaying from the
inside
out
but I pull through.
I always pull through
I always come back up for
air.

But Depression,
she's no quitter.
She'll always be here to try and
drown
me.

It's just my choice if she
succeeds.

Slipping
like sheets of glass
as clear as how
those eyes used to
look at me
under thinly-veiled
barely hidden
glances
that happened by the dozens
in under two minutes.

Falling
with the stars
that you wished upon
every night
until I felt the urge
to collect myself within
your skin
your arms
as pale as the moon
shined.

Escaping
into those spontaneous plans
we had of visiting
unknown corners of
the universe
in hopes of finding
our old secrets
stuffed between wrinkled
hourglasses
begging to emerge.

Disappearing
as quickly as the sun
when she wants to give life
to the moon,
our passion faded with the
strum of phantom heartbeats
keeping the same rhythm
in closed caskets with
intricately woven stories of
how we never said goodbye.

I don't think I'll miss
the nights before you showed up
but I could be wrong.

Do you not know that in every spec of dust
and in each groove carved into the floor
and in all the etches of your skin
there is a grand momentum
building up, waiting to collide
with the essence of you and I in mind,
like the intricacy of your fingernails
digging down
                      down
                               down
into the soul with the speed of light
and only you and I
               you and I in mind
hoping to send us to expressions portraying nothing
--the numbness! the abyss!--
It notices us screaming
but it doesn't give a ****
and in every spec of dust
and in each groove carved into the floor
and in all the etches of your skin
a growing force is inching towards
the walls.

Although your cheek is
my only canvas today
(My lips the paintbrush)
I love you all the same.

*And paintbrushes slip
towards lips, sometimes.

I spent the first few
hours of summer lazing
with the boy I love.

Fingertips to lips
legs tangled together;
uncertainty coats your eyelashes.

Little kisses on the nose
forehead, chin;
we know what's coming next.

Your face is buried in
the nape of my neck;
we are cheek to cheek.

I align my nose with yours
our lips centimeters apart

                             Breathe
                   deeply

one...
                           two...
                                                    three
­
          F    
     a                      i                
        l                       n                      f
            l                 t                    o
                                  o       ­          u
                                                       r

Pull away
           eyes open

                        smile at
                                  perfection.

Lover I've got a problem
You're not kissing my neck
gripping my sides
You're not letting me
succumb myself to the joy
laced within your skin cells
and God forbid you're not
whispering future plans
in my ear
I can't see you bite your lip
I can't hear the small gasps
that sneak up from the depths
of your throat
I can't smell your cologne
or your bed sheets
or your favorite pillow
**It's all so **** far away

If I ever come across your stricken face
awash with grief
I hope to be deafeaned
so as to not hear you scream

--God knows I may deserve the sight;
the sight but not the sound--

and I will hold you until the flowers
bloom (or wilt) beneath the rain,
whichever outcome the weather decides for us
I will hold you,
and diminish thoughts of pain
and thoughts of misery,
until your eyes shine once again
as brightly as the sun,
until the meadow is dry and warm
with the absence of defeat

I will hold you.

Yesterday I missed your arms around me
Today it is your voice
and your lips
Tomorrow will be the way you say
"I seen" instead of "I saw"
or how when you laugh
you open your mouth as wide as it will go
unaccompanied by any sound
Next week I imagine it will be
how you look at me
between each kiss
like you can't believe your eyes
you grip me tighter because of it
like I'm just an illusion and
I'll disappear in seconds
And any other day you're gone
it will be the essence of your stressors
the basis of your burdens
the crux of your half-attempted smiles
that I am bound to miss;
it will be the very core
and constitution
and backbone
of you
that I long to preserve
essentially.

Love tumbles quietly down the small of your back
interrupts our mumbled arguments
and lingers in the pads of your fingertips.

You've been waiting for me to notice,
dropping little hints of worn gratitude--
segments that have been used in great quantities;

the previous recipients were oblivious
to the warmth of these words and actions
but I'm starting to sense fire under my skin--

I can smell the smoke.

It's eating her alive
gives her hallow eyes
divides her mind and heart
--seperates them worlds apart
they disintegrate to dust;
she's been waiting to readjust
attempting to be fierce
but dignity has long been scarce
and the minute she stands tall
is when Heaven declares its fall
upon the very land
that tore her limbs and both her hands
though perhaps with its demise
she will see with stricken eyes
what's been hidden all along:
peace was waiting, brave and strong.

If I am tortured longer than originally planned,
Hell has surely taken over.
The demons are released to destroy every particle
That may be coursing through my veins
And my skin is pale from lack of light
As though that is what shakes awake the color of my cheeks each day.
If I am tortured longer than originally planned,
If the devil dances amongst my shoulders,
Fear not, for I will surely defy my fate
And plunge into oblivion.
Fear not, for death will save me for the very first
--and last--
time.

Born deaf or born blind
they perceive it
as normal.
Wake up everyday
to silence
to blackness.

They know they're
different
but what does it matter
when different is what
you've always known
as normal?

Adapt to it
live with it
bask in it
and maybe you'll discover
there's nothing to be sorry
about.

At night I think of wandering
And as I lay there pondering
I question where I'll go.

Will I press within my freakish mind?
And if I do, what will I find?
I question what I know.

Maybe I'll go to another place,
One of a more physical state,
Perhaps under flakes of snow.

The more I think, the more it's seeming
Like I should sleep and go to dreaming
But thoughts are steady flows.

And I hate to lie awake at night
But insomnia puts up a fight
Which means my mind puts on a show.