I loved a man
with all my heart
and he said
he loved me back.

But months later
he went with her
so now my heart
has a crack.

A crack so wide,
it could swallow
you whole, like all
I ever wanted to be.

Now everyday,
I suffer the truth
That who he wants
Has never been me.

Has it really been that long since

flowers were blooming in my hair,

stars were shining in my eyes

and tingles were dancing on my lips?

It feels like only yesterday that

you picked all my flowers,

shot at my stars

and pressed your lips to mine

until all the tingles faded.

Has it really been that long

Since I fell into a deep winter?

Maybe spring’s just around the corner.

You'll be pestered with letters.
Partly because I like to look at your name in my messy handwriting but mostly because if I don't - I'd go crazy without saying half the things I'd try to say in person.

Sometimes I'll stare at you and wonder how on earth I ever managed to acquire such a beautiful creature.
And I'll wonder how long you'll take to realise you could do so much better.

I'll write you poetry,so many pieces.
Describing your eyes and your hands.
I'll write sonnets to the freckle on the right side of your neck.

I'll make you listen to songs that remind me of you & believe me there are many.
I'll write the lyrics on my hands hoping you'll be intrigued to search for answers.

I like code names, ridiculous ones.
So you'll get a few of those too.
I watch tons of movies, I'll do it while I lay my head on your chest.
I laugh at the most inappropriate times.

If public displays of affection embarass you - I'll embarass you everywhere we go.

You should know I'm over-emotional & extremely jealous. I get paranoid and I worry a lot too.

You'll be mine & I'll be yours.
You'll mean the world to me because I don't have anyone else.

Dear Talia,

I don't want to be a tortured artist.
I don't want to be depressed and I don't want to be anxious.
Competitive sadness and disorders treated like accessories disgust me.

The world glamorizes mental illness, and I don't understand why. There is nothing romantic about being mentally ill just like how there's nothing glamorous about a broken wrist or a torn medial collateral ligament. There's nothing romantic about constantly being afraid that the world will fold in itself and **** you with it. There's nothing romantic about feeling like you could break down and cry at any moment.

This is the first piece I've written while being medicated.

I want it to be Christmas already.

The world dreams itself a halo, but can only attain horns. The halo is an illusion and the horns are an idea.

I'm due to take another Lorazepam. Would I look cool to the kids who idolize dysfunction and misinterpret pain as style, if I were to take one of these, with water and a distant glance, in front of them? Geez, to have their approval would to have everything and nothing at all.

I'm not sure why I've written as much about this as I have.

You.

It is 2:48 am and all I can think about, in this moment, is you.

I can't wait to spend Christmas with you. I can't wait to wear bad Christmas sweaters, and be the couple everyone hates, as we sing Christmas carols and spread holiday cheer.

I wrote this poem a few minutes ago. Sometime around 2:30 am. I'm not sure. I'm exhausted:

I sat on the edge of my bed, and on the edge of my life,
medicated to the point of pointlessness. Soft.
It was the nineteenth, not the twentieth,
and I wished I saw the fireworks with her fifteen days earlier.

My gasps tore the shingles off of the house.
And they hung suspended above the hole in the roof.
And God stared down into my room, as the shingles swirled skyward.
"I see you," I said, "but I don't believe in you."

I left home and ran until I was a dream that had passed itself.


I hope that was okay.

I love you.


Yours,

Joshua Haines

I miss you,
More than the infinite,
Timeless number,
Our hearts cannot define.

I miss you,
The waves of efficient,
Self worth you gave me.
The feeling of clarity,
You stretched out,
across the shore.

I miss you,
Now the wind has changed,
And you no longer,
See me as who I know,
I could be.

I miss you,
Being your namesake sunshine,
Now I blend,
With the greyest skies,
And you just lie,

You just lie.

its romantic how we get each other through a thursday night
its sad how you’ll never see that smudge of red lipstick just below my lip
misplaced, you would have said, beautifully misplaced
and i’ll ask which film is lighting up your face

it is ladies night, it is free well-drinks
and so i start every order with ‘well,’ and a sigh
and i tip the bartender with daisies
i never was good with money, flowers are a currency

and you find some kind of eloquent word to describe me walking home alone
beautiful, endearing, and you forget to mention that its unsafe
“you should have some company”
and i forget to mention that i wish it was you

so instead i laugh and swoon on the phone with a former lover
taking a break every so often
send a text that i’m still eloquently walking,
my heels writing love letters to you

I remember those moments,
when I didn't cry,
I wept.
You would hold me gently but close,
And I would listen to your steady inhales and exhales.
I remember those moments,
Being so amazed.
I am usually the strong one.
And here I lay cradled in your arms,
careless but thankful as to the minutes you've spared for my weakness.
You heal me with just your presence.
I remember our moments,
Remembering makes me forget where I am.
Remembering makes me okay.