There was a dirt road that is now paved
There sits a house where the tree line fades
Through its doors I do not know
Who walks the halls beside my ghost?

On a tree right down the road
A cross is nailed and the oak tree bows
On a cross tattered and dim
Reads my name-- never forgotten

Beneath my feet once powdered brown
Green grass grows all around
Except one spot where dead grass lay
Evidence of other days
Through the glass- between the blinds
Bottom the sound of whistling chimes
Into my room I glanced to check
If my room was clean and not left a mess
But where clothes once lay-- a different boy plays
And on his mind it does not weigh
Who walks these halls beside my ghost?

Just today I read
That we are all somewhat daft
Not a curse, methinks

This is a
waste of time, all my
thoughtful pretending

and I seldom allow
myself to recognize who
I want to be, surrounded by
strings, a silently persisting
taboo future

While it's easy to talk about holding on to
moments, they always slip through your
fingers in hindsight (I never thought I'd miss
having my name penciled on a napkin holder)

always is a strong word, I just
know I won't be around forever

and I'm not supposed to, not
yet

you don't understand at all do you
not truly
you think
I'm a liar
that I still hold the knife
that
stabbed you in the back
[and in the heart]

kinda speechless
that you feel that way
think that way
believe it
untrustworthy? misleading?
false emotions?
can you not read?
here let me try again
maybe I can make it like braille
feel the words

it's like when the clouds stormy eyes
welled up and let fall the
tears of weekend rain
soggy, we laughed along with the thunder
and under our waterfall we let the windows
fog
tell me I lied then

or picture if you will
standing by the tree I
always parked by
it was a starry night, but we didn't see it
we were too focused on our faces
except
why is it I was the only one
drowning in the sadness that overtook my eyes
shaking with each strained, choppy breath
clutching that gray shirt like a life jacket
do you think that was all
for show?

haven't you looked at
my collection of black and white
silly letters scribbled down as fast as possible
trying as hard as I can
to leave it all
on the paper
but it's as if each word I write
is a tattoo
slowly invading every part of my skin
it's sinking in, it's staining everything
do you think this agony I speak of
is fake?

if so
if I am that liar with the knife who
led you astray and "******* you over"
let you down, kicked you around
if you can't seem to
open your eyes
and notice
just how much I love you
just how much I always have

then you don't deserve it

ill run miles for you when I know I only
have the strength for one
but don't you
dare
watch me run
if you don't even grasp
that I stabbed myself in the back
led myself astray

you have a right to
hate the wound
but if you can't see
what I feel
one day
I will learn
that I have to let go
and I will

then all these silly letters
all for you

well. go ahead and throw them away
on that day
they will carry no life
anymore