"I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead;
I lift my lids and all is born again.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell's fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan's men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I fancied you'd return the way you said,
But I grow old and I forget your name.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

I should have loved a thunderbird instead;
At least when spring comes they roar back again.
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)"

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

Humanity i love you
because you would rather black the boots of
success than enquire whose soul dangles from his
watch-chain which would be embarrassing for both

parties and because you
unflinchingly applaud all
songs containing the words country home and
mother when sung at the old howard

Humanity i love you because
when you’re hard up you pawn your
intelligence to buy a drink and when
you’re flush pride keeps

you from the pawn shop and
because you are continually committing
nuisances but more
especially in your own house

Humanity i love you because you
are perpetually putting the secret of
life in your pants and forgetting
it’s there and sitting down

on it
and because you are
forever making poems in the lap
of death Humanity

i hate you

The poet lives two lives.
One on the outside,
And one in their mind.

When you look in their eyes
You could see an abyss.

If you looked long enough
You could sink into it.

But most people don’t see it.

Take the time to read the words, though,
And you would know for sure.

The poet lives in two different worlds.

Unfinished,
unpolished,
unfurnished;
unpublished.
Like us, a draft
of what can be called
"the both of us."
A draft created
that's open for change.

A change
to be better
---better
than who we are
or what we are
in the midst of the conflict
that floats around us
for the sake of us
for the both of us
---for each other.

A change
to be smoother
---smoother
with no mistakes,
with everything
in order;
consistent,
and coherent
even with the dialogues
we say that matter.

A change
to be clearer
---clearer,
meaning it is
at least what it is
meant to be conveying
with no underlying
vague wordings
when it comes
to our feelings
---for one another.

But that's there all is:
a draft
of what could be called
the both of us;
a product
of what we can become
if we make it become;
a product
of the possibilities
of what can be us,
of what might be us,
of what is it between us
between the fragments
of the words,
the lines,
and the series
of all of them
that constantly paint
faint descriptions of us,
descriptions
created [fabricated]
in my mind
like a work of fiction,
of pure imagination.

Unfinished,
unpolished,
unfurnished;
unpublished,
l­ike the poems
I wrote for us;
like the poems
about us;
like us, a draft.

i loved you the way
i believed summer
would melt,
fell into your arms
the way i could only
ever fall with you.

I constantly find myself
running away from how
I feel because maybe I don't
want to admit you're the
reason why I'm hurting.

I'd rather sit in silence with
a broken heart not knowing why
I am then think about what could've been.

I'd rather break down over and over
because the bottle is over flowing then
sit and think about your smile.

I'd rather cut myself and stand at
the edge of a building contemplating
suicide than remember the way
you used to look at me.

57 minutes.
It’ll be your birthday
in fifty-seven minutes.
I’m sitting in my bed, in the pitch black,
remembering your laugh that is still
so fresh in my brain.
If one could look inside my head,
they, too, would be in awe that you
have already been gone
over three months.

19 years.
You were almost
Nineteen years old.
Things still feel surreal,
as though you’re
to come home momentarily,
laughing alongside us
at how much we worried.
No.
I know you can’t,
no matter how much I wish it were so.

104 days.
I heard you had died
One hundred four days ago.
I was in the girls’ bathroom at school,
and was told you had passed.
I hit the floor so hard,
I bruised my knees.
I was hysterical,
yet pulled myself together
and went to class.
My teacher kicked me out of her room that day,
she said I was causing a distraction
because I was crying so hard.
I left without a word.
She found out the next hour.
She cried, too.

0.
Zero minutes, zero hours, zero days,
months, years, decades,
zero is your magic number;
you are never coming back.
I think about you every day.
I wonder how it got this way.
I wonder what the universe thought
that made it decide
it was time for you to go.
I try not to dwell,
but still see your face.
Whether I’m in Walmart,
the mall,
or even in school,
I still see your face.
Zero percent of the time, it’s you.

i've been denieing my emotions,
telling my heart that it's for you,
it seems easier to hurt myself,
instead of hurting you.