Scribbling of pens
The smell of paper
People wonder
Why I stay there
In my sanctuary
Of quiet and calm
Typing away
At my old battered laptop
The words flow freely
The thoughts do not
This has no rhythm
Nor any rhyme
But I like the way it is
Just fine.

If I hold this mug of tea tight enough, it mimics your touch and the feel of your warm skin against mine. When I press it to my lips and drink it deep I can remember me breathing in the kisses and lies you poured down my throat and I'll not sip gently I will gulp it all down in the hopes that it could somehow keep you in my mouth. But I hold onto this mug that is warm like you, and I hold on for too long and find it burns my skin and my throat and tongue. It blisters my fingers and boils my lips when I try to touch it, when I try to love it. Just like you did.

And it hurts
Because there are people
In my life
Who are toxic
And they make me
Feel ill
And sad
But I cannot leave them
Because they are hurting too
And so if I go
I become their poison.
(Even if I was dying first)

I have been running in circles
in my own mind,
chasing my tail, trying to grip
onto a reality that is slipping away
I do not know if what I am feeling
is anything other than an illusion.
Is this love? lust? or just another friendship
I stare too deeply into, in the small hopes
that it will give my life some meaning.
alas, whatever it is, i cannot let it grow,
for my words are a poison that will infect
even the strongest of people, should they choose
to expose even the smallest scar to me
It is a curse i must bear alone
I cannot let them in.

My heart is a wasteland
And you are the debris
So *******
And all your broken pieces
When I was lost and lonely
I reached out to you
And you left me stranded
I was created in fires
That burned hotter than hell
But your love made me know
What real torture was
But I did not cry out
And I suppose thats when life
Assumed I consented to the pain
And that was when you knew
That you were under my skin
And in my veins
No matter how deep I cut
Or how often I cry
There is no getting you out
I hope you choke on the ashes
That were once my beautiful flames.

every 'beautiful' blazing comet
and 'glorious' shooting star
that you wish upon
in the hopes to save yourself
is nothing more
than a dead, or dying, planet
left among the debris
of the universe
It cannot save you

                                           

               ­                                  *do not
                                                             ­ wish
                                                                ­       on me.

Storm clouds above my head
lords know i've been here
a thousand different times
trying to piece together
fragments of a bitter life
and a bitter past
that doesn't quite make sense to me
I can hear the rain and it falls hard
but dawn will come soon
and perhaps i will be made anew
and live the remainder of my days
content and happy
but perhaps i will fade to nothing
and live in the lands of eternal youth
and eternal beauty
the sun's coming up
the rain has stopped.