If I showed you my teardrops,
Would you collect them like rain,
Store them in jars,
That are labelled with "Pain"

Would you follow their tracks,
From my eyes down my cheeks,
As they write all their stories,
I'm too scared to speak.

Would you stop them with kisses,
Bring their flow to a halt,
As you teach me that pain,
Isn't always my fault.

Would you hold my face gently,
As you dry both my eyes,
And whisper the words,
"You're too precious to cry"

If I showed you my teardrops,
Would you show me your own,
And though we're lonely,
We were never alone.

Take the word enough and graffiti it across the walls of your heart
Stamp it under your eyelids
Make a short sharp scratch in your skin
And send it shooting through
Your veins
Weave it in and out of every doubt
Scrawl it in a letter
And send it first class
To all of your insecurities
Embed it in the curves of your smile
Carry it gently in your tears
And catch its salty taste on your tongue

Take it out to the shore
And dip it in the ocean
Watch as, finally, it sticks to you,
Like wet sand.

I used to think I couldn't go a day without your smile. Without telling you things and hearing your voice back.

Then, that day arrived and it was so **** hard but the next was harder. I knew with a sinking feeling it was going to get worse, and I wasn't going to be okay for a very long time.

Because losing someone isn't an occasion or an event. It doesn't just happen once. It happens over and over again. I lose you every time I pick up your favorite coffee mug, whenever that one song plays on the radio, or when I discover your old t-shirt at the bottom of my laundry pile.

I lose you every time I think of kissing you, holding you, or wanting you. I go to bed at night and lose you, when I wish I could tell you about my day. And in the morning, **when I wake and reach for the empty space across the sheet, I begin to lose you all over again.

The sky is solid, gray, motionless.
Shuffling bodies with obscured shadows
Make haste for shelter
From the stark, lifeless outside
With its grass that only lives if watered,
The always leafless trees,
And the carcinogenic air.
Looking upward,
Through the smoggy haze,
One sees the neon silhouettes
Floating in the sky,
Atop the glass and steel monoliths.
They speak to those below,
Of subtle, clandestine oligarchy.
Subconsciously belittling the anonymous masses,
"We are Titans, you are rats."
Say the towers,
As the populace quietly passes over stained concrete and asphalt,
Wearing breathing masks,
Saying not a word to the thousands they pass.

We make haste in this world.
We cannot afford to help a stranger,
To make a detour with a view,
To get your child that gift they really want.
So fiercely we have been strangled
That empathy is illogical.
"What a world" we all say,
As we avoid eye contact with the hungry;
As we change the channel from the melodramatic infomercial
About starving, disease-ridden children somewhere else;
As we console ourselves with hollow entertainment and intoxication,
To keep the guilt at bay,
To keep the thoughts at bay,
"Just do what's best for you,
Don't step out of line,
Shuffle in,
Follow the queue.
That's all you can do."