I know it sounds cliche', but I'm waiting for You.
I'm not waiting for who you could be,
for the concept of you, or the idea
and I don't hold out hope for the feeling of you.
I don't hold out hope for the taste of your lips,
or the feel of your skin,
or the feel of your tongue wrapped around mine as we kiss,
passion melding with passion until it
can't be contained on a page...
until it sits as an empty stanza, because words can't explain it.
Like this:



(Insert Passion here)



It doesn't matter, because now, here,
I'm still waiting,
knowing that somewhere, destiny is also waiting
and destiny will have to keep waiting for a while yet,
but when I find her, I want so badly
for her to whisper in my ear
"Hey, lover. Cool it with the angst.
There's no need to be lonely any more.
I found you. I'm here."

I'm the antagonist
of my own memoir.

My bed smells like you,
So I've been sleeping on the couch.

Let's never talk again,
because if we do
we'll both fall apart
in each others arms
and when that happens,
we can never be held again.

When we stop breathing,
Everything happens.

Our first memory
and how cloudy and irrelevant it was
our first scary movie
the terrors that movie brought upon us
and the nightmares that came with those terrors
the day we graduated
and how proud everyone looked
how we regret ever wanting to grow up
the first time we listened to Piano Man
and the first time that song ever meant something to us
those restless nights on Christmas Eve
while we sat waiting for old saint nick
to come down the Chimney.
our first love
and those days we sat
looking at each other for hours on end,
just thinking about how amazing life is
and how amazing she is or he is
or they are, or we are.

The first time we had ***
and how awkward and uncomfortable is was
the seats in my car didn't help the matter.
the stupidity of ***
and how many risks it had
but neither of us cared
we were too young to give a ****

Those lonesome nights when you lay awake
staring at the ceiling
wondering why the hell you couldn't get any shut eye
then you realize why you were awake
and then you definitely couldn't get any sleep
because anxiety is an endless abyss
that drags you deeper and deeper the more you think about it
and the walls are smooth
and the bed is empty
with nothing to grip
like him or like her
and its cold,
but you're the warmest you've ever been.

The death of our fathers and mothers
and brothers and sisters
and daughters and sons.
the first time you had to lay them to rest
gazing up at the cloudy sky,
marking how cliché it was
it could have rained any other day
but today was that day
making it seem like god or Jesus or Allah or whoever you believe in
actually gave a **** about them today
and this is the only time you've been thankful for rain.
how you look down at the open casket
and notice the fake little smirk the mortician left on their face
but you don't care that its fake
you're too busy being relieved
and thanking god that they had an unrelenting amount of decency
to at-least give the funeral goers
a sense of hope that they successfully passed on
and that they passed on in peace.

Those days when we were naive enough
to believe that we had no reason.
that life had nothing to take from us
that days turned into nights
and nights turned into days
and that was it
and there was nothing beautiful about it.
That we as a species are just a complex mess of life
that was born from the stars.

Then there was the day that we noticed
and gazed in awe at how beautiful we actually were.
We weren't just born from the stars,
we are the stars.
Those stars die and in their death
there comes even more life
and beauty
and me
and you
and us.
And then you realize
that you're just as big as the universe itself
because those things that make up the universe,
are what makes up you and I.

And in that final breath,
everything that happens to stars,
happens to you.
when you die,
you don't just die
you explode into an innumerable amount of pieces
and every one of those pieces
makes up an entire world,
someones world.
memories where things grow
and live
and survive
and love
and its so beautiful.

Death is beautiful.

there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at ****** are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to **** you
to **** anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock

their finest art