it's not the fever that bothers me
it's the fear of looking inside my heart
and finding nothing
like some bad joke you promised not to tell
it's the mirror who's afraid of the reflection

I'm not worried about this sickness
it'll be temporary like my love
running across the ocean with free arms
never thinking to look back
and realize there's a past walking behind
slowly dying with each step

the symptoms are bad but they could be worse
they could rip your skin open
and let the humility rush out
onto the floor around trembling feet
wishing they didn't have to stand
for any of this
never getting along with the cold ground

it's bad but one day it won't be
my lungs will welcome air
like a mother's embrace
all the nights awake and alone
in sleep deprived dreams
will feel like something that never happened
passing like a siren which screams down the street
echos lasting only a few seconds
but not like a girl who sometimes
looks back
and remembers
like an old story
she heard long ago
some fantasy
existing somewhere

moving between stations
with newfound aesthetic in every window
strangers take seats and lock themselves
in their headphones

tickets are checked in the mundane gloom
of Mondays
beautiful faces stare into the seats before them
exposing their gaze as hushed uncertainty
silent in the prospect of arrival

when overhead lights flicker
darkness is delayed by illuminating smartphones
providing soft-spoken information
of news headlines and Snapchat stories

hands slightly quiver as Penn Station
takes collective precedence
cups of slightly cold coffee
rise with unflinching confidence

pages of poetic conscience
lower their standards
and admit they've overstayed
their welcome
taking shelter in backpacks

strangers disperse into confinements
of populated territory
their energy birthed in the helpless framework
of time clenching its withered fist

leaving attitudes
in the same pocket as ambition
where the loneliest secrets
want to be free for a change

it's when the calls stop coming
when the drive ceases to exist
and all that's left is the same regret
which lingered in a few dreams
and promised never to come alive

the communication (or lack thereof)
wisdom carried from the greatest generation
to empathize with today's struggle:
getting the job
getting the girl
finding a home
to fill with love

to be labeled as lazy
or unwilling to commit
it's easy to brush off
unidentified trouble
basking in welcomed fear
searching the crevices of hands
for answers which don't exist

if you can't follow the trajectory
so tempted to change to “won't”
when the future is always several steps ahead
and knees have fallen to the ground
either to pray or to plead

anger to a silent God
or shouting to a quiet self
unsure how to respond
how to take this further
when life threatens to suffer
to **** starry eyes
and stop ample arms

whispers disguised as screams
looking to cast the pointed finger
when the easy excuses
forever turn their backs in shame

undeveloped frustration
taints the addicting fragrance
captured in the charm of soft lips
ready to spit out strong words
to govern unstable conversation
prepared to forget innocent affection
organically crafted in days waiting to be years

your arms which bordered my body
leave me at unease in an unfamiliar bed
with nothing but filth underneath fingertips
throwing anger at stale chemistry
which slips further into history

your beauty reduced to a scream
edging out the last of us
into a shatter across the floor
pricking naked skin that moves

you call them miracles
weightless - they rest in the back of your heart
soothed in the red infrastructure
safe from any conundrum of your conscious


my hands have been searching
ever since yours ran away
out of commission does its job
of salting landscapes of forgotten palms


empty sheets are irrelevant when empty dreams
carry you from one regret to the next
promising the endless night long overdue
requested at a perfect summer


days are a lot like excuses
they drift like strangers through towns
though excuses should not be confused with miracles
those come straight from the heart

streets close off
telling work to go home
its role is finished today

white dresses dance in circles
filtered through formal lenses
where naked eyes lose their focus

lips and words fail to meet
and conjure up some magic
breathing in old silence

unmasking beautiful faces
to deliver melancholic confessions
where truths and dreams go their own ways

in the lack of an answer
or waiting for the perfunctory reply
it’s easier to lower ambition

when the chance ceases to exist
when language fit for a letter
is lost in the passage of time

in leaving the thought behind
the almost gasping for air
loneliness proves its burden
the heavy that wants to be comfortable

she promises it hasn’t always been this way
the touch which turned from kind to cruel
stripping its intended comfort away
basking in the shame it summons
when tears say what words cannot
when walking away is the final direction
the final plea not worth bargaining for

he lowers expectations
till they hang above the ground
where his legs will meet their doom
and the dirt tattooed in his hands
will suffice for a while
inside the chamber of this eternity

the they and the us
remove their definitions
realizing their expiration
the end which has gone
the you and me
existing in separate realms
identity becomes irrelevant
they will never fear death
as long as they fear life

professional phone calls
seeping with the excess of formality
much like the strangers in your living room
who call themselves family
and the only room to breathe exists
in the interludes between conversations

in this limbo
you're sometimes caught
thinking about a girl who doesn't
love you
or the rugged edges of a face
resembling your father's

laps of repetition
dial, pause, voicemail
scripted dialogue left
from the same lips
which never found the right words

sometimes the steady ring
summons expectations of an answer
a voice without a body
to meet your work demands
or the simple silence
drawing you further into the void

marking progress
in tally sheets
tangible records of what you
have and have not done
measured by the 10-5 hourglass
before you're allowed to leave

would you rather spend your summer
unemployed
or single?
either way you're spending
plenty of unfulfilled time

would you rather drive
an hour everyday to a place you hated
or drive one minute to a place which made you cry?
the amount of preparation needed depends on the person

would you rather break someone's heart
just to see what it feels like
or have someone break your own
to remind you how much it can hurt?

would you rather watch two old people ****
or watch two siblings ****?

would you rather every person you ever met
knew what you looked like naked
or you knew what every person looked like naked?
either could be mentally scarring

would you rather have explosive farts
for a random hour everyday
or everyone around you had explosive farts
for a random hour?

would you rather break down in the middle of Times Square
and have everyone remember
or break down on the floor in your room
and have no one notice?

would you rather every regret you have
was tattooed on your body in the form of scars
or every scar on your body told a story
anyone could hear?

would you rather keep playing
or try a new game?