I found myself on my bedroom floor,
dizzy from seven beers I stole from my dad,
thinking I could replace your memory with alcohol.
when I forgot my name before yours,
I tried emptying my veins,
but watching my blood run down the sink brought no closure.
my lips are cracked and my skin is rough;
your hands left burn marks where you touched me
and your kisses took every ounce of moisture from my mouth.
I know you're not the one I'm looking for
but I'm so cold and a fire is a fire;
I might be drunk right now but I'll still wake up
wanting to kiss you.

My mouth is a cell
When it comes to you
Because the words
Are wanting to be free
But the metal bars
Won't let them out

i still spell gray
with an a

not an e
in my po-etry

does it matter
to the grammar?

hoo's to say

says the owl
to the vowel

it's a gray area.

r  ~ 10/17/14

In the hurting...
The tears...
The scars...
She was *BEAUTIFUL

when i hear your delicate words,
and read the ones you've
also constructed on paper,
i want to smash them to bits,
because i know then i will find
the truth inside the broken pieces