The arrival of June ushered in a new era of heat.
The river, instead of being a place to have fun
became a mean of survival.
To escape the heat is clear your mind.
To dive deep and sink your fingers into the cold sand beneath the crest of the water
is to reach a state of true peace.

I would never tell a human being to smile more.
Smiling is something that when forced, holds more negative effects than not smiling.
A boy I love isn't smiling sincerely as much as he used to,
and I'm not going to tell him to smile more,
only that he deserves to.
The only thins this boy does is spread love and happiness.
Whether or not he has his guitar he creates music.
The manner in which he breathes causes love to occur.

Two weeks drug free.
I did it for myself,
I did it for my sister
for you
and for her.

Cravings don't wake me up at night anymore.
I can hold a cigarette without my hands shaking
and I can look my mother in the eye.

Where are you to share in my sobriety?
Where are you to help me through it?
(Where are you?)

Curiosity.

I'm dared to knock.
The loose strings need to be tied and the answer lies just beyond the door.

Darkness.

Peering through the peep-hole I see nothing.
Just a constant nothing that is overwhelming.

Coldness.

Pressing my hand on the door I am shocked.
It is chilling and maddening and not be touched.

Curiosity.

The answer to my problem lies just beyond
or so it has been spoken.

Desperation.

I need an answer and it is very close.
Too close, and too unreachable.

Finality.

The handle is being turned and the coldness shrugged.
Whatever lies beyond will soon be found out.

Isolation.

Not but an everlasting Darkness and Coldness and Fringe.
Comprehension is an alien idea.

Unreality.

Words.
Look not to the stars for they hold not but lies. Look only to the past for their the answer dwells.

Frustration.

Lied to. Cheated. I sacrificed so much to come to this point.
There is nothing here for me.

Revelation.

This is the place to think.
This is the place to recall and understand and fix.

This is the place to tie my strings together

Hours go by.
The sun actually comes up and I realized it's not so barren in here.
There are memories.
Some written in books.
Some painted on canvas.
Some drawn in chalk.
Some acted out on video screens.

This place will allow my to tie the frayed strings of my being together.
This place will allow me to learn.
                                        to fix.

I actually thought about what I would do if this exact thing happened.
I thought about how I would be cool and pop a cigarette in my mouth all slick and say "Sup"

I would be a ******* lady killer. The hateful and sad feelings from before, during and after our relationship will be burned down with that cigarette.

We'll wonder what it's like to be inside a burning ember.
We'll talk about how we're turning into Holden Caulfield.

And about how Hemingway is God.
And cummings is the best.

We'll do all these things and everything will be perfect.
Our thoughts will be put to rest and our broken hearts will be mended.

We will finally go to sleep and all will be well.
There will be love in the valley and mountains and  the strings of our collective being.

Looking on the ground,
under ***** socks
and empty cigarette packs,
I found my lighter.

I need it, I told myself
to **** the feelings that are coming up.

But no.
I wasn't running from the feelings,
I was trying to get high
so I could handle them.
So I could cope with them.
So I could **** with them
and shoot dope with them

A Half Forgotten Memory of the Train Tracks in Puget Sound

He has so much more than I could ever have.
He's got the looks, the girl, the money, the car, the scholarship.
What do I have?
Smokers lung and more than a few scars.
His future is golden while mine is cold and dark.

He is so much more than I could ever be.
He's the quarterback, the life of the part, the valedictorian, the nice guy.
What am I?
The wise guy, the teacher's nightmare, the guy on the sidelines, the ****.
He is a golden boy and I am dark and cold.

"I'm a mountain that has been moved
I'm a fugitive that has no legs to run
I'm a preacher with no pulpit
Spewing a sermon that goes on and on"

I would try to write something good
but I've been using **** all day
and my dopamine levels are suicide victim low
just as the amount of cigarettes in this pack is low
just as the amount of money in my wallet is low
just as I am low.

And I miss you so much
my heart rushes blood to my brain
to tell me it's hurting.

You spent time in a beautiful place today
and I made coffee for hippies and businessmen alike because I am a slave to the man made idea of capitalism.
So are you.

I drank this weekend,
I went to a party and I drank and I let a girl three years younger than me rub her body on mine and when she had to leave I drank some more and I didn't think of you until I woke up.

I didn't help clean up the mess from the party, I went and got steak and eggs with a friend and after that I went back to sleep in my own bed, the one you slept in.

I want to know that you're ok, and I want to know that you're healthy and oh how small my problems and desires are and how massive the distance between us.

"I guess I am doing a good job at biting my tongue."

If you only knew how much you were hurting me.
If only I could snap back with something equally as hurtful.

I wouldn't if I could.
It would be inappropriate.
Undeserved.
Regretted.

I'm sorry I've been so rude.
I'm sorry my cigarettes ran out,
I'm sorry I haven't been sleeping.
Plagued with nightmares of you.

I'm an *******.
But I will never apologize for that.
I will never apologize for who I am.
What I believe in.
What I do.

But most of,
*I'm sorry

Stop. Please. Can't you see at all how this could hurt me?
Underneath this broken frame there is a beating heart. And you're not helping.
Rage is a very despicable feeling. I don't like it.
Very near talking. Spilling. Overloading. It almost feels right.
I** know not why these feelings persist. They are ghosts and I am going to exercise them.
Valiant efforts are useless. Hatred and sadness always win. Always.
And no amount of love I bring, I'm always afraid of the hate my heart brings.
Love is a myth. You will never feel it. Nor will I. Give up.

Everything about you makes me sick. I can't stand feeling this way.
Never did I think this would happen. These thoughts would come back. They were gone.
Deliver me from this darkness. I beg you. Bring me forth from the shadows.
Stop. Please. Can't you see at all how this could hurt me?

/~~\
fakest of the fakes.
tell me a story.
about reality
and unreality.
\~~/

We used to smoke **** together by the school.
You were practically my sister and I loved you.
You always had the good **** and you always had cigarettes.
After a while **** was not enough.
You showed up with ***** one day and we got *******.
This went on too long.
We feel into the habits our parents warned us against.
We blew off friends and family,
we lost relationships and trust but we had our **** and our *****.
We had each other and that was all we needed.
I remember when we shared our house and how happy we were.
I would go to school because you made me.
You would go to work so we could afford our life.
When you got home, always a quarter after six, we would drink.
One day, a Tuesday, you came home with junk.
You said it was good stuff, you knew the chemist who made it.
So we snorted.
That's when it all started.
We snorted, every time more and more.
After maybe three years that was not enough.
You were the first to stick that needle in your arm.
I followed with the same ******* needle.
Next was ****.
I stayed away from it but you shot up. Twice a day for months at a time.
You quit your job and cashed in the money we had been saving for a car.
I started to hate you.
I ******* hated you and I told you everyday.
Eventually I kicked ******'s demon off my back.
I smoked **** and watched you fall apart.
Their would be random guys at our house and you got only god knows how many diseases.
All so you could get your ******* fix.
A year ago today was the last time I saw you.
I hope you read this and I hope you ******* hate yourself, Carol Dean.

I made a mistake and even Daski can't help.
The combination of it all makes me sick,
the revelation, the lack of cigarettes
and the fact that I unintentionally opened up our old Facebook chat.
And I read the last message you sent and every single one before that.

I'm not sure what I'm doing yet within myself I hold supreme faith. I am the only master of my life, and I promise myself it will all work out. And I've been thinking about my doorbell...

I didn't call you back, and you didn't call me a second time. I don't understand what game we're playing, I'd rather be holding you. My actions are mine, and I know we were supposed to go dancing on Friday and I'm not sure why I blew you off, I'm overwhelmed and I got four hours of sleep yesterday afternoon and it isn't raining anymore.

Do it
Do it,
Do it.
Do it!

It's you
It's a country rock tune
It's a bottle of codeine
It's the way the clouds shift.

I've been looking at blank walls recently.

I've been studying the imperfections in the plaster, looking for you, listening deeply for that ***** tonk rhythm, feeling with my hands for that orange bottle.

I drown myself in these things,
yet I am breathing.
I have broken water, I have filled my lungs and voluntarily I plunge again.

I know what I'm looking for in these blank walls but I'm not sure I'd recognize it if I saw it.

Alas, my heart goes on and I beg it to stop.
I'm terrified and I miss my mother, she's grown so distant.
I'm frozen to the marrow of my bones and I'm not sure who keeps turning the defrost off and I'm disgustingly afraid, I shake with fear and I don't know where I'm at, I don't know who I am, and I don't know where I'm going and I'm afraid, I'm so afraid.

I miss the time we spent existing in the same place and I miss you, I miss your soul and the way you said my name and the way you held your coffee cup and the way you rubbed aloe vera lotion on my face.

I miss the hairs I found on my bed after you left. I miss the water bottle you forgot here that I forgot on the metro and I miss the voicemail you sent me, I deleted it believing that nothing is as good as it was the first time, I think I may have been wrong.

I miss remembering the first time we kissed, I have forgotten it. I forgot the last day I spent sober. I miss the way your legs felt on mine under the sheets and I miss the way you held my hand in the car.

I never said I loved you and neither did you and I'm not sure I do and I'm not sure I ever did but you were one hell of a friend, you have been, you've been a blessing on my life, your presence is the build up of all the good karma I've received and then some and then quite a bit more.

You're learning, you're thinking, you're organizing your thoughts and I should be too. I've been looking at blank walls again.

It happens that quick.

I don't want
to keep running from my problems.
I want
to stop getting high every time I feel any form of
guilt
remorse
sadness
anger.

I want to stop whining
and I want to start doing.

I want to think about flowers
and French music
and I want to think about you
but I can't and I hate myself for that.

I hate that I created all my problems
and here you are,
the most lovely human being I've ever met
and you didn't do anything to deserve your problems
and I can't ******* help you with them.
I can't help you with them
because I get high anytime a negative doubt lingers
and I get drunk if I can't sleep
and I cry if I'm out of ***** or dope
and I really really like you and I only want whats best for you
and I want to do everything I can to make you happy.
I want to pick you ten thousand flowers,
all of which will pale in comparison to you,
and I want to write you ten thousand poems,
none of which will be as grand as yours,
and I want to give you ten thousand kisses,
because you deserve them
and ******* it,
I like kissing you.

Above I said that I can't, but I lied.
I can, I will, I am.
I'm getting better

"If any negative thought lingers, he let it vent.
Wrote this one with his ******* in wet cement. "*

I don't want to lose you
but I can't continue trying this hard.
I can't put forth the effort to maintain this,
when you give none.
I can't think of any more ways to say this
so I'll say it simple: I love you and I'm losing you.

I spent some time today with two beautiful people.
Together, we did disgusting things; we smoked cigarettes, we spoke about our experiences in abusive relationships, and we tried to spit on cars driving by.

I looked at the clouds and I knew you were upset. I looked at the clouds and I knew I loved you. In that moment and in this moment I love you. I love the boy we were with and I love his father.

Human beings are the only creatures capable of committing evil because we are the only ones who have an idea of what evil is, therefore we are the only creatures who can choose to be evil. Humankind is the only species to ever enslave a living creature. We've done it to every animal on earth and we've done it to our brothers.
A lion mother killing a baby antelope is not evil. The same lion mother ripping the esophagus out of an antelope's neck is not evil.

I think I may be evil. I think I've caused people pain. Pain has been dealt unto me and being a man who respects and strives for fairness, I have dealt pain unto those least deserving. I love you like the moon loves you (as the moon must) and this makes you least deserving of any pain and you're in so much pain, you're in so much pain and I caused you pain two years ago and men continue to cause you pain and I brought you that cassette to try and put a bandaid on a two year old **** that has already healed and I hope it's enough

One missed call but no voicemail.
I would say we're playing phone tag but I can't shake the feeling that you only called so you can say you never gave up.

This isn't even poetry anymore but did I ever write poetry about you?

I wrote poetry about girls and the weather and sometimes both and I write angst filled strings of thought about you.

Call again, I'll hear the phone ring this time, I promise.

And everyday I wake up,
take a swig from the big cup.
I know I gotta get ahold of myself,
understand that it's bad for my health
but you know,
you've been down here before,

and you got out,
put some money in your pocket
and decided you didn't owe me a cut.

Don't tell me it's too late
you know I can't wait.
I think it's best that you know
the depths are so far below,
yeah
and you know
nobody wants to go

until it's time to go.

Roaches litter my ashtray
and empty bottles litter my room
and burnt out incense litters my nightstand
and hollow memories litter my barren landscape of a mind.

You left yesterday,
and I found one of your hairs on my pillow this morning.
It was longer than my arm.

I tangled my fingers in your hair
and I whispered in your ear.
Just cheese ball things.

I told you many things
they were almost all true
and they were all cheese.
I told you I'll see you again (that one was true)

Wear a seat belt wild girl,
there are people who care about you.
Sleep well wild girl,
no need to tell me to speak with you tomorrow.

I promised you it'd be OK.
"It" being everything.
I promised you I'd see you again,
and I don't plan on lying to you.
I told you I'd write you ten thousand poems, excuse the inflation but it is true.

((Unfinished))

Imagine there's a vitamin you can take that makes you feel euphoric and free of pain and any thoughts other than warmth. Imagine that the vitamin's effects will wear off rather quickly. Imagine the vitamin is rather costly. Imagine after weeks of taking the vitamin you begin to notice that the good feelings it gave you are no longer present and you are only taking the vitamin so you won't feel sick and cold and alone and depressed. Imagine the vitamin is making you steal money from your mother's purse to buy more. Imagine the vitamin is making you hold up your local corner store. Imagine you only desire the company of the vitamin, your friends and family no longer matter. Imagine being done with the vitamin but knowing that the vitamin is not done with you, not until it has destroyed every meaningful relationship in your life, ****** your soul dry and killed you.

Now, you are offered a choice: this imaginary vitamin, or your life.

Choose your life, choose your friends, choose football in the street, choose walks in the park with your sister but whatever you do, don't choose ******.

He finally nodded his head and everything became white.
White sheets.
White pillow cases.
White girl with light blonde hair.
White skin naked in the white sunlight.
White curtains.

She was sitting on her knees by his side as he lay on his back.
She noticed he had awoken so he kissed him.
Not a passionate, love filled, **** kiss. Simply a good morning kiss.

He awoke with an absurd sense of wetness.
His family thought it funny to roll down the window and allow the cold rain outside to splash upon his face as the landscape rushed by.
Good morning sleepy head, they said.

He imagined the white girl with blonde hair saying that after kissing him into consciousness as he nodded his head back and again, fell asleep.

He told me not to waste my breath.
You'll never be but second best.
Third best,
fourth best;
worse than the rest.

I'll cut off your right hand,
**** you to **** with the left.
Squeezing your **** 'till there's nothing left.

Hell yeah,
he's got swag  
he bought it from a man
who called him a ***.
In a little bag
he gave him so crack
But no! It slipped from his hands
down a storm drain
never to be seen again.

A war story is what he sold
"I spotted the ****** in a churches bell tower,
squeeze the trigger, one two, one two,
******* insurgents,
they never win,
****** to hell and all that's therein."

The devil would do anything for one last hit,
he lives in my veins, he don't give a ****.

He's a stranger, from out of town,
selling drugs to kids, dressed like a clown.
The cops chase him out but the damage is done,
but hell ******* yeah, the kids are having fun.

This isn't art,
this garbage is about poetic as the rez
I'm scrapin' from my pipe,
doing anything to get high.

The grass is greener on the other side,
you know it is,
my only question is with what they fertilize it with.
*******? GMO's? Something equally as destructive,
it's the truth, you know it is
*******, you say?
Bulltruth is what it is,
like it or not,
it is what it is.

I guess my first girlfriend and my mother were right in coloring me a hopeless romantic.

You effect me so deeply,
you're thousands of stone throws away
and I can still feel you choking me.
I miss you
like the low tide misses the beach,
only I don't have the nautical reassurance of knowing I'll see you again.

You're childish, rash, and prone to injuries; physical and otherwise.
You're so many beautiful things and you're a few ugly things and I wouldn't trade you for the greenest grass, the sweetest peach, or the everlasting nothingness of death.
I'd trade my assurance of death for your touch, for your whisperings in my ear, for your hairs in my bed.

I hate myself for feeling like this,
I'm disgusted in myself for writing this.

I wanted to tell you about my day today, it was wonderful, it was magical, it was sober and I did not grieve your absence; in fact, I didn't note it.

The sadness comes in waves.

You said you never wanted to save me,
but gasping for air
I swear that's what you tried to do.

I tried to hide the smile behind my lips
as your hand lost its grip on my own.
Falling, I covered my mouth
so as to stifle the laughter.

I had a dream about you last night and that's something I never thought would happen.

We were sitting on a couch or agaisnt a wall and there was a blanket over us. You intertwined your legs with mine and buried your face in my neck when I put my around you.

Your skin was warm, as I'd imagine it would be.

This dream unsettles me, in a way.
We would never have worked.
I liked you, I liked you a lot and I think you liked me too.
It's a good thing you told me not to kiss you,
I would have fallen for you and I would have hurt you.
I would have hurt you with my inconsistencies and my inadequacies,
and you don't deserve that.
I would have hurt you with my drugs and my unhealthy diet and the only outcome of our relationship would have been pain for you and warm skin and soft words for me.


You're a wonderful human being,
I look up to you
and I'm happy you found someone to be enamored with. Someone who won't hurt you with drugs and unhealthy diets. Someone who will hurt you with soft words and warm skin

What could be more perfect than rain?
What could be more beautiful?

It falls and brings life to wherever it falls.
It breathes life into this lifeless landscape
and allows it to breathe.

Rain is a gift from God
and I am sorry for those
who do not drop to their knees
and thank their god for rain.
Thank nature for rain,
thank the universe,
but you have to be thankful.

Rain refreshes,
and it soothes
and it calms
and I cannot think of anything
more perfect than the rain.

April showers bring May flowers
and that is beautiful.

Today I walked into a used book store
looking for anything that could distract.

The air was cool,
the atmosphere serene.

I walked down the isles and looked at nothing in particular.
I found myself in the poetry section.

I looked up and saw cummings.
My favorite. our favorite

I pick it up and leaf through. Painful memories come flooding like blood into the syringe.
Make it stop.

I began walking towards the door when a familiar song comes on.
"Oh baby baby it's a wild world,
it's hard to get by just upon a smile."

I can't stand to be in this place any longer.
I can't stand to be in this ******* town with these stupid ***** and these stupid bookstores and these stupid vegans and these stupid ******* kids and these stupid cool kids and these stupid writers and these stupid stoners and skaters and singers and football players and drama kids and choir kids and band kids and these stupid ******* Ag kids.
I can't stand it.
I need to get it.
I need my strings to melt.
I need this towns grip on me to lighten up.
I need your grip on me to lighten up.

please, you gotta let me go
*You gotta let me go

It's like this:
You sit in your bedroom and the fan is on, the window is open, yet it is still hot.
You have your laptop open and music is playing.
On your walls there are numerous posters, a world map, and a dartboard.
On your nightstand there are letters from last year's World History teacher, empty bottles, a switchblade and an ashtray.
There are books on your shelf written by many great authors, poets, playwrights, and philosophers.
In your hand there is a cigarette, and in the other there is The Stranger by Albert Camus.
You sit alone, smoking and reading and drinking and suddenly you stop doing all of these things because inspiration has struck.
Although you prefer a pen and paper, you begin typing on your laptop.
The words come out and form sentences.
The sentences form stanzas
and eventually the stanzas form a finish a finish product.
That is what it's like to be anything at all.

After years and years of ceaseless grinding,
the inner workings of my heart are stripped bare.
Just like the screws
that hold my aging coffee table up.

Just like the love that so meticulously held us together
has faded away,
washed up,
disappeared.

Aubrey doesn't come around anymore
(she never was around)
and the lake bed dried up
(just as it was in the first place)

The memories hold strong.
For as long as the sun burns
as I will have these memories of you.
How I view them and how fondly I hold them changes as does the sea.

The weather cannot make up its mind
in regards as to how this small town shall be treated.
Treated with sunshine and warm days,
or with overcast and a light rain.

However hallow you presume my heart to be
I must assure you, my body is not the same.
Nicotine courses through these veins,
and brandy fights in vain with my head.

I wish for you,
I wish for you to be held by me.
I wish for you to be with me
and I wish for you to belong with me.

Every soul wants to belong as if it were written in the stars.
What makes you and I so different?

The water is always warmer than you expect it to be.

She taught me to shut the **** up and think. Think for a minute before I say something. Think for ten before I do something.

The grass may be greener over there but that doesn't mean you shouldn't enjoy the green grass you have over here.

She taught me how to treat others and how I deserve to be treated and how those aren't always in the same way.

You should always drive safely because people love you and they know you're seat belt is broken and it's not hard to keep in touch so stop getting high and text her back.

I've been busy
too busy to write.

I'm too busy loving you to write you the love poems you deserve.

I'm too busy working so I can have money to buy you the things you like to write you the love poems you deserve.

But I'm going to continue loving you,
continue kissing and holding you,
I'm going to continue being yours.
I'll never be too busy to love you.

Who needs love poems when you're in love?

Seeing how our subliminal tactics didn't work,
I decided a new method should be used
to win her heart.

20 shots of Cinnamon *** later
I lay puking into a toilet
with her in the next room.

I fell asleep there, on the bathroom floor,
and woke up on the other side of town,
in a nice comfortable bed.

Sitting up, I noticed the array
of posters on the wall and remembered
never having been in this room.

Surveying the room,
pulse pounding,
I found a note:

"Nolan,
went to work. Feel better.
E."

I knew i would have to say goodbye when I said hello and I thought that was painful enough.

I let myself love you,
I had a choice and this was the first time it was difficult to love someone.
Not because of you
but because of your near departure.

I sleep in the same bed, but it's not mine anymore, it's your.
It'll be a few weeks before all your hairs are stripped from the sheets
And it'll be a lot longer before I stop loving you.

You want to believe and I want to believe and I didn't lie the first time I told you I'd see you again and I don't intend on ever lying to you.

Everything, unfortunately, that has happened to us holds weight.
We are what we have done and what has been done by others.
The mistakes that we are all stereotypically bound to make will undoubtedly have been made by others and hopefully we may recognize them for what they are and avoid them.
Past relationships help us make current ones better.
Past relationships can help us not get into a relationship that will be toxic.
And however obviously the facts stare me in the face
I cannot resist falling in love.
I cannot resist falling for a girl
who shares many of the same circumstances that my partner in a previous (toxic) relationship.

As appealing as it may be, never let your heart make your decisions for you.
Not when you have a perfectly stable brain allowing it to beat.

Above all I hold this principle to be true:
Do all the good you can do
and good will find you.
Albeit in a roundabout way, typically.

Everybody wants to be better.
They want to be a better lover for their lover.
They want to be a better person for their loved ones.
They want to be a better teacher for their students,
and leader for their followers.

I want a few things,
for you to smile
and laugh
and not worry
and love yourself.

I want to be a better writer,
for the sake of my writing.
For those reading it,
but mainly for myself,
I want to write better.

For those around me I want
to be a better friend,
brother,
uncle,
only son,
but most of all,
I want to be a better stranger.
I want you to give me a smile when I give you one.

~~

*It's like that spider you see on your nightstand as you go to turn off the light.
Every itch and scratch, is always that spider, for the rest of the night.
So it is for every kiss I receive. For everyone I give back is just pretense.
It's the touch of your lips on mine while your presence is absent.

Depression
epression
pression
ression
ession
ssion
sion
ion
on
n
­I'm turning into everything I promised myself I wouldn't be.
Everything I hate.
I'm losing all the values I've lived by.
All the values I've tried so hard to emulate.
I hate myself.
I hate this world.
I hate everyone in it.

I'm trying to be a better man.
The only person I have to prove it to is myself.
How about you?

Everything that I have is being taken from me.
The freedoms I once held dear are being stripped.
Everything a human being is entitled to is being stolen.
My happiness has been replaced with sadness.
Hatred.

The life that I had was so great.
It was filled with friends, food, and fulfillment.
I now have to struggle for all of these.
My friends are slowly becoming acquaintances.
The food is no longer filling and enjoyable.
My actions no longer make me feel good about myself.

Now I'm second guessing all the choices I make.

Their is a bright side though.
It shows through occasionally.
Looking into my sisters happy eyes.
Having a good times with my friends.
Doing the right thing because it's right.
No God is telling me to do these things.
No Bible is explaining why.

This is a good life.
I should be happy.
I'll add that to my list.

The fine sands,
the Mullen fields,
the Wurm Cave.

Lone beast sought,
One beast discovered.
Thrice, sights found.

Aboard! haste!
Drink thou Mead slow,
the Wurm will enjoy you antonymy.

Land **!
the beast is high,
can thee hear him?

Crawl and creep,
the beast moves
silent under the water.

To his cave three men
brave the cold.
'While the Wurm follows

One sight found,
the soft sands of time,
beneath thy and thou's boot.

Feel the grains in thou palm,
beg ye Lord for salvation
and continue.

Second sight found,
the endless fields of Mullen.
Embrace them.

Feel the grains in thou palm,
beg ye Lord for forgiveness
and breath.

Third sight sound,
the end of the journey,
The Cave of the Wurm.

Steal thyself men!
felt, the Wurm's presence,
steal thyself.

Did I hear you say,
Wurm?

No matter how well defined the border lines are
I'll walk all along, and cross the ocean
into a barren land of wasted emotion
from the best and the worst of intentions.

No matter how tightly the blinds are drawn
light will peek through and shed light
upon a bleak urban interior landscape
complete with cigarette butts, Vonnegut, and everything in between.

Nights in White Satin may be gone off the charts
but not from our hearts.
In this case, white satin is the plain, unmade bed belonging to my sister.
I thought I told you to stay away, yet you linger on the backside of my eyelids.

Constant blue lights
gently illuminate this bedroom, untouched by the night.
Be careful what you wish for because Jesus saves
but he'll also ******* over for the **** of it.

It's not the amount of love I show to you and prove to you that is overwhelming,
it's the lack of love and respect you show to me and the staggering amount of your ******* I put up with.
I believe you when you say you love me.
I've believed you when you said you love me for the best four years.
I believe when you say that we could never work out.
Why ruin a good thing?
After all, that is what we have: a good thing.
So why am I so bitter?

Why do I not allow myself to sleep at night?
Not allow myself to put out the cigarette or stop myself from lighting the next?
Why do I not stop myself from uncorking the bottle or chugging longingly.
Why do I allow myself to be so angry at the world and at myself.

I ******* hate everything.
myself.
you.
the world.
my parents.
my friends.
the ****** bands.
the good bands.

This constant state of nothingness is starting to weigh down on me so I fill it with the bottles.
I fill it with the cigarettes and the hatred.
You?
Me?
Why?
After all, what we have is a good thing.

Isn't it?

You said you crave attention.

I'm prepared to give you all the attention you could ever need,
yet you pretend you don't hear me knocking.

Why?

Are you afraid of the feelings I have for you?
You don't understand.
I have had these feelings always, they are nothing new.
Are you afraid of losing me because they are not reciprocated?
You don't understand.
I have had these feelings always, and they have never been reciprocated.
The only way I will give up is if you continue what you're doing.

You're pushing me away and i'm tired of trying to catch up.

You're too busy with work you say,
yet you go to parties with him.
You're too busy with school you say,
yet you always have time for him.

I'm not jealous because you kiss him,
i'm jealous because he is stealing you from me.

I got it all wrong,
I know I did.

I see now that every time I assume something
about you
and your actions,
I am wrong.

I assumed you were apathetic;
I was wrong.
I assumed you were distracted;
I was wrong.

Now I'm assuming that you're coming back
(Oh God! please tell me it is so)
but can't help but think I'm wrong.

You entice me.
With your lips
you
      e
          n
             t
                i
                  c
                     e
                           me.

               With your legs you
                  
                      e
                   c
                 i
               t
             n
         e
.me

With everything
you
       have
you make me lust.
With everything
you
       got
you make me yearn.

Y
e
  a
   r
    n
for something I cannot have.
L
u
  s
   t
for something I have not got.

-

     Have you ever seen that movie or T.V. show where there's a guy who recently split up with his girlfriend and he's all love sick and sad and won't leave his room or stop playing Xbox or stop drink beer or stop crying? And his buddies all take him out to a bar or something to meet a girl that he can give the time to in the bathroom because it'll make him feel better. And at the bar he meets some girl and they fall in love instantly and she's all hip and they just stare at each other while their respective groups of friends talk and joke right around them. You know what I'm talking about right? Well, **** those movies.
        They're phony and unrealistic and when you feel down about a boy or a girl or whoever you might be in love with you don't fall in love. You don't meet some sloot at the bar and fall in love with her. You don't stay in your room and drink and mope. You live you're ******* life. You live your miserable, fake life even more miserable and fake than you normally do.

I'll write about you
for as long as I want.
Unlike these
drugs
I am powerless to
I can quit you.

And so I will write about you until you love me
and I will continue to write about you until you don't.
Because everything fades, and everything dies,
and just like the spring,
your love will fade,
if it blossoms at all.