I knew from that moment on
every word and every phrase and every sentence
thought up in my head and emitted from my fingers
would turn into cadaverous dead bodies
that would turn into silhouetted skeletons
that would turn into fine powder blowing in the wind
that would disappear into a deep and dark abyss
deeper than any abandoned tire in an old forest
and darker than the pupils of my eyes
I knew I would be forever forgotten

They were making out, bodies pressed
against the high school wall.

Behind them, posters of soldiers
who have died to serve their country
were plastered.

They were making out, bodies pressed
against the high school wall.

Their ***** selves were blocking the picture of a marine.

And they didn't even notice.

I walked for eternity
and could not find one place
to sit and rest my tired bones in peace
that did not have car atrocities echoing in the distance
and did not have styrofoam cups poisoning the ground.

For once, I would like
to know what it would be like
to find a clear creek and
scoop up the crisp water
with my bare hands and naked soul
and drink its essence
without disintegrating
from the chemicals.

They say Love is blind,
but I disagree.
It sees too much.

Consumed by maybe spite,
apathy perhaps.
Love
watches you destroy everything.

Omniscient; Love sees all.

As you consume yourself in flames of brokenness
and lose her,
Love watches.

And what is more,
Love does nothing to stop you.

They have been uprooted from the only life they have ever known,
the poor things.

New so-called family, new barred cage, new fake toys.
Scared shitless. (Literally.)

They will try to tempt you.

"Pretty bird." "Pretty bird."

Don't you dare trust the humans.
Don't you dare let them clip your wings.

You're still in my body.
But not in the way I used to crave.
And maybe sometimes, if I admit it to myself, still do.
The detoxification process is a slow, torturous road.

I still watch your expressions.
The many faces of you.
Maybe I read them all wrong.

It's not my fault
I fell in love with a parasite.

I cannot fathom
why that pretty song lasted so much longer
when I was so exhausted
I could hear my bones groan.
Yet that sad poem ended so much quicker
when it was about you.
One sang me to sleep.
One lead me to nightmares.

Come with me to Neverland, he said.
Never have I ever
wanted to get lost in a land so bad.

He kissed my neck
Nibbled softly at its skin
And when he kissed my lips
I tasted my own perfume
My own poison
In my own mouth.
I lived, but he died.
You are immune to your own poison.

That moment.
Oh so fragile and sweet.
But what becomes of it
If 'us' ends in defeat?

That potential.
The most beautiful thing of all.
It occurs before it all begins
And before it all will fall.

Distilled sunlight and a steel breeze
Emphasizes the anxiety steadily
Burning, broiling, bubbling within me
The events of a tumultuous life takes my mind for a tumble.
Clench and release, ready to unleash--
The pains of day to day.
Even my ******* heart won't stop beating long enough for the sun to extinguish it's blazing hard stare.
All that's left is numbing gums.

Two cups of coffee at midnight was a bad idea.
At least I am not alone in this room,
I have my lonely feelings to keep me company.
I could reach out to you
except you are probably at some radical party
(because you go to those now)
making out with some girl I used to be friends with back in the day
when things went okay for me
and all I have
is this stupid website where I can
post mediocre and sub-par scribbles
at a half-*** attempt to feel important.

So I won't disturb you
or you or you or you
and anyone else who is off enjoying their lives
free from restrictions
while I am stuck in a box,
shapeless and undefined and constricted
and all kinds of filthy words
because it is 2 a.m.
and I really should not have had
those two cups of coffee
because all I can think of are filthy words.

I look at the same place
Once
Twice
A thousand times
And I still will not be sure
That it is reality

I don't always say what I mean
And I mean a lot of things I don't say
So I talk with you in my head
And you, and you, and you
I always get replies

I catch myself smiling or frowning
And then I give myself a scolding
But the worst is when I forget
Which conversations were real
And which ones were not

Sometimes
My body twitches
And I can't stop

Nobody knows about the time
I once carved the shape of a butterfly
etched it onto my skin
right where thigh meets waist...
In the end,
reincarnation got it wrong.
It was a simple mistake
because I was always meant to be a butterfly
for this life
and all the lives before
and all the lives to come.
I wouldn't mind so much
if being a human meant
I could still fly and be free.
And drift from place to place.

"Water?"
"Okay."
"No wait, a tea."
"Tea?"
"Yeah, mango?"
"Okay."

My devotions
are the hours in the nights
where I scribble in my notebook.
My prayers
are my journal entries
where I plead for sanity in my life.
My worship
is spending hours in an old bookstore
where I wish to leave with every book I come across.
My redemption
is when I compose a few poems
where all of my peers are left appalled and pleased.

Writing
is the only form of religion I know.

Don’t let me wake up please
I don’t want to wake up with thoughts like these:
Love? Is that some sort of cheese?
Don’t let me wake up thinking
I’m worth more dead than alive
I don’t want to wake up by your side
I don’t want to open my eyes
If you aren’t who I dream of at night

Don’t let me wake up with regret
I haven’t felt much regret yet, yet,
I feel like it’s coming faster than an air jet
Filled with important people I have never met
I don’t want to wake up
Wondering when it went wrong
Trying to remember, but forgetting the song
Wondering if I should have known all along

Don’t let me wake up as my mother
Don’t let me wake up as my father
I want to wake up like a lover
With roses by my bed and not a revolver.

You can't be friends
with someone you
used to
****

My souvenir from last night?
Scratches down my legs from the tangled brush.

Not a kiss on the lips,
Not a cuddle in the cold,
Not even a belated Christmas present.
Scratches.

I set myself up for failure
Every time.

I'd rather feel everything fully
than be a calloused soul.

"Have a place just for me."

Even now, I'll admit he was special.
But he never did get his own box.

Thus began the rainy season.

Our secret journal, the emotions, and his taste.
It is all stashed
In in the same spot as the others
Mingled together, in a shoe box.

If boys were leaves
he would be one among many
scattered on damp ground in the humid fall
of my memories.

God I love Autumn.

No, he never did deserve his own box.

Spring is approaching.

I kept replaying this over and over,
Like a memory soundtrack.
Click, Repeat, Click, Repeat.
But I only liked it the first time.

Today I just about sat and smoked myself to cancer.

I want to swim up by your side
Between the sheets, through the tide

Warm my toes and take me under
Through depths and air bubbles we plunder

Your skin has a flavor, but do me a favor

Avoid all the retrospections
Focus on simple satisfactions

Your nose crinkles when you stifle a yawn
The longest hour is right before the dawn

I forbid it to leave.
Even as my eyes water
Even as the coughs erupt
Even as you tell me that's enough.
You, of all people.
I hold my breath and never let it escape.
I let it burn my throat
I let it suffocate my lungs
I let it out affectionately,
Ever so slowly,
Into your parted lips.
I let it consume me in a cloudy haze
And then
I let you take me away.

Your goofy grin is to me
As a charmer's flute is to a snake.
Serenade and ****** me,
Oh mystical one.
Wherever you smile,
Wherever you play,
I will follow.

No matter how many blankets,
My feet and toes are still icicles.
No matter how many hot chocolates,
My teeth still chatter and tremble.
No matter how many good memories,
Winter is still the coldest time of the year.
No matter how much I try to figure it all out,
You're still gone.
And that is one thing
That won't change with the seasons, so I have learned.

They say
writers write with words
poets paint with them.

You should know
I am quite aware
Of ALL your longing stares
And it makes me really uneasy.

You should know
To avert your gaze
Stay away from my maze
I don't want you if you're easy.

When tracing stars
In the palm of my hands
I wondered about the galaxies
That envelop us so serenely
And thought about the revolving planets
That are always in the right place
I wonder where me and my stellar palms
Fit in between all of these universes.

It was never the best of times, and it was never the worst of times.
It was - is - simply, the times.
Certainly not the most memorable at any rate.

But oh, the wet quicksand mud beneath our feet
steals our shoes from us
if we are in too deep,
as we always are.
Many times I have to dust off
my fish netted spaghetti legs.

And still, we dance like hooligans
in the middle of the soggy road.
And we beg for the rain
to keep pounding on.
And we will never stop.

My routine:
Sit on the fourth step from the bottom
Stare right
through the window speckled front door
Out and beyond
gazing at culdesac concrete
Waiting for the color of the street to transform lighter and lighter until brightness
If the color made from
someone's headlights
was a Crayon color, I would name it
"take-me-away-yellow"
I wait for the color
I wait for the signal
For someone
Anyone
To save me

Oh, those winding curves and me with no brakes.
Oh, those long legs and me with no reaching arms.
Oh, those pearly whites and me with no available floss.
Oh, those voluptuous locks and me with no comb.
Oh, those big revealing eyes and me with just a windowless soul.
Oh, those velvet hands and me with not even cotton fingers.
Oh, that woman of absolute perfection and me with no way to contain her.

"And what then?" I asked,
With the fire roaring by,
And the ashes in the sky,
"And what then," I asked,
With a smile oh so sweet,
"What then when the world we know
Burns down to our feet?"

"And what then?" I asked,
With the waves smashing down,
And the wind whistling 'round,
"And what then," I asked,
With my shaky, trembling hands,
"What then will happen
To our once beloved lands?"

"And what then?" I asked,
Your tears mixed with my own,
And 911 calls on the phone,
"And what then," I asked,
With helpless cries like a dove,
"What then will become of
The dear ones that we love?"

Just because I don't believe
Doesn't mean I don't understand
Why some people do
We don't agree on some things
But it's okay
Humans were made for community
We can still be friends
I still want to be friends
Sometimes I think about
What the world would be like
If everyone based their lives
And their morals
On just one word
Not "God"
But "Love."

There is a dark aesthetic
In the horror-house of a horror story
Where emotion is merely blue ambiance
Treated constantly like mental patients

Every day I face
multiple cages and tanks,
Doors with locks, doors with bars,
Sealed blinds shut tight
and tight schedules sealed shut,
Leashes and collars,
Choke chains and smoke chains-
From the fire that engulfed the flame.

I can tell you all their names;
The birds, the fish, the dogs, the cats,
The animals that were tame.
Those that were as helpless as I.
I can tell you where I am from.
And I am the one who is ablaze.

How can I already sit and ponder,
"I wish I knew then what I knew now?"
How can I already have arthritis of the soul,
How can I already be too tired to fight anymore?

Arguably a tad too young for depressing, nostalgic introspection-
But I can tell you why. I can tell you how much my small frame
doesn't quite fit the brooding thoughts that seep through
my heavy head holding hostage my body
My body is not to blame for this haunting,
lingering past in the shape of a house
It was the limbs performing the directions,
carried out and controlled by the mission control center
to this messed up operation existing within
the confines of my cage
No time to tell my story before the fire engulfs the flame.

But I can tell you all their names;
The abusers, the users, the accusers, the persecutors
Those who broke me to make me tame.
I can tell you where I am from.
And I am the one who is ablaze.

I cannot remember
I cannot tell you my name.

Burning all of the pages
I've written about you
would be equivalent
to setting a forest on fire.
Except I couldn't do that.
What a waste of paper,
what a waste of trees,
that I planted and grew,
watered them with my tears,
watched them flourish
with the many colors of you
glistening on all of the leaves.
The only thing you've written about me
was my name on the back
of a scratch piece of paper
crumpled up and forgotten
and you didn't even finish the sentence.
Just a little tree sapling.
Well, you can burn that
with a flame torch
for all I care.

The bell rings.
I am one of the many cows that herd towards the door,
mooing impatiently to exit.
By entering into the hallway,
I find you easily
because I know where to search,
and we have grown accustomed to
picking each other out in crowds.
Our eyes lock for a fleeting second,
then we both find a spot on the floor to inspect
as we wait for me to
make my way towards your stationary self
and your pocketed hands. Step after clunky step.
Once I arrive, in place of exchanging greetings,
our bodies 180 turn and make our way among fellow cows.
Our lanky walks fall in sync with each other, clumsy
in all the same places.
We walk side by side together. This is routine.
We do this every day. Two among a herd of cows.
Moral of the story:
To everyone else, we are nobody.
To each other, we are somebody.
The favorite part of my day is knowing someone is there
Waiting for me to find my way to them.
The best part is I always do.

"Surviving solely
On caffeine and nicotine
Hazy baby
Crazy maybe
But I am a being
Forever being."
- The way I use to describe my daily muse

Terms are the worms of the garden of expression;
Words must be chosen in the utmost discretion.
Through the rhymes, walking the lines
Between Romantic and pedantic.

Simple semantics-
There is no such thing.

In humanities we learn about semantics
(among other areas of expertise).
There's no humanities without semantics (among other areas of key).

The instructors instruct,
"It's easy, it's simple, it's breezy"
But the instructors don't conduct
How semantics can never be easy.

You're the full moon that I look at
Bursting bright with your moon beams.
You're my very own Texas weather,
Because it's never what it seems.
You're my mind when I am sleeping,
Filling me with lucid dreams.
You're my ocean on a sunny day,
When it glistens, when it gleams.
You're the library card I misplace,
Yet can always be redeemed.
You're my favorite fuzzy sweater
Held together by the seams.
You and I, we go together,
And we make the perfect team.

The diamond in the rough.
The one who converts
yet never conforms
and is known
for being unknown
always on
the outside looking in
and enjoying the view.
The red in a sea of blue.

The words in your journals...
the thoughts in my head.

There was once a boy who almost drowned
inside his own self pity and doubt.
But if you could ever get him to smile,
he would sit in his car and whistle a while.
He whistled Coldplay, he whistled Muse,
he whistled notes only birds could use.
He whistled the sweetest, saddest songs,
that made you wish you could sing along.
There was a time that came one day
when I sent that whistling boy away.
He almost drowned, but then he was saved
by the only girl that made him cave.
So when he came back, there I met him,
there, in his car, with the lights all dim.
And there he played his Muse and Coldplay
And there he whistled until the end of his days.
It reminded me of how life should be,
a sweet and complicated melody.
He taught me to whistle, the best gift of all
a gift I can always quickly recall.
I realized then that we'd always be friends,
until he whistled no more at the end.
But for now, we'll sit and whistle a while,
I'll do my best to get him to smile.
I look forward to when I see him soon,
so he can whistle to me life's beautiful tune.

My love is like the wind;
You drift away from me.
And our love has yet to begin,
At least that's how it seems.

My love is like the wind;
With you I never win.
But with you in my hair,
And you everywhere,
That's how it's always been.

The year of cigarettes.
This year as a ghost.
The year of chauffeurs.
This year of sweater mornings.
The year of not being __ enough.
This year of risks.

I'm not sure where home is anymore.

That feeling of too many thoughts in my head
That sound of too many things that were said
That boy with too many feelings on a thread
That moment of too many loves in a bed

This feeling of too little thoughts shared
This sound of too little people who cared
This boy with too little that made him scared
This moment of too little plans unprepared

Somebody to fill the spaces between your fingers.
Somebody who adores all your quirks and fetishes.
Somebody that loves hearing you tell those stories as much as you love telling them.
Somebody always ready to embark on an adventure with you.
Somebody with the capability of hitting all your tickle spots accurately every time.
Somebody who knows all your favorite parts to all your favorite songs from all your favorite bands.
Somebody who shares the same kissing language as you.
This is what you need:
Me.

A quote:
if you ride like lightning you'll crash like thunder;
Through depths of despair we plunder.
Driving around and I wonder,
Why I hated the sound as a kid of thunder.
Denote

Those nights in which I stumble to bed,
Makeup still intact,
Jeans and shoes remaining,
Uncombed, unbrushed,
Unwritten and undefined...

Bring on the days
In which I don't give two ***** about anything.