Shining stars
And beautiful scars
That’s all we are

I'm wasting.
Wasting away.
Wasting my time.
Wasting my days.
My thoughts.
My hours.
My love.
Wasted.
On someone who doesn't care.
DOES NOT CARE.
Does NOT deserve...
Someone...
who needs to learn.
Learn life.
Live carefully.
With death to their sin.
Let me forgive them.
Let them begin again.
So they won't be wasted.

Into the water, I go
Bone-chilling and empty
Deep and dark showing no end
Here I float alone
Forever alone
the light of the surface dies before it reaches to me
In this water, I freeze
and here I stay

I saw you. I fell in love.
A bit of a cliche,
but such is life.

Only I didn't really fall in love
when I saw you, it was gradual.
In terms of absence, that is, one day
I suddenly noticed you were not there
(I was able to distinguish  how empty
the world was without you in it).

This arrow flew a long time,
which only means that it hit
with grater strength.

You see, this is not love on a whim.
When I see you I don't think "I fell",
rather I flap my arms, taste the fear,
and think "Why the hell I don't stop falling?".

It is yet to be ten o'clock
and the lights in my room
are already off
because only in the darkness
of my deepest dreams
am I able to see you.

Yes, I see you in the halls at school,
but no reality will ever again
allow me to see
the feelings I swear
you once had for me.

So I drift off into a deep, deep sleep...

A shimmering glimmer of thoughts
fades into a distorted actuality
where we smile and seem happy
as if we're in some sort of
Alice-in-Wonderland-type fantasy.

All the pain and heartbreak disappears peacefully
into an abyss of oblivion,
down a black-hole of bad memories
and missed opportunities
that torment me in the daylight.

And in that exact moment,
you decide to wander into
the unoccupied cavities
of my innermost mind,
thus beginning the same dream
I live out every night:

It seems I'm in a car,
heading down a long, straight stretch of road,
one that, every time, I swear I've never once seen.

I'm surrounded by a sea of busy people,
like black and white dots fluttering around
amidst a broken television screen.

But the two of us are in no hurry
to get where we want to go,
because we have no plan but to drive
down this long, straight stretch of road.

So I gaze out the window and roll it down
to weave my fingers through the breeze,
propping my bare feet up against the dash
because it makes me feel free.

I hear you laugh that adorable laugh
as I turn my head to see
your curious gaze wondering
how you came to be so lucky.

And it is right then
that through those deep brown eyes,
I'm able to read every single thought
that passes through your mind.

I know you wish
you could jump inside mine,
but little do you know
you do almost every single night...

So as the dream goes on,
so does the same old road,
taking us God-knows-where
in however much time we please.

Having no destination makes us feel free
from all the burdens brought unto us
by this monster we call reality.

But just as the other cars start to leave
and we begin picking up some speed,
a bright red light puts a brief end to our journey.

And even though this light eventually turns green,
the road that lies ahead is not what it seems,
for it twists and turns differently in every dream,
throwing us for loops that we'd never once seen.

And all of a sudden,
I'm jolted from my sleep,
awoken by a harsh reminder
that comes from within me.

We can only be together
between the hours of 10 and 2,
because in each of my dreams,
we're just driving,
unaware of the reality we'll wake up to.

Twenty-nine belts bravery from a bottle.
It feels like all talk and no game.
Twenty-nine has thighs that don't lie
and a finger that motions you
to come closer.
It relearns each facet of love
and finds beauty in its own reflection.
Twenty-nine betters the invention
instead of reinventing it.
It imagines kissing strangers to feel alive and
gifts the pearl to the jewel thief
with no words- only smiles.
Twenty-nine strikes a match
in the middle of a pitch black nowhere,
only to see the smoke twist up and away.
It cracks and hisses when it feels its been forgotten.
It smells like pine needles, orange peel, and sun bleached cotton.
Twenty-nine forgets those who have forgotten it
but thanks them for the lessons.
It likes church but only for the music, architecture, and sociology.
Twenty-nine won't apologize for passion or pity,
but it will drip with empathy at inopportune times.
Twenty-nine steeps itself in scalding water
only to discover its true flavor.
It finds no comfort in the opinions of others
but will only rest at the signal of a nod of approval.
Twenty-nine looks down into the neverending
and can't decide if it wants to jump or run.
It handstitches a parachute
as it dangles one foot over the edge,
says a prayer to no god
but writes hymns that bring tears.
Twenty-nine keeps breathing.
It keeps breathing.