The theory of our relationship
A complex set of numbers
Are we where we want to be?
Are we who we want to be?
What do we become when we're together?
I hypothesize and fantasize the answers.
My only conclusion?
The       distance       between       us       is       too       cold       to       define.

I was drowning,
I was drowning,
but saved by thoughts of you,

Arms wrapped tight
arms with your mark,
with the bruise where your arms
lingered to hug away my wounds,

And I notice
how you keep me together
when seasons don't
match the weather;
it's spring and yet I
don't know what blooms in me.

I'll think twice
before i sacrifice my breath,
you've taught me flowers
can bloom out of the nicotine
in my lungs, infact;
the darkness can even be **the soil.

Today it took me two hours
twelve markers
half a roll of paper towels
and seventeen redos
to fill a whiteboard at my place of work
Today I counted steps
in the sidewalk blocks as I walked
1
1, 2
1, 2
1
only having to backtrack and repeat
twice
Today I stood in the tiny wooden doorway
of my apartment's fire escape
for the entire duration of my cigarette
terrified to step foot on the steel grate
all for fear of the lightning in the distance
because after a brief ocular inspection
I was so certain
that there is no god ****** way this building
is up to code in that regard
Today I couldn't help but wonder
what ever has happened in my life
to once again trigger
these neurotic thought patterns
that plague me from time to time

THE LAST ONE TO KNOW

He smiles
in the mirror.

His reflection
does not smile back.

He raises his left hand.
His reflection does not.

He raises his right hand
and scratches his nose.

His reflection does not.

His reflections laughs.

He does not.

"I'm afraid you're dead!
his reflection tells him."

"Only you....
...don't know it yet!"

His reflections steps out of
the mirror

no longer made of glass
free to be whoever he wants to be

instead of being chained
to this human.

The reflection leaves.
Slams the door.

The body on the floor
does not even hear him

. . .go. . .

Accept no limits
And we'll shine like the diamonds
That our tied hands mine

Upon a cold
winter's night, on
the snowy path they
wandered.
Deep in the forbidden forest.
The wise old owl that lived
in the tall oak was watching
as he sat on a branch.
Old pine,remain hollow.
He hooted to the
indifferent wind: Who?Who?
But it did not reply,
only whistling was heard
while the pinecones shivered.
The first was dressed in silver,
and her sister dressed in gold.
He stared into the moon,
seeking the truth.
So he discovered the stars
twinkling down upon them,
through the pine needles.
Brown wings of once lost light,
wisdom spoken by the night's silence.
And into the darkness they went,
The wise and the beautiful...