How I wish I were like a mountain;
strong, bold, tall.
What secrets would they contain?
How long till I fall?

How I wish I were like the sea;
calm, comforting, seamless.
It is beautiful and endless.
How I yearn for love, a desperate plea

How I wish I were like a thunderstorm;
fierce, powerful, brave,
vicious but certain.
It smothers me,
but it embraces you.
How I wish I were less torn

I look into the mirror,
but I can’t see me.

They say that diamonds are a girl’s best friend,
that anything sparkly is beautiful,
that anything beautiful is of value,
that anything of value should be obtained.

They tell you to follow the brightest light,
because the brightest light is often the end of the tunnel,
because the brightest light will lead the way,
because the brightest light is always right.

They claim that only the prettiest ornaments get picked,
that you should get the best ones on the shelf,
that the more precious an ornament is, the more worthy it is of your purchase,
that the prettiest ones should be the one you want.

What they don’t tell you is
a blessing can very well be a curse.
That the diamonds are only beautiful because they cracked under pressure,
that the brightest light belongs to the shortest candle,
that the prettiest ornaments are the ones that break with a single touch.

Second feels like that sense of euphoria
when I’m with you,
but I’m sure you make everyone feel that way too.

Second feels like watching you;
oblivious and slightly vain,
a thousand eyes set on you.

Second feels like loathing me;
Naked, bland, completely ordinary.
How I wish I could be like you too

Second feels like a worry.
Knowing they’d pick you
because we are all planets orbiting you, the sun
and no one looks at Pluto

cigarette smoke lingers in the air
take a breath,
you wouldn't dare
the ash dance like snowflakes on a cold winter night
the stench lingers,
like mistakes from the past
tabacco's awful isn't it?
but to me, it smells like home

days-old coffee left on bedside tables
take a sip,
it wouldn't hurt you
it is sweet but leaves a bitter aftertaste
like the moments we treasure,
but often fail to remember
i've never liked coffee
but to me, it tastes like home

medicinal pills that taste like ***
take a pop,
then 50 more
with every pill swallowed,
our days grow fewer
and when you went away,
the pills grew in number
i never liked this part of the story
but even for a while, it was still home

morning light entered
you took your leave at dawn
i'm sorry i couldn't see you earlier
but the cigarette smoke still lingers in the air
the cold coffee still sits on your bedside table
the pills still come in the mail, left uneaten
but it doesn't feel like home