I love you. I always have, since the second we first met.

Any time I was with you, I felt blissful and at peace. I couldn't imagine being anywhere else. All of my most powerful or cherished memories are the ones that you're in.

You performing literally took my breath away.

You smiling made me feel alive and like I had a reason to exist.

You crying shattered me into a million pieces and I'd cry later thinking about you being sad.

You holding me felt like home or the closest thing there is to heaven on earth.

Carrying your books for you at orientation was the most purposeful thing I've ever done in my life. I was so happy just to be helping you with something, even if it was as insignificant as that. The other guys on the football team would make fun of me for the way I looked at you. They said I looked like a puppy.

I felt like a puppy. I adored you.

My heart would race every time the bell rang since I knew it meant I could see you. Listening to you tell me about your day when you called me during the summer was always the highlight of my day. I loved hearing you talk.

I loved being important enough to you for you to want to share your time with me.

I could never tell you how I felt.

I'd never liked anyone else before I met you.

Any time I wanted to tell you, it would get lodged in my throat and I couldn't breathe. Or I'd tremble anxiously, looking at the words on my phone before deleting them. It didn't feel that important anyway.

It bothered me more that you were hurting and I didn't know how to help.

I don't know why I'm writing this. Maybe just to actually put it in words for once in my life. Maybe getting it out will make it have less of a grip on me. I don't know if I should pursue you or not. I don't know if I even have a chance with you.

Even if I did, I don't know if I'm right for you.

All I do know is that when I'm with you, my life feels whole and perfect and peaceful even when nothing else in it is.

Life's lived with regret,
when hating what you wait for.

15 cans of beer
to drown the mind daily,
after work,
is no way to live.
(It's a way to die.)

A streak of sunlight slips through gunmetal clouds,
laced with shrapnel and lined in steel core.
The ray touches you. You burst into brilliant flames.
I won't play your games.
I won't play your games.

You love to tease, it's no surprise.
Bold red lipstick and dark green eyes.

On second thought, I fancy a round.
I go down. You go down.
Face to face, your lips taste like blood.
Your lips are drenched in blood.

They tremble when you look at me,
as if you have something to say.
I pull you closer, run fingers through your hair,
let you save your words for a better day.

Sometimes comfort is the sound of rain,
the crackle of thunder, the crackle of fire.
Or a cup of warm tea,
a whole day spent in bed.
Sometimes nondescript is all I am,
and hiding isn't real but pain is. Compulsive lips meet mine,
whisper "I'm fine," and well I
rake my face
with claws
to rearrange salted waterfall
into bittersweet smile.

The crow sings of what was and shall be
The crow sings of fear and fright
Come! To my side, gather now children
Its fearful call shan't touch your blessed ears behind this wall
Come! Partake of your lessons. Imbibe of wisdom divine
Seek supernatural sanctuary within these sacred speakings

The ****** prowls, crowding at the door
(They call for sacrifice. Who? Is the Snake worthy?)
Come! Summer thunderstorm, mask the screams of the Snake
(Where is the Priest? Shall he not bear witness?)
A shriek punctures the eve as warm rain washes the blood of their hands

The vulture sings of what was and shall be
The vulture sings of hunger and madness
Come! Fall nay into despair, my innocent few
Bare not its beady eyed gaze but yet bury your sight in me
To the other side I'll gently lead, hand in hand
If only your humble servant I may be

The door shudders violently. The committee calls for blood
(His Word is empty. We are beset and the cycle begins anew.)
Come! Winter snowstorm, hide those tracks of the audacious few
(Where is the Priest? His hollow words won't save him)
A knife in the back. The door slams shut and stills.

There's a hole in my heart or
maybe my head. Yet all I know
is this abyss something looks like
a nest, a scraggly thing, made of
grass, and hay, and refuse, and trash
and this nest abyss holds,
or should I say held
A spark, an ember, that the faintest gust fed
And then it ate itself
A broken egg shell, blood and fluffy feather down.
The thing where when in sleep all dreams drown.
So if I'm distant, I'd say I'm sorry,
but I'm not.
It's only my nature.
My dead nature.