I'm not sure where I stand,
or if I'm even in the same room,
as him
to her
I might be on the curb
burning my fingers
with cigarettes smoked to the ****
waiting on a new face
to pick me up
and take me for a spin
teach me how to hold hands again
peel away the lamenent
call me human and
drive
drive
drive
far from all the hurt
till it doesn't matter
where I stand
with
her

to feel everything so raw and intense
is both a blessing
and a curse

I feel like a black hole
when I sit at the bar.
Like there is no amount of liquor
that could fill this bottomless well
and people keep falling in.

I can hear them cry sometimes
finger nails clawing at stone
until the tips are rubbed raw.
Ghosts wailing in the dark
a throbbing in my chest,
Poe's Tell-Tale Heart.

I spoke to one once
at a queer hour in the morn
she said "It's beautiful down here"
even as her body was being torn
into billions of subatomic particles.

"It's beautiful" she cried
"I've seen the end of time
I've seen galaxies form
I've seen star's collapse
and again be reborn
I've seen life emerge
and I've seen it destroyed
I've seen it all with my eyes
and all the bad you've done,
all the guilt you carry
it isn't helping anyone
it's ok- it's ok-- it's ok---
to let yourself be happy"

I so badly desired
to have faith in her words
but I've never been one
to believe in ghosts.

Maybe it's a good thing I have a broken heart.
I tend to attract broken people
and stray animals.
That crowd doesn't demand very much;
they just want to be loved.
And giving them a piece of me
is all I'm capable of.
Maybe I'd be happier if my heart was whole.
But I tend to attract broken people
and stray animals.
That crowd requires a lot of love
and needs me to be there.
And if my heart wasn't in pieces,
it'd be much harder to share.

We

   were

           all

              born

                      to

                          die.