a man walks a tight rope,
the wind does kart wheels across his nose
reminding him of unwelcome territory
and the rope complains bitterly about how he's unfit for the job.
holding the balance of one man's life is too much for me it scoffs.
the man laughs.
life? he thinks.
what a unfortunate thing to be a part of.

i-

well,
      ****.

Remember when you'd hug me goodbye and the words 'I love you' escaped my mouth like my body knew you meant more than I would ever let myself know. Remember when I wrapped myself up in smoke like I wrapped myself up in everyone's goodbyes because holding on to something, even when it kills you, is easier than letting go. Remember when you pulled me in closer and every will of my being screamed to push you away and keep walking, but every tiny nerve craved your hands around my waist and the temptation to stay when it's all so wrong is too much. In all reality's I'm just too scared of the 'what ifs' that'll haunt my head once we're through because if we tried long enough we could be more than something great. Remember the way my lips moved and the way my fingers ran down your neck as if every muscle in my body needed you to know, wanted you to know, that I love you more than I could let my voice admit.

I watched as all those months went by
Oh my how time flies

Didn't even know when the time was right.
I didn't know I was supposed to say goodbye

You left me stranded with my thoughts
How many times had we fought?

For all those days you sat in a hospital bed
It made my heart feel like lead

They told us you were coming home
But how were we to know?

**How were we to know you'd die and leave us all alone?

I wanted your bright green eyes.
I wanted them right when you woke up; when they were still foggy from last nights dreams.

I wanted them when you fell in love; not with me, but with your passions.

I wanted them when you were angry... When you stared at me hard and cold knowing I couldn't dare stare back.

I wanted them when you looked at yourself in the mirror, never seeing what I saw in you.

I wanted them mostly when you told me you loved me... Because they got sad and compassionate...

And I wanted them when you told me you always thought about me, but that it wasn't going to work out.

I wanted your bright green eyes.

Paint dried a guilty tattoo on his skin
Your gallery he stood in
Worthless, in every sense
You stayed strong benind a glass fence
He took you up to hang on the wall
But every breathtaking picture has a flaw
But even when he poured your ripped canvas soul into a trash can
A piece of art's beauty is not determined by the nonunderstanding of a man

I woke up after the worst dream.
(I was 16 and dying. Not from disease but from myself.)
I looked in the mirror and saw this girl who wasn't who she thought she was.
I saw the 16 year old me.
The one who hated everything about herself.
From her scars to her weight to her stupid fake date.
She hated her life.
She took the pain away with one single blade.
She took her life in the night so she was sure no one would interrupt.
Except her mother woke up from a terrible dream of her daughter dead.
Only to find that it wasn't a dream and it wasn't all in her head.
She dialed 911 as she held her close.
Now 11 year old me is seeing a ghost.
A ghost of a girl just 16 years old, dead in her mothers arms because she was never told how cruel the world is.
-N.P

the lights hung,
suspended in the fog
of the incoming storm
like lanterns from across the barriers of hades.
your faces hid in the shadows
drawn on like your thick eyeliner
and smudged, ****** lip stain
worn from too many cheap beers.

the methodical flashing of streetlights
played a song as monotonous
as a morse code metronome
spitting out meaningless phrases
and chords
that lead to no resolution nor reprieve.
with the flick of your lighter,
you ignited your somber visage momentarily
as we sped down winding hills to the highway.

the times were changing;
they were tearing down buildings
we had always taken for granted
and the friends we made
in our childhood
now lingered as undisclosed phantoms.

would you really go back?
if you could?
to the room in the morning
to the knife tucked in your boot
to the side of the road
to the carcass of your
festering
forgotten
fallacies.

or will you get in the passenger seat

and move forward with me.

C.e.M. 1.6.15