Sometimes I find myself remembering things that I know were meant to be erased from my mind.
        Reason;
            -The pain they cause is more than mental.

I still wear that bracelet you gave me when I was six on my left wrist. I never take it off.
        Reason;
            -It helps me to realize the mess you left behind wasn't your fault.

My hand still shakes every time I see pictures of you.
        Reason;
            -I long to reach out and touch it but fear the disappointment of glass beneath my fingertips.

When I wake up in the morning I find tears still wet on my face.
        Reason;
            -Even sleep isn't an escape anymore.

I miss those see-through stockings you used to buy me at Christmas-time with the candy in them.
        Reason;
            -They were always the one good thing to look forward to.

The boy bike you bought me to learn how to ride on is still in the garage. I threw away the training wheels, though.
        Reason;
            -Training is for people who don't know how to do something. I already know how to lose.

Fleating words shoot through your mind, teasing you.
You race to find paper and pen but you can't find your fingers.
          (And you can't find Arizona on the map)
As your mind slowly forgets the beauty of those words.
          (You remember that Arizona is a figment of your imagination)
And he was there when it became one.

this room looks familiar to my untrained eyes but it's just its facade. it's really just some random room that was specifically designed to torment me into insanity. guess what? it didn't work

as i watch the television i realize that i'm seeing us in the fictional characters of greys anatomy and i'm yelling "*****" at mcdreamy while you go and spend the night with addison and alex realizes that his baby is a fictional person in the fictional world that is his own and i suppose i'm the meredith. isn't it twisted?

i wrote a monologue that held words of beauty (beauty) but burnt it and wrote a new one. beauty never really described you well. things like *** and alcohol and stale bread always come to mind when i think of you. (the only reason you're still alive in my head is because you won't let go)

it's not me anymore. it's paperclips and blue buttons and borrowed things that are never returned. it's a telephone that doesn't call out and it's lonely with someone else and it's you

do you get it now? *no

he's the one that knows everything that is you and he is like half [sunny]days spent inside because he burned easily and you didn't like the feel of the medicine between your fingers when you rubbed it on his skin.

You are tired and shaky as you lie next to him on a bed filled with [half]forgotten ghosts and almost[remembered] stories about when he used to want to stay up late like little kids and just [talk]

He is a deformity forgotten because it doesn't [really] matter that he can't hold you the way you want him to after a long day spent taking care of him. {it doesn't really matter} but it does.

You are almost done with all of this and you wish you could give up, but obligation won't let you leave him all [alone] with himself because you know it scares him more than anything to be without someone.

He is {never knowing what he is} thinking when you stare at him from across the room because he refuses to talk about what is really bothering him and that [bothersyou] but you don't know why. {Because he's supposed to trust you with his weaknesses}

you are {short}term memory loss and i am alzheimers and we fit together like broken(glass)

you are homeless and i am full(ofhope) without an inspirational outlet so i'm going (sortof)crazy without you here

you are an almost forgotten past with alcoholic breath and i am starknaked bodies scattered all over

i stumble accidentally into chaos and you follow and i find myself saying, "that's your problem" but it's really mine.

he's a bright sunday morning
full of hope and faith and praise
for the one you worship right
then while he sits right next
to you, your knees almosttouching
and your hand{s} lying palm-up in
case the other feels the need to
hold it.

he's fried chicken after church
with baked beans and a side of tradition
in a sharpblacksuit that looks
dashing on his slim figure but you
don't say it because you're afraid
of yourself.

he's sitting on the porch swing
next to you while you debate the
intelligence in asking him to take a
walk through the meadow across the way.

he's a bouquet of lavender with small
sprigs of babies breath that he says
remind him of you, though you can't
imagine why. "they're different, but still
beautiful." it's almost "iloveyou", but
not quite.

he's in love, but not with you
"you're my best friend," he says, smiling.
and your fairytale falls down
around you in beautiful shards of *nonsensicalnonsense^

seconds1-3

                   i want to take your hand and
                   lace it through my hair without
                   permission and gauge your response
                   to see if you secretly like it but
                   are afraid to admit it.

---

seconds4-7
                
                   i want to whisper in your
                   ear and tell you that you're
                   {uglybeautifulterrifying}
                   and that i *hatelovewant you
                   more than i want to breathe or move or
                   (live)

---

seconds8-12

                   i want to swim through you without
                   the fear that i might {hurt****love}
                   you and forget what all of this was
                   about in the first place.

---

seconds13-17

                   i want to remember that i don't
                   love you even though that's a lie that
                   i tell myself every [secondminutehour]
                   to make sure i'm following the rules.

silence will follow the day
that you find me and i will
see you in mild {disarray} and
apples with faces carved 12years
ago. i'm staring and you're
curious and he's embarrassed but
i don't care about that anymore.
you promised 5minutes and it's
12years and 4psychiatrists later and
istillthinki'mcrazy

"leaving is good. never coming back is better."

we are two parts of
space and time that should
never have touched and so
i force us apart to create
something new but he's
frightened and i'm lonely
and you're anxious for something
that doesn't even exist anymore.

*"prisoner zero has escaped."

she wants to make babies with sunshine and call them buttercup or maybe even [ol' sunny] boy. her mind is filled with flowers and fantasies of {forgetme} not's that make her half naive without a chance of bail.

she pulls wings off of lady[bug]s and collects them in mason jars made of innocence and g[****] flavored caprisun's. without her faithful pen, she is nothing.

she prays to every deity that man has ever created and every one that will be. she wants to create her own but knows s[he] doesn't have enough faith. her every step is shadowed by something darker than her fairytale brain knows exists.

she dreams of prince charming and wakes up with[out] a thousand smiles and no [less] doubt. her heart is made up of yellow bandanas and sun babies all wrinkly from heat. she wraps a bracelet around her left wrist to remind her that there is [no] hope for the fallen.

i'm a volture with a scalpel and cropped brown hair, circling over the injured in the field as if i'll find something that will make me feel important enough to push through the failures of the past. Dark blue scrubs cling to my tired, worn out body like a second skin; at least that's what it feels like. it's my body and my being, but it's not enough for you to want me after this final mistake.

you're a beautifulmess ; just as cliche as everyone assumes you are. your first skin is your only one and you can't seem to understand my need for the feel of flesh giving way beneath the sharpest weapon in my artillery. it's completely different for you, a feeling like lightning coursing through your veins in the place of blood. a transfusion of mystery and obligation that you have to undertake.

he is nothing you ever thought you might want but everything you can see next to you, handing you the forceps as you do your job, working to save lives. but he's not someone you can see next to you in bed, strong arms wrapped tight around you as if he's afraid you might try to escape while he's distracted by everything you pretend to be but is really only your new transplanted face; the surgery went well by the way, even though the procedure was basically brand new. i just thought you should know.

she has dark blue almostblack bruises lining her neck like a macabre collar, left there from this mornings goings on with her g.i joe, fresh back from iraq like he has nothing wrong with him. she hugs him and it disgusts you but you say nothing. she's a grown woman and you're her person, but she doesn't want you right now. she's flying solo for the first time and she panics and lets go the strangers secret. then she cuts into his skin and sighs in relief. she's all better now.

i'm falling apart at the seams, my sutures unraveling before your surgeons eyes and you cannot help because i'm angry and drunk and the body bleeds more with alcohol in its system. you can't operate without consent and i won't sign the form and i throw your promise into the trees like it means absolutely nothing to me.

the stranger is alone and fragile and the voltures are circling again but they won't find anything that can save them this time. she's without a cause and i'm a neurosurgeon with alcoholicbreath and shakinghands and cropped brown hair. the scalpel in my hand is like a lifeline; you refuse to give me another promise because it might be my easy way out of saving the stranger. you couldn't risk it any more than i could.

the "chief" wouldn't let you choose your path and so you ended your day in an elevator lined with x-rays and brain scans; patients saved because you wouldn't let me quit. it's my love letter to you, no matter how unconventional it may seem. it's your second skin and i'm your promise; cut me open now and let it begin. "scalpel please?"