I think life is really quite simple
If you think about it the way
I do.

Well, how you do you think about it?

What if we are the birds.

What do you mean?

I mean I've spent my whole life
Envious of birds and their
Ability to fly.

So?

So often I wonder how lovely it would be
To own the sky.

Yeah, I suppose
That'd be nice.

You'd think so right?
But maybe they've spent their whole lives
Thinking 'man I wish I could drive those cars
Or watch those movies
Or go to school.'

You think birds care about
Things like that?

No, I don't think they do,

That's why we should live
Like we're the birds.

And all those songs that remind me of you
Are stuck in my head, in my ears
On the tip of my tongue
I just can't seem to give you up
I'm floating now
Living on cloud nine, blissful and delicate
Don't you dare take away my denial
For I am in love with the ignorance of it all
And truth be told
The only reason I put holes in my brain
Was to get you out of my head
You take me back to the ****, back to the mess
I loved you once, that's all you get
Still your shadow casts down on me
And I'm sending post cards to the sun
Wish you were here, wish you were here… my dear
And on my playlist goes
Music notes in your skin
You ruin everything..

Have you ever wished that you were a different person entirely?
Not for a different color of hair
Or a different weight
Not for almond eyes and a heart shaped face
Or a better laugh
But what if you woke up as someone else?
Complete with new memories and enemies
A new set of parents or lack there of
And a new perspective on the world
Would you miss the old you?
Would you want to go back
To the way things were?
Would you realize that you actually enjoy
Your boring mundane routine
Simply because it is hauntingly comforting
Because there is sanity entwined with repetition
Because doing something more than once
Helps it define you, somehow, in a way…
Or would you be just happy
That you got another shot?
That you could start over?
Picking up all the pieces someone else
Had left behind?
A new kid on the last day of school.
What would you do?

And how would you feel
If you never woke up at all?
If this was your last night?
Would you welcome death like an old friend
Or would you run? Fearful?
Would regret hang on your face
Or would you laugh at all the time passed
Would it be too soon?
Or fashionably late?

Would you die?
Or would you have left footprints
In the stars?

Time lingers on
The seconds tick away
Leaves turn burgundy
My heart turns cold
And your face beams
Sunlight streams from your eyes
You are everything wonderful
About the world
Wrapped into one neat
Perfect little package
And I'm an eighteen year old boy
With the winning lottery ticket
In hand
I am blessed with youth
And with you.



And still I am wondering
How someone like you
Could see something wonderful
In someone like me
I'm wondering even more
How you could ever bare
To love me whole.

There are some nights where I barely sleep at all
I sit up in my sheets
Entwined in the heat
Listening intently to the chirps of birds
While they dream
And often, I wonder in the stillness
What an animal drowning in freedom
Has left to dream about?


And then there are some nights where I sleep for days
I lay very quiet in my sheets
Breathing in the heat
Dreaming up all the ways you left me for dead
While they danced
And often, I wonder in the stillness
What a person drowning in solitude
Has left to dream about?

You smile

                            the way

                                                 pretty girls do

When they

                          realize

                        ­                        death      is




**Inevitable.

Your life is linear, but your mind is sporadic.
You could be anyone, anywhere.
Time stands still.
Suddenly you're seven.
Tugging on your mother's floral print dress and begging her for ice cream money.
Time speeds up.
Suddenly you're behind a register trying not to laugh at the bitter old man cursing you to the seventh layer of Hell for your purple hair and tattoos.
Time freezes.
Suddenly your ten and your mother is shaking you.
She wants to know, where is her son?
Where has her baby boy gone?
It's the middle of the night and she won't stop shaking you.
She stares out your window and mumbles something about drugs.
But you don't know what drugs are and it's three in the morning.
You're ten.
You blink twice and click your heels.
Suddenly you're sitting behind a desk,
And the school system is trying to tell you how to feel.
You don't buy into it, but you learned early on that fighting them will get you no where.
You play the game.
A snap of your fingers and once more you're seven,
And your mother is making you swear.
Not the "f" bomb or the "c" word.
No, she's making you say something much worse than that.
Swear you won't tell your father about the man she kissed on the park bench.
But you're only seven so the words flood out of your mouth.
Before you can even finish your story,
Your father smacks your jaw so hard that your head spins forward until you've turned fourteen.
Fourteen, and now you know exactly what drugs are
And why your brother does them so much.
Fourteen, and you hate your mother for making you lie,
And you hate your father for punishing the truth.
Fourteen, and the only way you can cope with all of the ******* that's written in the fine print of being a teenager is to annihilate your brain cells.
The memories swirl around and all you want to do is burn them down, but there's no more matches and the butane's run dry.
It's all happening in flashes.
Christmas cookies.
Late term papers.
Igloos.
Glass bottles smashed to pavement.
The day you got contacts.
Flip flops.
The icy chill of pumpkin guts on your skin.
Her overdose.
Hot tea.
New York.
London.
Maui.
LSD.
Alcohol.
Vicodin.
It all whizzes by, and you barely know who you are anymore.
Or where you've gone.
Or who you've disappointed.
And these people are still trying to tell you how to feel.
And then you're dead.
And all the memories add up, but it's not enough to fill your coffin.
There's all this space floating around.
All of those lives you could have lived if you just stopped for a moment.
Stopped letting them tell you how to feel.

Such a waste.