it's late and it's dark
and even this old bottle of jack daniels is missing you again
i can still taste the rain from the day you walked away
and never came back
and the gray clouds kidnapped the rays of light from your eyes
so that the world was colder and darker and emptier
than it ever should have been
and the sun just keeps setting every night
but forgetting to come back up in the morning

my hands bleed whiskey and nicotine
and my dyed fingernails just can't seem to dig any deeper
but i keep trying to claw out the part of me that chased you away
even though it's still beating in my chest

were you afraid you'd love me back?

you promised me always,
did you lose sight of forever
or just get swept up in lust?

he could touch you in ways i never knew how,
but i swore to love you better than he ever could
and i forgive you for all the tears and all the scars
and all the hangovers that made me wish i'd never woken back up
into this bleak world where nobody matters to anybody
and life is just a game with only one winner

i broke down in third period on the first day of school
when the teacher asked 'whats your favorite thing to write?'
and i scribbled your name into the 'other' column
because heartbreak and suicide and adolescent alcoholism
weren't listed as options

you used to be my friday nights and my saturday mornings
and just your voice put my mind and body back in sync
when the world was just too loud and busy to handle
and your eyes lifted me higher than this cheap ******* ever did
and when you looked at me i had an answer
to every question i'd ever asked
because the only thing in the world that mattered was that moment of forever
where you made time itself meaningless

it feels like a lifetime ago when the entire solar system revolved around you
and even Sirius was weak in comparison
to the the way your eyes lit up when you laughed
but now the earth doesn't orbit and the stars have all burned out
and the night sky is as dark and empty as my heart

there was a time where you were bigger than the universe in my eyes,
but now it's just me and these strands of smoke sewn into my clothes and this harsh bite from jack tickling the back of my throat

..but at least that empty bottle never gave up on me


*m.k.

the sun is too bright
and the ocean is too vast
and the blood in my veins is thicker than it was on the day i still thought the thunder was an echo of god's laugh

i heard a whisper last night that a gallon of bleach will **** the knots in my stomach,
all tangled up in wild passion
and hopeless despair
and a numbing fear of the void
outside of my boxed up world

i'm sick of all the washed up smirks
from mindless teenagers who think their white smiles and slim waists
will open the world at their feet
and aphrodite herself will bow at their reflection in the river
where the narcissus flower finally leans toward
an image of somebody else

the swing sets in the park are aching
for a child's warming touch
and mothers are bringing bouquets of
flowers to their baby's tombstone instead of wedding,
and families are reading suicide obituaries
instead of making a toast to
love and hope and passion;

boys are in a coma for saying
'i love you'
to a man
and nine year old girls are afraid
to walk through the front door because
of the men who stole their world,
and pieces of green paper hold more
value now than integrity and happiness
ever have;
  
and somehow we still think we're evolving

maybe the clash in the sky reminds us all that we're only human,
that hearts break and lives end
and there's nobody on the moon
filled with the magic of eternity,
and maybe that's the only beautiful
thing about this tragic world:
we're all alone together.

i made a deal with the devil last night:
he'll **** the butterflies in my stomach if i surrender my soul,
but what's the harm in that
when god is no more than
an imaginary friend
and people are made of
more evil than good;  
  i know the fluttering will cease eventually
but how much longer can anybody
expect me to keep breathing
when i'm coughing up broken wings
every time i hit a cigarette

there's a raspy voice in my bed late at night
that whispers into my neck
after the fifth or sixth shot
reminding me of the reasons
we'd all be better off  if
nobody woke up tomorrow morning

i guess that's what happens when
we **** the grass beneath our feet
and still expect it to grow all winter long

this place is bleak and colorless
and life is vacant space
and everything is meaningless  
in this washed out
bleached
world

home is where the heart is,
so maybe if i click this glass to my lips
another three times,
i'll find it

*m.k.