I miss the type of poetry that
Stirred fire and beget rage upon me
And those who happened to stumble
Upon the things I've carelessly
Strolled into when the weather got cold.
Cigarettes who once kept me warm
Now hold stones at my grave
And oh they laugh for it is not me they
Seek and I envy
The next patron over.
That is the type of words I miss.
I'm sick of that little girl
Sneeking her way into my soul
Even when it's bright outside
And I'm hidden in my own sort of
Shadows.
I yearn for her to disappear among
The midnight movie goers and
****** who just need a little extra cash.
If it weren't for the ***** I'd oblige.
Alas. She once spoke of me in tongues
Known only to me. I think.
Pathological lies dont, never have, done well during
December parade marches and streets.
But that was just me.
I miss poetry that doesn't make sense.
I miss it and yearn to retrieve it.
But she has my head thinking
In block formations.
I have to get out of this town.

I could go to our messages and read them over.
But I'm too tired tonight.
I think it's the first time I've just
Sighed
And said no to myself.
I'm tired.
And I'm not sure of what this time.
It's familiar,
The exhaustion I feel.
But there are no blades
And no more lover's stares.
Just sleepiness and lonliness.
So I won't revisit
You again tonight
But only out of exhaustion,
My dear.
Forgive me.

What is stopping you?







Her.

you are cigarette sticks just lit,
you are a fresh wound on an old stitch.
a disorder spun out of control,
watching as madness takes hold - clutch
breaks - what happens next - your
life begins to unfold. creases form like
scars that never quite leave, mistakes
we break, we drown and we bleed.
i can't live without them is the greatest
lie: love kills you from the inside out,
toxic chemicals rampage fire through
your veins: hooked, hooked, hooked
lined and sunk; funny how we continue
to live with it only because we die with it.

My past is etched into me
With a needle and thread too thin
To escape the gaps between
My bones and skins.
She still has a grip on my throat
With a laugh and bruise
Hidden behind
Makeup and purple sheets.
She's in my sleep.
She's my ghost
Weeping inside my soul
But what am I to do?

I think I've lost it.
My god
It's been 7 months.
And I'm crying myself
To sleep because
She won't answer me.
She can't.
And I'm praying to god she
Will respond.
That she will come back.
I've lost it.
I can't stop crying.
Anna please come back.
Please.
Break a rule.
Don't fall in love with
Some one else.
No.
Please.
Please.
I miss you and I love you.
Come back.
Please.