Echoes of silence rippling through our veins;
The weight of the evening is shifting
From unseen words, lonely phrases
To midnight's twinkle and altruistic gazes.

You become my buoyant hammock,
With the surrender of sound,
My Maupassant,
But I am not found.

As you enfold me with one leg,
I am your darkroom so bright.
Gentle ticking,
Clockwork through the night.

As we bathe in the muteness of the hour,
I can hear your heart slowly beating
As I listen to our souls' casual meeting.

here in this perfect paradise of endless and colorless
I fertilize the white soil with my devastation and solitude
and plant a garden
tall stalked flowers and bushes of ripe berries
pop up between the parallel lines

It's too much for me to handle. Boiling over my sides. Hitting me. Cutting me deeper with its jagged edges. The pain is too hard to handle alone. But I am standing here, people ready to listen. I can't speak a word because when I do that, my fire will catch everything around me. Mass destruction. It will **** all around me. I'd rather die alone than take everyone with me.

My motto? Be kind to everyone for if you read their story their isn't a person you wouldn't like a character you wouldn't find compassion for. Because we don't truly know the every details of someone's life, we only know what we see. But if we were to read their story, if we were to learn all their secrets and regrets and struggles, we would love them, the way we admire our fictional characters in books.

Does he not realize
That he dies in front of my eyes
Every time he lies..?

He may as well wield a knife
And take his own life

For it is not the sword
But the deceitful word

That cuts the jugular and the femoral
in preparation for his funeral..

It is a permanent stain
His apology is in vain

For there is no return from verbal death
After he’s uttered his last lying breath.

I've written so many poems
About the way you devastate me
As if you were a hurricane
And I the unsuspecting shoreline
I haven't written enough
About you

There's a certain poetry
In the way you speak
That I could never duplicate
And I could liken your smile
To something that would hang in a gallery
But I won't
There may come a day
When the sound of your laugh
Won't resonate inside me
But today is not that day
Your presence is almost lunar
Commanding me like the ocean
The corners of my mouth
Stretch skywards with the waves
You radiate warmth
In waves of gold and amber
I thought you were the moon
But perhaps you're like the sun

Maybe I don't write about you more
Because it's an impossible feat

Terrors of the waking, existential variety are what keep me up nights.
I know no pursuit, no entrapment. No attachment, in fact, at all.
I drift through life as I do my dreams: aimlessly, dispassionately, at turns bemused and bewildered, beset by a sense of inevitable end.
Ends*,
so soon and so frequent.
Forays into fuller living are inherently half-hearted -
self-fulfilling prophecies of loneliness.
I am never quite at ease in relationships, always looking out for new anxieties to be had, faking a brave face for any you have.
You. Whenever I write what comes out is a love letter (of some kind)
addressed to you, but without the proper postage
words that never hit home, that never ring true
words, half meant or never spoken.
I play-act at devotion, and, that mask falling away, affect grievous emotion.
It's not who pushes whom, but mutual magnetic repulsion.
We turn around and around, looking each other over until we each settle on a face that drives us apart in perfect unison.

"just look up"
mama would say.
she always smiled when she looked up,
as if she were high on drugs,
in this case she was high on God.
she loved to look up,
when the times were tough,
she'd look up and cry,
quietly whispering words of prayer to herself.
looking up gave her hope,
it made me wonder how God,
could answer so many prayers at once,
did he ever stop to take a break and forget about us?
or stop looking down.

the sleepless nights I can address
as angst consumes my throat
not a whisper to pronounce
scrambled thoughts lies hope