I wonder sometimes
      what I was thinking.
            what I was feeling.
all the cigarettes that I smoked, and thought of you,
your essence was slipping away with every exhale of emotion.

you're gone.
I don't see your face anymore.
and you haven't given me a good poem,
the entire time I had to write about it.
come to think of it,
you were never that remarkable.

february 9th, 2013

I'm not concerned with your soul,
or your essence, your truth.
**** it, it's nothing to me.
I'm molding you into a still life,
an exhibit, a portrait.
you will not age.
you will never die.
you never left or grew angry.

I'd like to see inside them all,
every passing stranger or fool,
but your shell is beautiful to me,
it's such a shame I cracked it,
and saw the slimy innards,
your grey little slug heart,
that was too slow in it's beating.

truth be told,
your truth is such a turn-off,
so I'll use your ambiguity,
to a paint a pretty picture of you,
where you will live forever,
and I never lose.

2-1-13

I'm fine.
sleep.
I'm fine.
you're fine.
we're all fine.
I smell like cigarettes,
and my phone's dying.
I'm not sure if this what I want to tell you.
so it's just as well that I never will.

please sleep well, wherever you are.

december 10, 2012

hasn't been around here in weeks.
haven't seen her around.
      that desk sits empty and that grade slips lower.
will never be able to make up for time lost,
will not be seeing that 3.0 this semester.

hasn't been the easiest thing to **** off,
haven't come back to end this until now.
     I walked in that door knowing I came to say goodbye.
will never be able to see you how I used to, after this.
will not make this any harder on myself.

the characters come rhythmic and steady,
left to right I start my morning.
key after key after key after key,
why am I still searching for you?

are you awake?   are you well?
if I go back, will you be able to tell?

tell me that you've missed me,
that you thought you saw me again,
and after all of this time and distance,
you still could call me a friend.

there is nothing you've left behind this morning,
for me to pick up and pick apart,
four tabs into a three hour shift,
and this is what it's come to.

are you awake?   are you well?
I haven't come back, but I have a story to tell.

she's got a father and a mother and a sister and grandpa and a grandma

she thinks she's lived this day before
but she tells herself that she hasn't 

she never sent that text before
until right now when it happened

she didn't crack that joke before
and she didn't have this pack of cigs

it wasn't Friday until today
and it will never be Friday again. 

but for now it is.

she's always going to be sixteen
even if she doesn't know it

she's always going to forget
but wants to go visit the graves

she'll never sleep without dreaming
unless she decides she can't bear it

she'll never forget his name
but, god, how she wants to

she'll never run out of cigarettes
as long as she doesn't cut her hair

but sometimes she thinks she might.

11/30/12