12 a.m.
Friday night or Saturday morning?
Depends on your perception I suppose
The thought of me in the back of your mind
as you begin your nightly journey
Play your thoughts coy and we can boost your ego for a bit
But I feel it when you think about me

2 a.m.
You've decided it's Friday night and you have nothing to lose
Time to waste, but you always walk with such fast pace
The moon beams before you, she is your guide
You find comfort in the significance of me there
But you still bury yourself under shadows in fear
that the moon may not shine this bright for you after all

4 a.m.
You're seeing things that aren't there again
Figments of your imagination
You met me in your dreams, you said
You're wondering if I'm feeling alive or dead
Dialing my number
Calling once, twice, three, four times

6 a.m.
You saw me every where, felt me there all night
But it's Saturday morning and you've battled your fright
You still haven't caught your breath, your thoughts dissipate in our last words
It's been weeks since you've seen me and I still haunt your head
Dialing my number, calling once
Hello?

8 a.m.*
There you are, and here I am *tearing apart at the seams
Adding another link to the cigarettes we've chain-smoked in thought of warmth
You try to calm your nerves as I spark the flame of my lighter a metaphor for your soul
To sooth your addiction a metaphor for my being
And you can finally breathe I am your air
As I can truly feel *you are my fire

Lungs burning with affliction, no prayer can help you realize that you are on fire.
Help me, open my ribcage and read the encryption that is my heart.
This is where my ideas form; this is where the magic happens.
This is where trees become homes when I turn to prose.
This is where love becomes tangible.
Take the helm from my chest cavity and steer me home.
Sew me back up and pretend you didn’t figure out how my mind works from studying my heartbeat.
You can keep my memories there, keep my stanzas there.
But you cannot lock up an idea.

Do you realize that every single time you open your mouth I’m wishing I could have a lobotomy?
I don’t want my brain to miss you when you leave.
I don’t want my heart to miss you when it realizes that it no longer beats in sync with yours.
You can take yourself away from me.
You can make me cry so the salt water stings my face like it’s a burning map.
You can take my poems from my veins and scatter them in the river.
But you cannot lock up an idea.

Oh Captain my captain, I think we are going down.
But everyone is just an arm’s length from drowning.
When life preservers are anchors and every single thing is whispering for you to sink.
The Bermuda triangle is just another place where sailors go to pray and what kind of god ***** you in and tests you with a tempest?
You and I are so much more than child’s play.
Tell me to stay.
Tell me my ideas do not belong on the ocean floor.
Because you cannot lock up an idea.

If the sun shines through your blinds, think of me.
Think of the morning.
But without all your leaving.
Don’t think of the bags packed, of the plane tickets bought.
Of the ferry setting off its horn for you in the middle of the night.
Think of the morning.
Without all your leaving.
With the coffee, with the metaphors that were leaking through the walls as you blinked.
You wanted to keep them for yourself, hold them hostage in your bones.
But you cannot lock up an idea.

So next time you think of leaving, think of taking the ferry across the ocean.
Next time you think of whispering my secrets into the waves that kiss the rocks like they are not hurting anyone, think of me first.
Without the poems.
Before I even started writing.
Remember how I chased butterflies and the sunset.
How I begged you to let me climb up on the roof to watch the sun rise again.
Remember that my ideas are my prayers to a god I have not yet found in the curve of your spine.
Remember that I want nothing more than to not have to miss you.
Remember that every time you dismiss my words, my art, my need to chase the sunset; you are diminishing my creativity.
Remember that you cannot lock up an idea.

I'm sorry I stopped talking to you for eight months
but If I had stayed longer I would have become the
type of person I never wanted to be, because back
then i was so malleable despite what you may have
seen otherwise. I am stronger now and i know that
is no excuse, just plain, solid, light-as-day fact, may-
be you wouldn't have done it the same way but we
all do what makes sense to us.

It's 4 pm and I haven't eaten yet.
Again.
I didn't notice.
Again.
This has been happening
Again.
When I love someone,
Really love them,
I need less.
I'm not kidding, I need less.
If I think of them, I am not hungry or thirsty or tired.
My body stops asking me for what it needs
Because of what my mind and heart are busy needing.
It's a mindblowing concept.
And I can tell you this:
It is 4 pm, and I have not eaten since 6 pm last night,
And I do not feel hungry.
When I get my plate of food in 15 minutes-
As I intend to, now that I've realized this-
I will not be hungry then either.
I have to be careful, when I fall in love.
This is why.
I stop needing things. I stop noticing.
It feels unsafe, it feels insane.
I haven't eaten in nearly 24 hours, and I feel no different at all.
It kind of makes me think a bit more seriously about that phrase,
"Love consumes you."