The mind
Contains much more
Than the tongue
Tries to convey.

The heart
Knows such sensations
That the mouth
Could never say.

These words
Will never
Fully express
The pain
Inside
My chest
When I
Remember
That you don't
Want me
Anymore.

Lonely benches,
Empty chairs,
Spaces filled
With empty air,
Absence felt
But never eased,
Love observed
But never seized.

I fell asleep to the sound
Of your voice last night.
The final thought
Drifting through my mind
Before my eyelids closed
Was you.

And when the sun
Kissed the sky
To wish it good morning
I hoped in vain that maybe
When I woke
You'd be there to do the same.

The leaves ripple in the misty breeze,
waving at me through the foggy glass
which i stare through, absently sifting
through a forest of sleepy thoughts.
Fat raindrops fall and drip slowly
down the windowpane, like tears
the sky has shed. My root-beer
brown eyes are dulled under the
light of the pale grey gloom. A sigh
escapes my lips, disappearing silently
into the air. Quietly I watch the world
as each second crawls away.
Alone in the dim darkness waiting,
waiting for the sun.

When I’m dreaming the world is full of color,
Bursting into beams of shining, sparkling light.
Fast asleep, and free of worry, want, and woe.
I pay no mind to the lies of mankind.

When I’m dreaming, I am no one but myself.
No need to hide behind an ugly shadow of
Someone I don’t know, someone I don’t need to be.
No longer in danger of being a stranger.

When I’m dreaming, the world is mine.
Every field, forest, and firefly.
The air is thick with the scent of flowers.
I could lie here in the breeze all day.

When I’m dreaming, I constantly wonder
Why reality can’t be like I make it,
Why all of my dreams are forsaken,
Why do I have to awaken?

Skeletal trees
With their barren, scraping bows
Shiver and sway in the half light,
Branches desperately reaching  skyward
Aching to reclaim the golden leaves
That Winter stole in it's bitter rage
Clawing and tearing
At the faded warmth and
Cloaking the world in its
Deadened, icy shadow.
Autumn's gilded age
In it's evanescence
Dissolves into a turbid dream
And shrivels in the ice
Grasping the delicate remnants
Of a time long past and sifting
Through ancient forests of memory
Lost in the glittering particles
Of a fierce December storm.

I am sick
Of words on screens
Saccharine sweet
And yet so
Empty

You whisper the sweetest words to me.
They float into my ears and linger there, repeating themselves over and over.
How can I harbor doubt, when they fall so beautifully from your lips?
You spin flattery into an eloquent web, and entangle  me in it.
What hope have I to turn away, when your soft voice draws me yet nearer?
What chance have I of seeing through this shroud that clouds my vision,
When your face is reflected even in the blurred darkness of my closed eyes.
Somewhere within the refines of my muddled consciousness, I feel the warnings of Reason.
But Reason's voice is hushed, and your words paired with my quickened pulse are enough to drown it out.