Isn't it funny
How when someone leaves you
That they're the only person
you'd want to talk to about it?

A thin piece of glass
separated me
from the destiny
I was born to cross
Its reflectance beckoned me
like a piece of gold dangling from a string
Hypnotized by the light
My soul stepped through
Breathing tiny shards of crystal
My lungs coated with divine vanity

I am but a cross

I see lovers
holding hands and giving each other the look that can only be described as
"the look"
because only those who are out of love are bitterly aware of the sickeningly admiring gaze that one partner gives to the other when they speak  
and only those who are in love are oblivious to the fact that they are giving the look

And I see friends,
friends in love with friendship
friends in love with being with each other
in love with the adventure and the memories
and the comfort and familiarity that comes with knowing each other like the back of your hand

I see individuals
completely, and utterly in love with themselves
the kind of arrogance that is almost admirable
in love with their passion,  their ambition
with their goals and their futures
in love with the potential they know they have and in love with the hope that maybe one day,
they'll be an All-Star
or a politician
or a beautiful poet
or a parent

I see all of these people who are in love and I wonder, are these people really as in love as they claim to be?

And if so, when is it my turn to be in love?

"I wish you well."
                                                          ­                    



                                         ­                                     (but not too well without me)

caffeine makes me feel like ****
but today i'm chugging it
focus on the negativity in my cup
so the positives don't put me too high up

happy is just how far from the ground you are
happy is just how far you'll fall
how hard you'll hit
the pavement
i'd rather be an inch high
than on a cliff
is it worth
the self interest

Carnival lights
Your spinning eyes
Dizzy in a crowd so full of life.
Humid heat
Sun setting
Friday night
Streets filling.
My feet stumbling
Gravel crunching
Legs follow you toward a door.
Hands pulling
Shutter slamming,
Stepping into Last Word Book Store.

Earth in beauty dressed
Awaits returning spring.
All true love must die,
Alter at the best
Into some lesser thing.
Prove that I lie.

Such body lovers have,
Such exacting breath,
That they touch or sigh.
Every touch they give,
Love is nearer death.
Prove that I lie.

Music strips me bare of all my
worries, regrets and anxiety.
I finally feel at home
surrounded by it's comfort.