You'll know it's begun
when the spring butterflies
are suddenly flooding
your stomach.
You'll know it's honest
when his touch is an escape
a safe haven
and a home.
You'll know it's over
because you will be more in love
with the memories
than the boy.
But you'll know it was real
because you'll remember his soul
in the reflection
of your eyes.

I couldn't tell you what the day is. Its been months, and my shirt has lost your scent . I buried myself face down inside of what used to comfort me. Seas of bedding, nylon, and saline. On nights, I'd watch paired laughter and lust build in front of me, until one. I had to do it. I couldn't bare the silent part of my ear anymore, louder than even my own thoughts. I just needed to hear your voice. I rode those lines all the way to your bedroom, you're first syllable kissed my lips and I shivered for any following. In the center of an empty room, I laid, listening to your soft words in their soft tone, painting trees for seasons, because you knew them all. All I wanted to do was wrap you up within my flesh and bones, because you were already my blood, and I remember tearing it from my knuckles for a quick fix of addiction. I held onto the static before the sounds of the line being severed. And then you were yesterday, like any piece of you that was ever me.

questions/replies/answers/expected
to you: never a dull moment
to me: ive lived this before
im stuck in quick sand
but instead of sinking me
its ******* the life out of my head.
apologies/acceptance/forgiveness/regrets/revenge
always went in that way
like you had some sort of list
etched into your dna
and you are doomed to repeat that forever
(at least with me)
mature/not even/insults/sarcasm
you say i joke to much
yet are so insensitive to my problems
when i am always here
for you
gossip and lies
your tongue has no taste buds
so you yearn for those

you say i overact
but i am just bringing
this to your attention
you have two blind eyes
ears that distort things
and lips that don't stop moving.

There is something about an empty path that calls to you, deep in your heart.
A tiny yearning rears its head and tugs at you,
Tug-tug-tug, growing.
I don’t know quite what it is that makes it so leading,
So enticing,
To stand at the end of a path or a road upon which there is no one else.
Maybe it is the intrepid human desire to explore and be FIRST.
Or maybe it is the insidious one- to be alone.
Either way, there is an undeniable pull to an empty path,
Exquisite and gravitational,
That hums through your bones like a charge.

It seems to me
that every time
I get to a high place
I slowly
             start
                       to
                               f
                               a
                                l
                             ­     l
                                          and fail.