Hanging from the ceiling,
waiting for the next sweet hit.
Baby, I love that feeling.
Give me all of it.

Don't hold back, darling.
Hit me where it hurts.
Let it all out on me
and hit me like you mean it.
Hit me
like I'm your first.
I don't deserve anyone's best:
So give me only your worst.
Be my prizefighting poet,
throwing only punches
without speaking any words.

And love,
please,
take off that glove.
I want to feel you,
and only you:
And I want you
to feel me, too.

Don't stop.
Even if it kills me.
Not like I planned to live that long;
hit me and
keep on hitting.
It's the only thing
that thrills me.
Is that really so wrong?

And when you're tired,
weak,
worn,
and all done in:
Close the door and leave me here;
and go and gently
snuggle up to him.
And you know
I'll be here when you need me,
just like I've always been.

Tossed into the muddy reservoir of bad choices.
You are the words coming back to haunt me.
You are those voices.
I am all the times you thought you knew better;
I am the constant reminders.
I am the torn up love-letter.

The unread magazines that hide your drawings.
The bitter, black coffee
that picks me up in the mornings.
The way the sun comes out earlier this time of year;
And how the rain comes and hides, and obscures
the tears.
The hello's and goodbye's,
forced
and insincere.
And the voice that whispers:
"It's alright,
have no fear."
And the other voice that whispers other things
I'd rather not hear.

I am all the decisions you wish you hadn't made.
You are every note,
out of tune
or misplayed.
You are the soundless symphony;
the forgotten serenade.

You are the one I haven't met yet.
The rising of the moon
and the falling of the sun set.

I am the poems never read,
and the songs never sang.
I am door never opened;
the telephone that never rang.

We were the story never told,
and the feelings never shared.
The ones that didn't live to ever grow old.
The empty box, written with the words
"Handle with care."

Thank you
for being there
when no one else was.

Thank you
for telling me
I meant something,
Just because.

Thank you
for coming by
when you know didn't have to.

Thank you
for helping me
and taking me under you wing.
For guiding me through.

Thank you
for opening my eyes
to the things I hadn't before seen.

Thank you
for making me aware
and for telling me what it means.

And thank you,
sincerely.
For all that you have done.

Thank you,
my dear friend,
even though you have gone.

We danced away
under the misty starlight.
I was lost in your eyes.
Oh,
what a night.

We woke up
under sheets of rich
red rose-coloured garments
of silk and lavender.

We kissed,
touched,
and cuddled
through the sound of rain
hitting the roof
and through the roars
of lightning
and thunder.

We strolled
through an enchanted,
rich meadow,
and trekked
through the mountains
all covered with  snow.

You looked at me
and told me,
that I should know:
that you love me.
That you wouldn't let me go.

And in that moment,
I said it didn't matter.
That the words weren't necessary.
That they would only get lost,
fragile sound waves obscured
in the chaos of the ether.
Like tears frozen in frost.
I said I could feel it anyway.
I knew it.
That you didn't have to say.
And in that moment,
we were perfect.
Everything was beautiful.
No pain;
except
when *I woke up.

I am a mash-up of mishaps, strange facts and movie quotes.
A cacophony of cool dancing tin hats,
and concerned-looking men,
watching in white lab coats.

I am the hungry seagull searching for salmon,
dodging waves and annoyingly landing on ferry boats.
Dropping gifts to the sunbathers by the  shore,
they never seem to appreciate.
Until they do, I will just drop more.

I am the spinning cactus made of rock.
I am the wealthy, rich millionaire
who sleeps in cheap hotels
and wears odd socks.

You are the last bit of toothpaste
you squeeze out of the tube
before throwing it away.
I haven't brushed my teeth all week.
What more can I say?

I am the broken toy tossed under the bed.
I am the breaking glass, the slamming door,
the words misquoted, misused,
and more than often misread.

I am the one who bites off
more than they can chew.
I am the one who tries and
tries and
tries
to
forget you,
but can never quite seem to.

I am the one who stays up late
sometimes,
to ponder, wonder,
and write these confused, riddled rhymes.

Today is Sunday,
and yet it's already tomorrow.
In my mind, there is no time:
But there is sorrow,
and bursts of joy
and glimpses of hope
and snippets of happiness
and times where I cope,
but most of the time?
Nope.

But today is alright.

You say that I
Am a work of art

And I'll believe you
Because you know what?

That picture you drew
At three,
Where you can't tell if that blue blob
Is an elephant,
Your grandma,
Or just a blue blob

*That's art too

Not dead,
yet slowly dying.
But you can't fault me
or blame me
for trying.
And I'd be lying:
if I said I didn't miss her,
Or that I didn't want to kiss her
again.
But it's too late for that now.
Too much sorrow.
Too much pain.
She gets on fine without me
so why can't I do the same?

I don't know.
And doubt I'll ever.
It went by so fast,
when we were together.
Now I'm stuck here,
alone,
in the cold rainy weather.
Wondering whether
you even think of me at all.
If you're feeling as I feel
or you're standing up tall.
I wonder a lot.
Wondering if I should call
only to be put on hold.
All my life I've waited
and now
I've already grown
far too old.

I remember now why I forget.
Killing me slowly
like smoke from your cigarette.
Filling me from the inside.
Invading me
poisoning me.
A little mistress of death
I wish I had never met.

In this fleeting existence, we call life
Breaths of air, unlabored, unsought,
We are but specks in an infinite universe
Colliding with another, now and again.
And as time effaces all strides of victory
We hold a part of each other,
Treasured and locked.
Sing anthems to our plight
To how our love, untainted,
Turned into a story.
As we held our hands and looked to the stars
Leaving our woes to burn with the fire,
We were silent that night,
That beautiful night,
Yet we never stopped speaking.
And to the faint glow of ember,
The smell of the ocean,
We sat there gazing at the endless sky.
To what we owe this joy we have,
Finding each other, holding our fragile hearts.
For you heard my song,
And I, yours.
Now living seems less arduous,
Existence is bliss.
Because we found each other
In this infinite universe.