You keeping popping up
like the cork at the end of the champagne, exciting the room, and releasing a splash of nostalgic pain.
One drop and my heart sinks and I collapse with the strain.
Your fire-red name burned on my brain.

And even if my thirst passed,
my eyes are still hungry for another first glance.
A pass in the hall, for a moment our eyes dance - and then I would hate myself for hoping that finally at last
It could be true.
But the only truth is

I can never have you.

I am sober.
Quote, "straight-edge soldier."
But I'm joking mostly,
Because I could be bolder.

While sipping caffeine
I sure didn't mean
To develop a picturesque
Addiction quite this obscene.

To cut out this feeling
Would make my spins wheeling,
Thinking bass-ackwards,
My open mind sealing.

Convenience-store liquid
Drips motivation twisted
With intense optimism
How can I give up this **** when

It makes me feel this *******
           good?

Swollen minds and "glass-half" hearts only serve to swerve apart. You and I are on the edge of a cliff.

When I look out, I can't comprehend
the height or depth, I'm disoriented, and
Thoughts of the descend did scare you,
Because every gulp of summer-scented air you
Breathe is filled with not just freedom, but terror too.
So, what are we supposed to do?

We can jump off together and safely fall apart.
And each can land in a different person's heart.
And end this relationship before it starts
...again.

What does it mean to be a man?
My heavy mind sits on this question
Like a paperweight.

My dad left.
Bi-polar disorder really ****** my mom over. But can you blame all of this on his illness? It seemed like he had a willingness to manage this. But a pill? That was too much. Take the meds and he could "wind up dead." But without them his head winds up instead until he breaks and he bends everything that he can.

Bend this family until it breaks.

What does it mean to be a man?
It means stepping up to the ******* plate.

How sad is it that I write
These hoping you'll stumble
Across them one night?

My memory is
remarkably bad.
But our past seems so clear
When played in my head.

Surely reshaped,
Twisted and bent,
My nostalgic perspective
Should be left unsaid.

That's why I hide
Behind anonymous words.
A soapbox and alias,
No audience for my verse.

It's so tragically comforting
Knowing I'll never be heard.

Maybe you and I were
Only meant to be the
Leading act. Still, I am
Lucky to have met
You.