With ink stained fingers this happiness swells
Like a ripe peach on a summer day

I dream of permutations and of potted cacti sitting on crystal shelves.
I listen for melancholy silence and I pray that hope and peace of mind tiptoe gently around splintered frustrations.
I want to see the hot sun beat down on prickly green skin until it feels whole again and flowers bloom from its head.

Not sure what to make of it
I felt comfortable--
Knowing that the fire extinguisher was there
It made me feel safe
If anything ever caught fire I could put it out
I was a selfish child--full of arrogance and naivety
The world mistook my insecurity and inexperience for apathy
All I wanted was a place to call my own,
Something to hold on to
I did not worry about the still-lit cigarette
Not even when it bounced from the sidewalk to the grass
The red hot embers glowed among the dying grass
I did not worry when the fire began
I took my sweet time in getting the extinguisher
By the time I came back my world was engulfed in flames
Scrambling, I tried to smother the heat
The extinguisher let out a pathetic puff of dust
And I stood as hell fire consumed my home
Acrid smoke muffled my screams and floating ashed blinded me
All that was left was a charred fire extinguisher and the frames of my glasses

I
      Want
                    To
                             Touch
                                            You
                                                         Beyond
                                                                             Your
                                                                                           Skin.

I avoid the hours between 11 pm and 5 am
Light does not exist then—
Only useless questions, dangerous thoughts, and the Void
Darkness swallows reason and spits out impulse
All of these mix together and try to drown me
Melancholy fills my mouth and I gag on its rotten taste
Cold seeps through my skin and settles in my bones
I am floating through midnight and I have never felt so alone
The constellations no longer console me
Galaxies hurtle away from me
And black holes call my name

Life starts to seep through lines
I can't continue
To pretend that
Endlessness
Won't scare
Me

I know that sometimes my words are unclear
I can't speak outside of paper, ink, and lines because of fear.
You are the first snowfall of the year
Your skin reflects light more beautifully than the copious blankets of snow
You are here and my mind stutters, my heart races, and time begins to slow
I looked through the bus window and the sky was like Starry Night by Van Gogh.
The inky canvas was illuminated by countless stars everywhere
Even the blinking windmill lights added a silent kind of beauty to the air
The scene was grand; all I could do was stop and stare
I glanced over and saw your sleeping face
I didn't want to wake you, so I held my breath just in case
For once everything felt like it was in place
Your eyelashes cast shadows across your cheekbones
Sometimes I can't believe that I am your own
Describing you through words and rhymes is a skill I will never hone
I'm not sure how much more I could emphasize
God himself could not even dream about imitating the celestial blue-grey of your eyes
Any clouds or storms conjured would be nothing but terrible lies
Neither the churning sea nor the swirling fields of grey would suffice
Although I wouldn't call it a vice,
I have caught myself staring more than twice