where did you go,
thoughts of pleasure?
i cannot feel your
presence in this
overgrown and
tangled mess of a
broken mind

"she loves me,
she loves me not."

the petals fall
one by one
hiding the fact
that flowers don't
tell secrets;
and if they do–
who would trust a
flower's judgement?

i hate to be the bearer of bad news
but your cat has died.

and no, the fact that she is laying outside
no marks other than the many broken bones
is not important.

neither does it matter that her limp paws are surprisingly moist.

or that i am clutching my fish bowl- and there's no fish inside.
or water, for that matter- it has all spilled into the carpet.

you glance at me.
i am sweating profusely.

the window is wide open, and there is a steady breeze.
you step towards it, and look out.
down below, almost exactly under my window
is the cat.

you begin to put two and two together.
i begin to panic, and as before, i only can think of one thing to do.
you open your mouth to speak,
but it's too late.

you're already over the side.

words sprout from your mouth like flowers
but they're roses-
and the thorns are aimed right at me.

did you know that we only dream
about faces we've seen in real life?
when we dream about a crowd
each face is an individual person
we've passed on the street
or made eye contact with on the bus.
perhaps it was a student we only knew for a year
then they moved away after summer began.
or the gas station attendant we briefly spoke to
when buying cans of soda for a road trip.
or maybe it's someone we've known all our life
but haven't spent the time to actually look at them.
and all this-
it really makes one wonder
how many faces have we seen
in our lives
that we can't remember?
how many people have we met,
spoken to and laughed with
that we've forgotten?

mario jumps
over the blocks
and makes sure he
avoids the holes
while i sit
in a darkened room
trying to avoid
my responsibilities
and my mother calls for me.
she is tired
work was long
she wants me to start my homework
because school is important
and she doesn't want me to
end up like
my father.
one more level, i say
but as soon as it's done
i start another.

link hits the monsters
with his sword
i am a little jealous, for
i wish i could
hit my enemies like he does
give them
a death that would
not truly **** them
because if i
left the game
and then returned
they'd be there
good as new.

princess peach
waits for mario to
save her
only to be
captured again
and
again and
i thought that i
should be like her
wait for
someone to save me
when really
no one would come.
and i realized
far too late
that i should've just
saved myself.

we sit
on white roofs
and carve our names into the wood.

your handwriting is much
better than mine,
and i am jealous
but only for a second
because you make me feel
like i am the world
like i am everything
and nothing
and all that is in between

like i am the flowers that grow
outside my bedroom window
unimportant to some
but appreciated by many

like i am the tattoo
hidden on the
inside of a wrist
or at the start of the collarbone
invisible to all
and shown to the ones
who see it for what
it truly means