With bare feet and heavy eyes
the river draws me out of our
love stained sheets to swallow me
whole and straighten my minds eye.
Your half conscious whispers and
Nick Drake spin around my skull
as the sun desiccates my paper soul
to be consecrated in a mason jar
left in the cupboard.

These days
we are more
like slow drips
from a leaky
faucet than the
hydrant
burst
that we once
pooled our
past with.
But I guess
even a
puddle of
droplets
can still feed
the storm.

(This constant
flood &
drought
will never
let us grow)

regret drips
out the corners of
your mouth as if
it were the remnants
of some overly
ripened fruit.
I try to taste you
again but my
my tongue has
shriveled from
the coarse and
dry feelings
that have been
resting on it
for so long.  
I want to taste
your remorse
still lingering
on your tongue
instead of
this bitter feeling
you have left
me with.

I.
My body & mind
are drawn to you
like a moth to
the flame and
I unknowingly  
succumb to
your constant
gravitational pull.

II.
I never thought
this flame would
singe my paper
skin. But when
you fly into
the fire you
eventually
turn to ash.

All I really
want is
to let my
fingers
trace the
imaginary
constellations
hidden in the
freckles on
your skin
and to lose
myself In
the myth
your body
tells when
you move in
your sleep.

Sometimes I open my
mouth and smoke billows
out into the air. I know It
is you, burning inside of me.
And sometimes I can still
taste the charring embers
on the back of my tongue
as your remnants smolder
deep in the pit of me.
When your smoke clouds
my lungs, I struggle for just
a taste of clean air. As much
as I try to smother these flames,
the sparks continue and keep
your fire ablaze.

And I don’t want to die,
I just want to feel my
skin mix with this earth
and let the flowers sprout
from the cracks in my
dirt covered bones.

My hands grow numb
and tingle from standing
still all the time.  And even
though my heart pounds in
my chest loud enough to be
heard three rooms over,
my body won’t leave this
bed. I know all of this is my
own fault, but I’d still like to
blame it on you if you’ll let me.

Muted voices through
a hazy speaker can hardly
substitute for the real thing.
But I swear sometimes I can
still feel your breath through
the receiver with every word.

I.
I am no longer buoyant.
My body is lead and rock,
swiftly sinking where I
once floated in ease until
I reach the very bottom.

II.
Please don't let me sink.
I can't be this heavy forever.
I crave that weightless feeling.
I want to bob back to the top
and feel the sun on my skin again.
But I can no longer see the surface,
and I can only hold my breath so long.

When these marks on my
body fade, that will be the
last of the you that is left on me.
I want them to remain. I want to
have these reminders of where
your mouth once traced.

My body is a blank canvas that
you have painted with your love.
I was a beautiful masterpiece.
but now distance and time
is returning me to what I once was,
blank and untouched.

Each day I
press my ears
to the rails
to try to
catch the
vibrations
that tell of
your arrival.
But day after
day passes
with not
even a shiver
on those
tracks that
run between us.

For many years we were planted in this soil together.
We grew from seeds to saplings, our roots entangled.
Now there are thick forests separating us,
and I have been replanted into such foreign ground.
Sporadically I catch your leaves on a gust of wind.
They tell of how you are no longer a young seedling.
They tell of  how you are thriving in our soil,
even with my roots no longer intertwined into yours.

We have learned to blossom in our own earth.
And someday we will become only stumps of what we once were.
We will no longer flourish with fruits and flowers on our branches.
But my roots will still know yours,
and they will remember where they were once interlaced in our beginnings.

your mouth
always leaves
such beautiful
lines of poetry
upon my neck

I see you, crouched in the corner of your
temple. I want to help you emerge
and uncover you from the shrouds you
have set upon yourself, but I can not
always be the roof in your structure.
I can only be a visitor, paying my respects
on occasion. You must learn to be your
own walls and pillars. Hold up your own
foundation, through whatever weather your
temple faces.

I have unexplored galaxies
constantly expanding inside myself.
You may have seen a single sector
of my universe, but you will never
be able to visit all of the vast
space that is orbiting within me.

In the house that took my baby teeth,
inside the room that saw my many tears,
my mind is unable to rest.
The teddy bear wallpaper I never wanted still
dances around the room,
constantly taunting and berating me.
Some nights it feels like a whisper,
and some nights it is a piercing scream
that tell of all the memories those walls hold.
Every time I think I have forgotten,
the house that took my baby teeth
seeps the fragmented moments back
into the fabric of my psyche and reignites
all of the lingering resentment that I keep
reigned in.

I am urged to
dissect my midsection
and count the rings
that tell the tale of
the years I have
lived.

I want to show you
every line and let
you see my past
right before your
own eyes.

Distance gives you a constant
paradox of emotions. You can
feel both completely alone and
empty yet filled to the brim with
love at the exact same time.

Ive been searching
for that taste.
The one that brings
such drunken elation.
I've sampled every *****
in the liquor cabinet,
drained every bottle
I could find.
But nothing has come
close to the taste of you.
Nothing makes my head
spin in that glorious fashion
quite like your mouth
pressed against mine.

I want to scatter
little pieces of us
all across this city
so it never forgets
where our love
has touched

I wish I had beautiful
metaphors and lines
constantly swirling
around my mind that
I could let flow out
At the drop of a hack
to tell you exactly how
I am feeling.

However, sometimes
I can barely grasp the
nomenclature of this
swell and release I
feel shifting inside of
myself.

Sometimes I have so much
love to give and nowhere
to direct it.

I want to give it all to you,
but distance has made
that an impossibility.

I want to give it to the flowers
but the chill of changing
seasons has shriveled them.

I want to give it to the song,
but my voice can no longer
find the perfect pitch.

Now I can only absorb the
love left in the pages of poets
whose feelings are all too familiar.

And I wait to have somewhere
to spread my love without
spreading myself too thin.

I am constantly berated
for my lack of empathy
and desire to show
emotion to others.

However the instant
I place my heart
on my sleeve,
you brush it off
my shoulder as if it
were a particle of lint.

I’d like to believe
that the fates
are not randomly
spinning their
wheel. I’d like
to believe that
some superior
being has
calculated and
formulated
you into a
grand plan
for me. And I
would give
anything for
this not to be
just chance
or purely a
coincidence.

But I am
painfully
aware of the
impermanence
of people in
this life. And
soon this wheel
of fortune will
turn again, and
you will find
yourself simply
passing by me.
Without a
flicker of
doubt in
your
mind.

There must be a part of my brain missing.
An important segment that never fully developed.
A special sector designed to tell me
how to feel, when to feel it and
how to share it with others.
And they say I’m callous,
they say I’m detached,
they say I’m heartless.
But I know I feel something more.
I can feel it stirring inside me,
Just waiting for the right moment to escape.
So I’ll wait. And wait. And wait.
I’ll wait for the day when I can finally make the change.
I’ll trade this empty, numb feeling for a million beautiful ones.
Then I will spout them off, one-by-one, all by their given name.

You fill the spaces of me
that have been eroded away
by time and trials.
Your soothing waves rush
over the divets in the sand
that is my soul and re-smooth
the surface.

Ive always struggled
with the concept of
virginity and why
it was so important.

But it wasn’t until
I had no say in whether
I was able to keep
mine or not that
Ive cared so much
about having it

Our parents always taught us to stay
away from drugs and alcohol
They filled our heads with stories of
addiction and lives torn apart
But they never warned us about
the addiction you would have
from certain people and how
you would crave their voice
or their touch just to take away
the withdrawal you felt
when they were no longer
there to give you your
allotted dosage

I read once that
people who can’t
sleep are either
in love or lonely.
And some nights
I can’t tell the
difference
between the two.
Feelings only
become real
after 2 am,
While everyone
sleeps and I
lie awake
trying to hush
the swirl
of churning
thoughts and
memories that
still linger.
when the only
solace is sleep,
I find my peace
in the daylight,
the drinks, and
the medications
that make the
memories stop
showing inside my
skull and help
the darkness
drift In with ease.