You think you know—
People, places, everything.
But with the slightest of words,
Everything with fall apart.
Dreams will vanish.
The closest will leave.
You will be left with nothing—
but a beating heart.
To fix the broken,
And repair the soul.
But everything is different,
And it will stay different.
And it will never go back.

I could have chose
It could have been you.
But like always I am oblivious
Oblivious is who I am
It is who I will be.
But from where should my actions come?
They shall come from my thoughts
Not the thought of yours
I should have chose
It should have been you
But here I am with none
Not even you

Hemingway said,
There is quite the difference
between kissing goodbye
and kissing goodnight.

I wanted a
"See you later",
but instead got the
"Goodbye".

Steinbeck stated that
Nothing good gets away,
If it's right, it happens.

If that's the case
how did we always end up feeling so
wrong?

Salinger suggested
that after falling in love
you never know
where the hell you are.

This, I can say is true.
Where the hell are we?

Dickens declared that
The truest wisdom
comes from a loving heart.

Yet a heart in love
can sometimes turn out to be
the least wise.

My friend, I think I'll just stick with
Orson Welles' theory:
"We're born alone, we live alone, we die alone."

Anything else is simply illusion.

dad left
for his second tour of duty
on my third birthday

mom kept
a jar full of jelly beans
on the living room coffee table

every night
she gave me one to eat, saying
"when these jelly beans
are all eaten up,
dad will come back home"

sometimes
i would sneak another,
to help dad come home sooner

one night
the phone rang
and i watched mom
wipe away a tear
as she filled
the jar
back
up

Her voice is strained.
Her skin is fair.
Her ******* lay on the countertop.
I **** her until my thoughts stop.

She rejects the notion of love for all,
as she leans against my kitchen wall,
with a cigarette and an unbuttoned blouse-
she wants to be homeless in my house.

She keeps me in her necklace's locket,
and I keep her in the wallet in my pocket.
Her toes kiss the linoleum,
she walks like she's made of helium.

She mumbles that I taste like mint chocolate chip,
as she rubs against my hip.
Her breath smells like Malboro Lights,
and I hope she decides to stay the night.

Milky Ways and Vanilla Cakes,
she likes the way my body shakes,
as we lay and eat our troubles away.
Hurried words slow the day.

She asks me about my stretch marks and scars,
and if I've ever been hit by a car.
And I say no, but I've been hit by love before,
and it feels like getting your hand caught in a door.

Hurried smiles and bathroom stalls,
she likes the way my family never calls.
The words escape between her plump lips,
as my hand travels between her hips.

We move until we forget
that the world is moving faster.

I've always been slightly obsessed
with the human mind.
It just fascinates me.

How is it that one second
a person can be a stranger.
And yet, one second later,
they become your whole life.

I'm not sure if it's the way you first looked at me,
like for once in my life
I was being looked at and not through.
Or maybe it's how you made me feel like finally,
I wasn't so alone.

It's been 625 days
since that first look.
And now I'm right back where I started.

Transparent.