it pains me
to see the way
you held her.
like going back in time
to what you once were.
and I felt broken,
watching;
because it pains me.
you hold her in your heart
the way I hold you.
but in the end,
she got to actually hold you.

|m.s.

i can see the discomfort
within their eyes
and in their body posture.
hands wringing around
news reports
about a girl
who killed herself
last thursday.
they both have
a hard time looking
at the camera
and i've come to realize
dying doesn't make you a hero.
dying doesn't make you anything.
dying, means your dead.
your body has become
the baggage claim of the earth
after your flight of life.
and your soul
everything you thought
aspired to be, hoped for
and cried for.
is nothing.
we can only be ourselves
to the fullest extent
because each human mind is rare.
about to go exitinct
in say---eighty years?
dying doesn't make us anything.
---in some minds,
dying is just the release
into nothing.
and i guess that was what
she was after.
nothing.
because there is no pain
in the darkness.
there's just an absence of light.

|m.s.

god
you undid
everything
i took a week
to do.
you tore it down
with a simple
"good morning."
i hadn't looked
at who walked
and sat on the steps.
actually, i didn't even know
it was you.
the silence
i had declared
with a quiet cry
alone at midnight,
had gone on a week.
i refused to start
conversation
or really even
acknowledge you.
however my eyes
still wandered
and i caught yours
once or twice.
but my words were
held in my mouth;
forced down,
and swallowed whole.
but this morning
i even flinched
at hearing your voice.
a simple
"good morning."
it tore down a week of
silence barriers
supposed to carry on
and walls I tried
to build up
around my heart.

|m.s.

i was asked why
i saved all
the orange m&ms;
until the end
when the truth is
they really don't taste
any different.
their coloured shells
only effect
the memories
of Fridays in september.

|m.s.

favourite classes are slowly
becoming least favourites
as in answering questions
becomes an action
in which laughter follows.
so i'll make retreat to myself.
find my eyes wandering from notes
to windows
my hands from pencils furiously writing
to in place under my chin, or folded together.
and my mind in a place
of no worries
hopes or aspirations
no questions
to be laughed at for answering.

|m.s.

i want a hug
only from you.
because i lose everything
but your scent
and your touch
and my heart
pounding
against the confines
i've built for it.

|m.s.