magician,
dear magician,
can you see my hand
within the crowd.
please choose me.
introduce me,
take hold of my hand.
for  your next trick,
make me disappear.

|m.s.

people say
'not until
it's set in stone.'
but people forget
even stones
erode.

|m.s.

on this break i've designated one thing.
to steer clear of you,
to remove you from me:
my soul, my essence.
twenty one days
is the amount of time needed to break a habit.
this break is less than that
sitting at a fourteen
enough for me to sit the night before we return
chewing my fingernails on if you'll be there in the morning
if you'll be safe, healthy,
alive.
a lot can happen in fourteen days
and it's awful for me to sit and think.
so far i've done a very good job keeping you out of my thoughts.
out of my conversations.
the only time you've come up
was that a few days into this break
i saw you
and blast it
my whole body heat up like fire
i felt my skin get clammy and hot
i felt conflicting emotions.
but one thing stood clear:
i want to be done with you.
now.
i have no time
for this beating around the bush *******.
i'm sick an tired of crying over your bipolar personality
being a friend one and a foe the next
you even know that i feel for you.
i've dreamt to hold your hand
and lie beside you and watch the sky be born
and grow old,
fading into black to count the stars.
i've wished for you
on lost pennies, four 1's--two 11's on a clock,
on stars, on birthday candles, crossed fingers, christmas lists.
i've written countless poems
expressing all my anguish and excitement.
god you bring out the worst in me, but also the best.
i'm so patient with you, but jealous towards others.
i wish you knew what you did to me.
i wish you knew what you did to me over
the fact that i feel for you,
over petty feelings that i'm ready to be over of,
that i've wasted a year and a half on.
twenty one days breaks a habit.
fourteen isn't quite enough,
but i'll take it.
tonight is the first time i've actually thought about you.
and this poem of promise
speaking of freedom from feeling so awful all the time,
sounds lovely.
i'm sorry to have inconvenienced you
for a year and a half
over feelings i should of put out immediately.
but fire spreads rapidly, my dear.
and i have a low tolerance of heat.

|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.

you're the person i look for in crowds,
you're the person i want to see in the morning
the person i want to see in the afternoon.
and that doesn't always happen
i don't always see you
and sometimes you're mean
and it breaks my heart
i've told you once i've given up on you.
but i seem to go back,
foolish, i realise but you draw me back in.
i have my days
where i'm nothing but my body
working through the regular motions.
and you tell me to cheer up
usually some form of contact
a hug, or a shoulder tap
and i tell you no.
no i won't cheer up.
because you're usually
the one who's put me down
in the first place
then you cheer me up,
and i don't think you realize that at all.
that you're the sources for both
my happiness and my depression.
by the next day i'm happy again
and the next day we're distant again.
and i continue to go through the motions of mood
where you make me happy
but our lack of contact puts me back
or your kindness has gone
and telling me to cheer up.

|m.s.

you're my chocolate shake
so simple
a pump of sweetness
a dash of love.
it's not the same
i miss you
texas is too far away
and even though
secretly
i felt that way towards you
the love i did have was a friendly one.
runaway though darling
away from our harsh winters,
be free.

Eighty, he cried for someone dead.

They knocked. The door knocked back.

The good morning news to nobody.

911 called, time of death answered.

Fingers left prints. Hands left bruises.

The birds will still sing tomorrow.

The diary never held many secrets.

He remembered her. She remembered nothing.

He waited for her to return.

Joining her on stage, her wife.

Lost hopes. Reward for their restoration.

The paramedic drove; their love rode.

"Goodbye sir. I'm sorry. I failed."

i guess what i really want to say is
"i like you."
but i'm so decently afraid of losing you as a friend
that i would rather nurse the wounds of a broken heart
and watch you be with someone else
so i wouldn't lose you at all.
i'm not a risk taker like that.

|m.s.

i've wasted the effort
of trying to be your friend.
i'm over you,
i know that sounds lame
but you've grown like rust on my heart
no longer making it work,
i'm over you.
so i'll grind myself back down
to hellos and how are yous
i'll be kind of a friend,
but no one you would want to talk to
all the time,
like we almost did.

|m.s.

i've always wondered one thing:
"Why is there a space between good morning, and not goodnight?"
this may be solely due to how i write it,
but i'm moved to believe that there is no space
due to the unneeded grey area and empty space about the word.

i'm moved to believe that there is a lack of a space in goodnight
is due to the exhaustion we feel at the end of the day and night.
and we don't take anymore time to have hesitation.
it's "goodnight."
there are no doubts about this.

it may just be me,
but the English language is malicious.
but in the moments you call "Goodnight!" to someone in the dark,
separated by the distance and night chill of the beginning spring---
i'm moved to believe that the lack of a space isn't needed
because there is no grey area
in which to call: "Goodnight!" out to someone.
there is only the hope that we will wake up again to see the sun,
greeting with "Good Morning,"
and a space to sigh with relief.

|m.s.

and i fall back
into the descent of madness
and the reminder in which
it will never,
be better.
houston,
we have a problem.
i'm going down.

|m.s.