I am he
   who blistered and
   purpled his aching
   fingers, upon playing
   the saddest, dissonant
   melodies out of
   his old, untuned
   guitar, whose strings
   of somber used-to-be's
   he ceaselessly strummed
   and plucked under
   the dullest starless
   night sky; and
   sing of his
   weeping heart the
   poetry of melancholy
   notes half-composed.

It is me--
   the lone guitarist
   on broken avenue
   who never stopped
   playing his love
   song of rue
   since you left--
   whose only lyrics
   is your name
   and your words
   he dearly kept.

it’s 9:07 and you’re suffocating me

your sting;

there’s not much i can do,

i could write a million poems for you

we spent our lives singing songs

i fell in love in the backseat of my friend’s car

as the sound of your voice echoed over the radio

but when the world unleashed itself,

loving you was worse

so, i wrote your name 100 times,

i never want to forget how you dot your i’s and cross your t’s

take me to the woods,

we can carve out names into the trees

every time i look into your eyes i am reborn

i wish the tiny voices would stop, “i can’t love you anymore”

Ravage
My heart, my soul
Steal it
And keep it for your own
Damaged
As it might be
Keep it
Far away and safe from me