They told me not to set myself on fire to keep someone else warm. But god do the flames feel good.

"I want you here but I also want not to want you here"

"why do you do this to yourself?" he asked her, holding her arm gently. He was so sincere she couldn't bring herself to lie. "because at least the cuts on the outside heal."

left bleeding from mental lacerations

tangled in my skinny jeans

slinking heroically downriver.

we don't say  goodbye.  we know it's the end but maybe not saying   it will make the world  stop  for   just a     moment        longer.

I can never quite decide if I miss you more when you are away or sitting next to me.

When we are parted I feel it as an ache,
a permanent tightness of the chest,
a shallowness of breath:
I cannot fill my lungs if not with you.
I go about my day distracted,
spending half my time imagining you by my side.

But when you are beside me it is an entirely different, subtle, kind of pain.
An unrelenting itch to touch you,
hold you,
feel you,
anything other than just sitting here pretending everything is normal.
It is as if you held a magnet next to a paper clip and told the paper clip not to move
that is how I feel sitting beside you,
too close, but never close enough.

So if I ever seem distracted as you talk,
darling please forgive me.
Simply know that your lips have entranced me so,
that with every movement,
every carefully choose word,
every articulated phase,
I find my self using all of my willpower not
to lean forward and kiss them.

Why are there so many sad poems?
Did the old masters write sing verses about depression and anxiety?
Or is that a new feature?

I don't ask to be pretentious.
To bemoan the state of the new generation.
But I have to wonder,
Has the poets changed?
Or have I?

Our generation has learned one thing:
How to break over and over and over and over again,
Barely piecing together the pieces before they shatter again.
So is it a surprise to anyone that the poets speak of heartbreak and pain?
It is all we know.

Or is it all in my head?
Do I simply think I see more tragic poems because I seek them out?
Only remember the poems that make me cry,
'cause sadness the only emotion I can feel anymore.

This one's for the forgotten gods,
for the gods whose names have faded from memory,
lost to time.
Starved from lack of devotion
You deserved better

This one's for the changed gods,
for the gods who have been made a mockery of,
reduced to comic book characters.
Living on scraps of prayers.
You will be great again

This one's for the new gods,
for the highways, TVs, casinos.
And of course the Father.
Growing fat on belief.
*You too will fade

"please please please please please"
Even I don't know if I beg for death or for life

You asked me what I wanted.
You asked it metaphorically:
what do I want out of life?
But god, at that moment all I wanted was you

Not just the boy who thought to ask but all four of them.
I want nothing more than to be curled up on the couch.
Watching some ****** comedy,
laughing and making fun of it.

I want to be able to lean over and kiss her lips mid laugh
I want to run my fingers through his hair
I want to pull her close
I want to hold his hand

But most of all I want none of this to feel out of place.
For this to be a regular Friday movie night.
Laughing together, finally.

The girl with the coy smile
The boy with the brown eyes
The girl next door
The boy who believed in the universe

She loved them so much,
gave them everything
But left nothing for herself