Reaching.
Reaching out my hand
Feeling the cool worn fabric
Of the bed sheets accross from me,
Where I would steal every star in space just to have your body laying there
So that instead of finding
The crushing emptiness that already
Hangs in my ribcage,
Tightening it's chilling grip as gently as such a malevolent force can,
Instead of my finger tips encountering this as I stretch my arm out in the middle of another night I can't stop dreaming of your eyes the last time I ever saw them, I could maybe touch a trace of your existence again. I could feel the crippling weight in my chest be lifted as my grasping fingers grab hold of some piece of you. Any piece of you; your painstakingly bright smile, the light in your heart breakingly blue eyes that I still swear could power the New York skyline as long as you wanted it to, maybe the slow steady beat of your heart that I can still sometimes hear in our favorite song.
Then maybe I could breathe again.

I used to dread the
numbness that would envelop me
Any time the wind told it to.
Every cell of me suddenly
Unable to recognize
A purpose I so desperately needed to
Grab hold of
Reaching with every ounce of energy
Present in my body,
Clasping so tightly that the bones in my hands broke in so many places that the doctor cried
Willing myself to obtain any sort of traction on the sensation of
A will to live that loved to slip
Through my fingers as if I was trying to hold on to the air vibrations that I recognized as your laugh.

And I suppose that it's true that you just always want what you can't have,
Because now I'm crumpled up
Naked and demolished  
Having the wind knocked out of me again and again
As the unimaginable pain of
A black hole, that now occupies the space of the heart I carefully cut out and trusted you with was, continues to try and pump blood through dry and brittle veins, but just doesn't know how. And I'm very aware that it is a biological certainty that a lack of circulation results in death.

And if I still had anything of worth, I'd trade it in a second for the numbness that was taken for granted. The remedy that would right now save all my internal organs from seizing up due to the completely paralyzing hurt that is now the genetic makeup of every blood cell in my body, scratching up the interior walls of my veins because of the disagreement between the razor sharp spikes that have grown on every molecule of blood that I wish I would let myself drain, every one laced with extremely concentrated shots of inescapable doses of loneliness to be diffused into the deepest parts of your being covering each one, and the exhausted and fragile state of the paths being subjected to the anguish of scar tissue never being able to heal.

If only words could bring the dead back to life.

If only that mother could tell her baby girl she was so sorry that she only now understood that you didn't have to have a reason to feel hopelessly broken and that she was sorry that she never believed that not knowing how to fix those broken pieces, because you didn't know why they were broken, could ever be listed as a cause of death. And if only that woman weeping, laying naked clutching a picture of a smiling girl preserved in her youth forever, could say something that would give her one more chance to get to see her baby light up the room with the sunbeams that always shone out through the spidering cracks in the black glass shell of a perpetual hurt that covered her so completely that the space around her became listed as the only place on earth where no trace of heat or oxygen ever existed.
If only words could bring the dead back to life.

And if only this poem was actually about my mother and I. If only this poem wasn't really about how my chest cavity feels like it's filled with water because I'm afraid I will never find the words to bring you back to me.

I don't want to hate daisies.
I love daisies.
I love daisies so much they might even be my favorite flower.
And I don't want to hate daisies.

But I have to hate daisies.
I have to hate daisies because I was stupid enough
To let myself fall in love.
And I was stupid enough
To let myself fall in love,
Before I looked where I would land.
And before I could even shut my eyes
I was laying naked on the ground
With a spinal fracture and
Bullet holes in my chest.

And I didn't  know how to continue living,
feeling the breeze that would've given you tiny goosebumps, and made you fold your arms across you chest, whistle through your exit wounds.
Hearing it whisper your name every time I blink my eyes.

So I went and I broke my last promise to you.
And I didn't do it to hurt you.
And I didn't do it because I had a choice.
I did it because I can't get the image of the layers of all the shades of blue in your eyes out of my brain.
And how do you expect me to continue living knowing I'll never feel
The heat radiating off the trees burning in the forrest fire that was the way you kissed me.

And I'll never tell this to you,
But before I ripped out every sane thought in my head that always put the cap back on the pill bottle,
I prayed that if there really is a God up there,
That he would stay with me,
And keep just a gasp of air in my lungs
So that I'd wake up
And maybe
Hopefully
You would be there holding my hand,
And I'd be able to see you smile at me one last time.

But God is just too good at his job I guess,
Because I swallowed those dumb things an hour ago;
50 minutes ago;
Contemplating the probability of the existence of heaven and hell
As I waited for the final words of the book to dissolve into my bloodstream
And to finally, print the all-to-predictable
Ending of the story in relaxed letters of black ink.

I will not be sorry that I don't want to live in a world where I have to fall asleep in the cold air that has seemed to replace the way lullabies played in my chest feeling your arms wrapped around me.

But God is too good at his job. Because the blackness I needed never came over me. And instead of feeling my broken heart slow to shallow beats, and my breaths become as slow as the seconds did in every moment we ever had between me telling you I loved you and waiting for you to say it back,
I only felt nothing.

And I frowned at myself for being relieved at first.
Because in the morning when I lose the temporary escape from every cell in my body screaming for your touch that sleep will bring me, I know I will wish more than anything that my lungs had been idle for hours and that my body was as icy and stiff physically, as my every move will feel, having to function without feeling the air vibrations caused by your laugh.

When I first started writing this half an hour ago, my intent was to express the unexpected paralysis
And comfort
That was flowing too quietly under my skin
And how, while it was only temporary,
I felt almost okay.
I could barely feel the dull ache hanging in my ribcage,
And I felt like maybe I would even genuinely smile again someday.

And I'd always loved gambling
But I'm pushing my luck too far,
And things are starting
to come into focus again.

And I'm racking my brain
Desperately trying to come up with
Something I could do to
That would convince the universe to give me back the privilege of feeling my body temperature increase by a number of degrees that I never bothered it measure due to the electricity that sparked in every atom making up all the bones in my skeletal structure in the high that I got every single time I looked at you.

But the only thing I am able to understand right now,
Is that I'm never going to be able to live a day in my life that I don't wish I had spent with you.
And that I hate daisies
Because they remind me too much of you.

It's 12:06 AM
And I lost you today.

I actually lost you quite a while ago
I guess,
And was just grasping at something
That had disintegrated.

But I really lost you today.

And I can't breathe
Because my veins are currently being flooded with
An infinity of moments
In which I fell in love with you,
Taking up all the room in my blood,
So no oxygen is getting anywhere
At all.

And it's a weird feeling
Not being able to decide if your rapid breathing is being caused by
Your heart completely giving out,
Or your lungs trying to catch up to your running away from every trace of his presence.
Feeling like you were just possessed by
Every demon that ever crept into your bones,
And feeling a relief.

I'm terrified.
Im so terrified of having to
Snip apart the seams that sewed us together.
Every ******* second spent with you being a stitch in the warmest blanket I ever slept in.
And I hate the cold.

And if anyone out there knows, could you please tell me how to not think of him whenever I see the moon.

I'd always thought
That when you finally left me
I'd use that pain to write poems
The best ones Id ever written
Because the most passionate pieces of us
Are hurt.
Pain is the emotion we feel the deepest.
And I thought I'd be able to use it
In a way that cleansed me of you
But now that you're gone,
I see I was wrong.
I can't even lift up a pen.
In fact
I think I want to burn every ****
Paper I have scribbled words accross
Trying to describe you to people
Who would never understand.
Now that you're gone
I hate poetry.
I hate metaphors
I hate similes
I HATE THEM BECAUSE YOU YOURSELF ARE THE GREATEST POEM EVER WRITTEN.
And you're gone.

5:16 PM

Not everything meaningful
Has to be written
In the middle of the night you know.

Just like not every time he breathes
A flower must bloom.

And you try so hard to convince yourself of this,
That you carve it into your own skin,
Deeper and deeper and deeper until
The words are physically engrained
In black letters on your ribcage

Which all sounds sort of scary.
Especially to people who always
Double knot their shoelaces.

At 5:16 in the afternoon
On a Sunday, when there are at least
7 other things your mother would
Rather have you doing,
It is ok to admit that even though you
Said your biggest fear was spiders,
You are scared beyond compare;

Not of loving him,
Because loving him is the only thing you've ever done, that
hasn't made you feel like you're
desperately forcing puzzle pieces together
that do not fit,

But of your souls assimilating,
painting the most beautiful
piece of art that heaven ever saw,
And one day, watching him wake up,
feeling the light disappear from your smile as you reach for the love you used to see in his eyes,
And being stripped of every **** thing you thought you knew, as you realize it's no longer there.

And neither is he.