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.

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.

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.

They say the sun is the only star in our solar system.

They've obviously never met you.

Autumn leaves
Are a trick of the mind.
An illusion of beauty,
That mask the harsh reality
Of what they represent.

Mesmerized by their colors
People mistake them for beauty.

But what are autumn leaves really?

They are leaves
Changing
Inevitably changing
With no control over the matter
Loosing what they once were altogether

And then
When the cold fully encompasses them
And it becomes too much to bare any longer,
The simply fall away,
Completely forgotten by the people who were once
Infatuated with their beauty
But have lost interest now
Because they are no longer
appealing to the eye.

when the only thing
illuminating the world
are the stars who live
life times away
and the moon
who gracefully rules
everything beneath her
and the weight on my chest
begins to increase so subtly
until I am being fully crushed underneath it
laying there as the whisps of forgotten dreams
are pushed out of me
and my heart struggles to continue beating
the simple thought of your crystal eyes
returns some feeling into the tips
of my fingers that tingle as humanity
begins to flow within them again
you feel like breathing in a world
that thrives on asphyxiating dreamers

I can say with an honest conscience that a year ago I never would've thought my reality would be what it has become. I could not have predicted that I would be sitting here now, in the home of an old family friend, if you could even use that term since they don't know me at all, No one does, eating blueberries 2 at a time maybe trying to fill an aching hole in my body that I can't even see. I also never would've been able to tell you how a single person can so entirely become your environment and how If said person disappears, you're left standing in the middle of a Forrest you don't recognize with nothing but scrapes on your knees and a broken compass. And no matter how hard you fall to the ground or how desperately you yell their name, the fact that you are 10 minutes late and stuck in an old dream will never make them feel bad looking at the bullet shells on the ground in front of them from the rounds they fired into your chest. Because no matter how much you love someone it will not make them miss you. But maybe that's a lesson I'll never learn.

Do you want things to change?**
I should say yes.
I should tell you how
"this is not my destiny"
"I deserve better"
"I want to get better."
I should tell you.
I want to tell you.
I want to think those things.
But in all honesty,
I don't think I want to change,
because if you take away my
sadness
and pain
and hurt,
I don't know who I would be anymore.
So I'm sorry,
No.
I don't want things to change.

I was really sad
for a really long time
And sometimes
I'm still sad
I guess
But what I have learned
Is that no matter what happens
There is always hope.
And that's what kept me here
Was the hope that one day
Flowers would look less gray
And I'd laugh a little more
And everything would turn out ok.

The clock keeps ticking and im still bleeding but the paramedics stopped operating right after I started asking for you because they knew I was a goner. These broken teeth taste like piano keys and jesus, why is it so cold in here? Hell isn't real and the punishment for our sins are these tattered lullabies and the photos hidden in the backs of drawers your mother doesn't look in. I met god once and all I remember is feeling the wind whistling through the exit wounds on my back as he tried to muster up the courage to ask if he could *** a cigarette. Nobody will tell me where you are and these fluorescent hospital lights won't cut me a break. I keep burning my mouth on this coffee because I guess I've run out of patience for everything except you. Even though I hope you question it sometimes, I hope you always wear your seatbelt. My nails are bitten and somebody forgot to tell me that the only two options when letting go are to drop it so it shatters, or release it so gently that it aches forever. I'm kicking and screaming but no one will look at me and it might be the painkillers but the only thing I love anymore are the bruises on my legs and jesus christ somebody change this ******* song.

Walking across a frozen pond
When it begins to crack.

Knowing what will happen,
You fight to run back.

But the foundation you stand on
Is spidering faster than you your feet can carry you

And the ice you seek to flee from
Was not made to be escaped,

But you refuse to succumb to it's commands
Getting back up each time it's slippery surface
Grabs your feet and brings you down
to meet it's cold heartless complexion

And the cold grows more paralyzing with each fall
Making it more difficult to get back to your feet

All the while, in the back of your mind is
The knowledge of the imminent break
That will send you falling into the
Inescapable icy black depths of  numbness

Yet, for a reason unknown to you,
Despite the unavoidable doom you are fated with,
You deny to give up.

And you're not sure whether to call it strength,
Or tragic naïveté.

The thing about darkness
Is that it is both temporary
And eternal

There are bouts of time
That light shines through
Piercing through it
Giving you the illusion that it is
In fact
Temporary

But the darkness is always there
Sometimes it is diminished
But it's always there.

Dear Moon,

You looked beautiful tonight.
The kind of beauty
That grabs all eyes
and insists that they pay you attention.

But moon,
tell me,
are you lonely up there?
The infinity of stars that lay
scattered in your presence,
seem as if they could be pleasant company,
but is it all an illusion?

The stars trick the foolish
into thinking that they are in your
constant amity.
That’s what it looks like to us, Moon.
But those stars have never uttered one word to you
have they?
Immeasurable distances
make conversing quite difficult,
I would imagine.

Are you sad, Moon?
Is it distressing, Luna,
that us,
the ignorant,
believe that just because
our eyes see the stars in a way that
makes us believe they are near to you,
that you are not hurting?

Child of the night
who lives solitarily.
Do you weep?
Do you shed tears that we mistake
for beauty against the vast night sky?

Daughter of the dark,
who graces all with her
entrancing despondency,
Was there ever a time when you
had hope that somebody,
anybody
would save you from your fate?

Do you feel forsaken my love?
What have you done, Moon,
that would condemn you to this
paradoxically poetic reality?
You didn’t want this.
You only wanted to shed awe upon us,
and light the path home when it got
too dark.
And what have you gotten in return?

Isolation.

Darling I must say that I’m

            quite surprised to see you here.

     Not that it’s unlike you to show up unannounced,
and track mud throughout my living room,
     even though I just had the carpet redone.
But how can I yell at you while
                  you’re sitting here
          coughing up bits and pieces of        broken piano keys and tainted silver?

I would ask how they got inside you in the first place,

but I won’t

because I don’t think I would very much like the answer.

But you’re here, on my couch,

making a mess of things just like I taught you how,

and the kettle hasn’t begun to scream yet,
         so let’s talk.
That is what you came here to do isn’t it?

Well maybe I don’t want to talk.
        Did you ever even consider that?
Maybe I don’t want to think about January anymore.
                After all these years,
      after all these frost bitten cheeks and lost sunglasses and nails bitten down to the quick,
maybe I want to get out of this car.


                                   I don’t,
but I can’t very well tell you that now can I?
No, I can’t.

Don’t worry about the bruises on the wall or the shadow in the corner.
      You’re not.
You’re not even looking.

How are you?
Fine.
Nice weather we’ve been having.

     Yeah maybe,
except the air is always so cold that there’s ice in my lungs and it
        never stops being Tuesday.
Don’t just look at me, say something. Or if you won’t, then at least  build a fire.
           No, I’ll do it.
Go lay down,
there’s a space in my bed next to Nostalgia that’s
      probably still warm.
            Just throw the book on the floor.
I can put it away if it means you’ll stay awhile.

Turn the heat down, turn the lights off
                  this is all just temporary.
      We don’t have to talk about the car crash or the window or what’s buried in that yard.
      Focus only on my skin now.
We can think about that night in the pool later,
         when you’ve gone home again and turned up the music so loud          that you can’t hear the gunshots.

I have to say that I’m quite
               disappointed,
      and slightly offended by your
lack of attention to detail.
Don’t you remember
     when you were eight years old,
             all filled with soda pop and sidewalk chalk,

and you won that fish at the state fair for something silly
          like knocking over three milk bottles stacked on each other with
    four tries and a baseball.

Who the hell needs four tries for that?

But you won the fish and made it a home
           in a small glass bowl set on top            
                               of your nightstand.

Four days later while you were at school your mom discovered it floating belly up,
          flushed it down the toilet and rushed out of the house
      coming back twenty minutes later     with a fish similar enough to keep you from noticing
          that anything had changed at all.


Oh well,
     I’ll keep that in it’s wooden box at the back of my closet,
Let you keep your ignorance.
Let you keep your bliss.
    And I will sit quietly in the backseat
                   of your car while you drive,
and watch all the different girls
   get in and out of the passenger seat.

But I will never buckle my seatbelt,
     and always keep the door unlocked

just to see if it will scare you enough to turn around.

I don't know where you are tonight
but the air in my room tonight just feels a little bit heavy
and I'm a little but drunk
and I can't stop listening to the last voicemail you left me
and thinking about how cliche it is that it's you telling me you loved me
and how you always knew I loved cliche things
but my blanket still doesn't feel heavy enough
and the window I left open for you is letting cold air in
and I can't stop wasting my 11:11 wishes on trying to  feel you fall out of love with me like the life draining from a car crash victim instead of the desperation of the lover having to watch from behind the caution tape
Does that make sense?
I haven't been making much sense at all lately
I hope you think of me when you're drunk
I think you at least owe me that
I loved you
I really ******* loved you
I still ******* LOVE YOU
WHERE ARE YOU
I miss you.
All these people are worried about me
I'm fragile I guess I
have to be worried about
They keep telling me that
time heals all wounds
But it still hurts to breathe whenever I smell Indian chai tea
with too much milk
And not quite enough sugar
And I can still see the
scar on my left knee from
Where you scratched me
I got so mad when you did that
I'm sorry I got mad
I'm sorry
I'm just so sorry.

It's been six months but I'm still waiting for the paint to dry. I'm getting better but the exit wounds on my back still start to ache some nights. And some mornings. And some afternoons when all I have to do is glance at my hands. I keep trying to bring flowers to your grave but I can't find it anywhere. How did we get this far from honesty? Why are my lips always chapped? When is God going to fix this? I'm sorry I haven't written much lately but I guess eventually you run out of things to say when you're talking to someone who isn't even there anymore. Nobody will look me in the eyes and everything is just wrong. The phone won't stop ringing and every time I answer I just hear a younger version of myself laughing and calling to my mother to watch me go down the slide. And I keep having this dream about a car crash and I always wake up after someone in the waiting room glances at me and whispers, "does she always cry like that?" It's late and I haven't stopped driving and the lights are all blurring but I hope it's never cold wherever you are and I hope you're never tired and you never burn your tongue and I hope that at least it used to be hard for you too.

People sitting on a bus
All sitting in the same vehicle
Yet complete strangers

The girl who sits in the back
and looks out the window
thinking about selfish escapes
and leaving her demons behind
Trapped in the mortal world

Sits next to

The man who lost his wife
that one cold night when
the roads were icy and he was driving
just a little too fast

Who sits behind

The pretty blonde girl
who is on her way home from
The double shift she worked at her second job
that she needs to pay the bills for her and
the child she wasn't ready to have

Who sits across from

The boy with the piercings
and arms canvases in art
pictures that represent the emotion he felt
when his dad left him.

And if you had to pick just one,
Who would you say had it the worst?

The melody of lovers eyes
Is the purest
And perhaps most haunting
Song that will ever grace the ears
Of any living creature.
You can hear the notes held in the stare,
Sharing space with tangible
Electricity
The soft glow of a candle flame
And the words "I love you" being whispered
So quietly that  not even the wind could
Hear them.

cry in the meadow to
let the lighting bugs
catch your tears
selfless as they are,
knowing the salty manifestations
of those demons climbing up your throat
will put their lights out,
just like it did to you.

I’ll bet you never knew one place could be so deafening
and still so achingly silent at the same time.
Well now you do.
You don’t need to try and tell me about that feeling;
about how none of it makes sense,
about how
even though all your insides have evaporated into nothingness,
your body feels so painfully heavy that you fear
at any moment you may suddenly just sink through the floor.


I know how it makes your heart feel;
Standing in an unfamiliar place and
looking down at your cracked and calloused hands,
only to realize that it’s not actually unfamiliar at all.
The black of the night and the absence of street lights
tried their best to let you keep your ignorance,
your bliss, if you could call it that,
but they should know better. You can’t save anyone.


I know how the hair on the back of your neck stands up
and the frigid wind washes over you
and sinks it’s teeth straight into your bones.
I know how your lips start to tremble and
your knees quake like somebody
took the bone out and put jelly back in instead.
How your breath catches in your throat and you
look around the void with your frantic eyes, looking for anything to grab on to.


How the same frantic eyes turn dark and damp
once you realize that they’re all just past versions of you.
Pale and blue and faded,
Crying for something,
begging,
pleading.
Their mouths are moving,
and your mouth is moving but
no matter how hard you squeeze your eyes shut and scream,
no sound will come out.

You can tell a lot about a person by the scars they have on their hands. But it's hard feeling the crash turn back into the wave and you can't stop wishing you would've listened when your mother warned you about playing with sharp things. They didn't feel sharp at the time, But I guess they never do. and I'm still trying to decide if you can love a person too much, and if that's something ill ever understand. It's almost Halloween. Do you remember halloween last year? Do you remember how we were falling in love? I'm starting to forget things. I haven't been able to smell you on this blanket in weeks. And I keep seeking even though you're not hiding but my voice is getting tired and eventually you run out of things to say when you're talking to someone who isn't there anymore. All I really know is that it rains a lot and it's kind of sad that sometimes life really is just glimpses of pictures you took off your walls in the trash and love's footprints leading out the door.

She was everything. She was just this presence - this force that felt so much larger than anything else you’d ever experience in this dreary life. She was her own species; too magnificent to be meek, mortal humans like the rest of us. She hadn’t been made for this earth, and it must’ve been by some cosmic mishap that anybody ever even got the chance to encounter her. There was both an unyielding passion and an aching discontentment for life coursing through her. She would look you straight in the face with this sort of empathy that wrapped some feeling of importance and worth around you so softly that it paralyzed you. She had a deep and unwavering fascination with people. She wanted to know them. She wanted to know what touched them in ways that made their chests feel tighter because their hearts swelled up with bliss. She wanted to know what made them collapse onto the bathroom floor and sob so hard that it stopped their breathing. She wanted to what made them feel. And perhaps this was because she had been born with an awful, aching loneliness that hung in her chest. She rarely ever let anyone close enough to touch her, but even when she did, it was as if there was this sort of magnetic field lining her insides that wouldn’t allow anything to reach through. There had been a terrible war raging inside her for as long as she could remember. And she was often in pain. At times, she was gripped with such an intense and piercing sadness that each beat of her heart felt like a knife being twisted further and further into her stomach. The kind of agony that blocks out everything else. And during these times, she wanted to die. Other times, she was subjected to an absence of any feeling at all. Her mother often walked in on her sitting cross-legged on her floor, staring at the small chip in the blue paint on her bedroom wall. No matter how hard she tried, she wasn’t even able to remember what caring about anything felt like. She was overtaken by an emptiness that was incapable of being filled. She was a contradiction of a girl; the softest ray of light marbled with veins of dangerously black abyss. She was not designed for survival, but she sure as hell was designed for something. She lived brighter, harder. She knew that the demons swimming around inside her made it so that loneliness would be all she ever ended up at. No one else would ever experience the state of life she resided in; and while she felt comfort in knowing that nobody else had to feel the way she did, that sort of isolation is a slow and inescapable type of suffocation. And so she lived. She was a shooting star, moving so fast that all anybody else could do was stand in awe and watch. Watch till she burned up. Watch till her breath ran out. And then, one day, there was nothing. Our star had burned out, and the world felt so hopelessly dark. People still went about their lives; going to work, going to school, going to the grocery store and forgetting to buy milk; and people remembered her and people forgot her, and some days I just have a hard time with it all. She was everything, you know? And I guess I just wish you could save people.

Human nature is inevitable.

We want what we can't have.
And when we see others who have
What it is we desire,
We want to take it.

Human nature is inevitable.

And eventually,

The girl who laughs will no longer grace the room with her lighthearted giggle,

because they took  that from her.

The girl who dreams will no longer have anything to live for,

because they took that from her.

The girl who embraced people with her kindness will be turned to stone,

because they took that from her.

And the girl who did nothing but give love away will no longer feel anything but pain,

Because they took that from her.

Human nature is inevitable.

Every second rings dully in my ears,
and somehow the passing minutes still feel so loud.
Sometimes I think I’m tired,
because my eyelids feel like they weigh more than the dissipating stash of pills I keep in the back of my underwear drawer,
and it requires a real conscious effort to keep them open;
but the only thing I can really feel is this horrible restlessness
leaving claw marks that vandalize the inside of my ribcage.
This thing in my chest - I can’t tune it out. It’s so much louder than everything else. I haven’t been able to hear my heartbeat in so long I
fear I may not have one anymore.
Maybe if you spent half as much time
listening as you do grabbing,
you would’ve noticed that my cold,
clammy, hands still haven’t stopped shaking.
I drowned in the lake that day, you know;
that second Wednesday in June,
and I waited for you to jump in and pull my body out of the water like you said you would
but the water is calm,
and I’m still waiting,
and maybe that’s why all these people talking to me
sound so far away
—distant;
like how things sound when you’re underwater and
the world above just keeps going without you.

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.

If there's one thing I've learned,
It's that love is real
And it does exist.
And you have no idea
What it is like
Until you're over your head in it.
And there's never really a specific moment
In which you fall in love with someone.
After a while, you just realize that
The way they squeal a little
When they laugh to hard,
Or how they always get  way too many banana peppers on their snadwich,
Or how they jump out from behind a corner and scare you
And laugh hysterically because you screamed,
Even though they knew you would.
Or how their heartbeat sounds when they're holding you in your arms,
Are things that you can't imagine ever living without.

And if you ever went to Subway with another person,
And they didn't ask for extra banana peppers,
It just wouldn't feel right.

And I love you.

i'll sit here alone
and try to decide which is heavier;
my eyelids or my heart.
and while I ponder this decision
even though tears fall from my hollow eyes
stinging my face like acid as they roll
and even though my hands are wrapped
around my stomach so tightly,
they may actually sink through my skin
far enough to touch my spine
and even though these sobs that I'm heaving
as if the light in your smile depended on my lack of oxygen,
are gripping me so tightly, i almost forget what it's like to be able to
breathe.
I will use every last ounce of life in me
to shine a flashlight through my eyes,
so they look a little lighter,
and stitch up the corners of my mouth,
into something that will make you think I'm not dying
and every cell in my body will ******* when you fall for it.

All I ever was
Before you looked at me
Was the point of a staple
That wriggled it's way out of
The carpet on your bedroom floor
And kept finding my way into
Your skin
Just because I loved to hear you say,
"Ow what did I just step on?"
But then one day you found me,
And my hands were shaking as you
Pulled me out of your foot
And tossed me
Into the trashcan by your desk
Like I was nothing.
How could you.

I'm sorry if I fell in love with you too fast.
But it was mesmerizing
The way that you
Took your pure sincerity
And made me feel
A little more whole

I'm sorry if I fell in love with you too fast.
But how could I not
Immediately attach to someone,
Who saw something in me
That I didn't never believed
was there?

I'm sorry if I fell in love with you too fast.
But when I told you,
I was damaged,
And lost,
And you should've left right then,
You made a home for me
In your arms,
And all I'd ever wanted was a home.

I'm sorry if I fell in love with you too fast.
But you whispered sweet words,
And looked at me the way
The sun looks at the moon
In that moment before
They're forced apart

I'm sorry I fell in love with you too fast.
Because you deserve more
than a ghost of a girl
With nothing more than
naive optimism
And broken butterfly wings
In her flickering soul.


And that's all I have to give you.

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.

A day
For every drop of water
There is in the ocean,
Is how many days
I'll love
      You.

we are the dampened muddy leaves
Littering Forrest floors in that
Time that's not quite yet winter
But not quite still fall

We are the pebbles at the bottom
Of an ancient river
Being eaten away at with each
Passing current

We are the spidering cracks
in the ice coating the ground
Inviting some unfortunate stranger
To come lose traction on our surface

We are the veins inside the
Flower stem
Begging for recognition past the
Garish petals who get all the notice

We are nothing
And we are everything

tainted lungs make for harder breathing
teary eyes make for harder seeing
broken hearts make for harder healing
empty chests make for harder being
lights burn out
people shout
dreams die
and people cry
darkness is contagious
you can not get away from this
and so you sit here and rhyme these words
but dead you'll be before they're ever heard.

Because life is dangerous.

I live in a house with a girl called Lyssa.
She screams a lot,
cries too.

I tell her to smile, to laugh.
I tell her that good things can happen.
I tell her that I wish she would feel better.

This only makes her cry more.
And scream a little louder.

Our house is small, and only one of us can be in it at a time.
I live there mostly when it’s sunny
and I plant flowers.

I live there until a rain cloud arrives, and Lyssa comes to take my place.
Sometimes even, I have to leave sooner.
She has tendencies of showing up unexpectedly.
And killing the flowers I planted.

I’ve told her to leave,
that I can’t live with her anymore because her rain falls too often.

But she always comes back,
and I’m just afraid one day,
she won’t leave.

the static breaking
the space in which silence travels
but not loud enough for my
ears to hear
over the memory of the childlike
innocence in the laugh you graced
the world with moments ago,
as soon as the atoms of you
leave the company of mine,
ever fiber in my body
that was just on fire with the electricity
produced by your touch lingering on my skin
slows down to a feeling of still numbness
with as much heat as a steady candle flame
instilling within me a feeling of longing
each cell in me, gripped,
crippled, by this aching unwholeness
but in a way that is backed by almost a
lining of hope,
hope in looking forward to knowing that when I see you next
the fire that's gone now,
will be back stronger than ever.
Does that make sense?

the moon herself could not
find the words to describe you my love

being a self acclaimed poet
I want nothing more than to rewrite you
into beautiful metaphors and verses
until I've used every single word
there is available to use

I want to be able to say that your eyes
felt like the ocean and looked like home
But your eyes are so much more than that my dear

I want to say that your laugh
Is more precious than the diamonds
In my mothers jewelry box
That I dreamed of as a little girl
But your laugh makes the silly rocks
Seem like litter on the street in comparison
To you

I want to be able to say that your arms
Are my shelter in the blizzard of fleeting sanity
That has become my home
But really,
I no longer live in that cold place much at all anymore
Because your arms feel like breathing
And safety

I want to be able to put you in words
But I can't do that because the words would never
No matter how hard they tried
Shine as bright as you

I started having to sleep with a nightlight on again. It just gets too dark at night now that I don't get to see your face anymore. The artificial brightness that is absolutely nothing in comparison to you makes it a little harder to fall asleep but maybe that's the point because the nightmares that play when I do fall under are getting unbearable. I spent $14 on a dream catcher that does nothing to protect me from having to see your god ****** eyes every time I shut mine. And I guess the light makes it better when I wake up from another dream where it almost feels like we are dancing around your kitchen together again, but you of all people should know that I only like to cry in the dark.

Come sit with me
in the velvet textured
yellow flower petals
and whisper the words
that the stars never speak.

the vast blackness of the night sky
holds me tightly
and gazes at the colors surrounding your heart
in a way that makes even me jealous.

and if my face appears
in your dreams tonight my love,
would you recognize it?