I am really, sorry,
I'm sorry that your favorite place to hike,
Turned into a place to shoot up.
"You are legal here, now, so make it work,"
The inspector snarled quite silently.
You know if my neighbors see you up here,
They might shoot you,
They might sic their dog.
If they catch you,
On this side of the lawn.

I know it is foolish of me to want love after all I've done
I've betrayed past lovers with the lies that seemed reasonable enough to believe
I've doubted every relationship I've had
I've lost touch with authenticity and now my soul aches to touch some something real
Anything that is certain, anything that is palpable
I crave affection but I lose hold of it as soon as it boils over because I am afraid of being burned
I have been trying to conclude why love is such a tough subject for me
Trying to figure out how something so beautiful can be so ugly in the wrong light
When did black and white become so grey
There is no intermediate in love
There is no middle road
There is one path or the other
You can be infatuated with every person you see or be hopelessly devout to a single person
There has never been an effortless love story
I know, I know that is it foolish of me to want love after all I have done
But I've noticed that no matter how many cavities you have, it does not make you lust after sweetness
Any less

I've learned that when someone asks you if you want to watch the surise, it is not because they have never seen it before, it is because they have never seen it with you

I want to leave this dark bedroom that you have locked me inside. You told me that this was only for one night and I knew you meant it, yet my heart stepped out of my ribcage and onto these cold white sheets we layed in and declared you wanted me for more than just for a few hours, that you did not mean it. When you did. Proclaiming coyly and discreetly that I do love you despite my drunken misdemeanor. But still you walked out in the morning (like I knew you would) with vague memories of last night's sweet disaster without ever unlocking the door. I knew all along at that is was haunts me the most. Now all I can do is search for a key or a gun to set me free. I will use whichever I find first.

It is hard to explain to someone that you only fall for ******* guys who treat you like **** and tend to look at other girls while standing next to you not that you mean anything to them anyways
It is harder to explain to someone when the someone you are trying to explain it to is the someone that you are talking about

Every painting starts with a white canvas
Threaded blank pages layed out and begging for color
A tool dipped in dark blue
Brushing on a dark sky, yellow making stars
Swirling constellations into words for astronomers to write about one day
Adding in flaming orange to represent the sunset that has now faded
But never washing the brush clean and they call it fresh
There are some paintings that never are seen
Imagine the most beautiful piece of art
And realize that there may be one out there you have yet to discover
Think of your love life this way, as I have been trying to do
Though you have seen the outline of their body
And the way their hair burns in the sunlight that leaks through the window, open blinds letting in flaming gold
It reminds you of their hands
How they drip chrome raindrops all over the canvas of your body
You will feel beautiful and as if no one has ever truly been such an immaculate artists in sketching escape plans on your back that you thought were future paths you two would walk together
Realize that there are other artists out there
You have not seen the most beautiful piece of yourself yet
Because a true artist never hides his work
Every painting starts as a white canvas
So wipe yourself clean
And wait for someone who does not use old brushes on new paintings

There is no way to train your heart to realize when someone means it
when they tell you that they love you
No way to teach your mind to pick our small details in their posture or
the way their left brow twitches right as the word 'love' slips off of their tongue and out of their mouth
Though it would be easier if we could just know when someone is actually in love with the structure of your soul
Who really understands the meanings behind all of your fears and passions
Someone who does not succumb to pressure and says it to make you feel safer but instead only saying it when it is true because though not hearing it back is hard, hearing it fall and shatter on the ground beneath you is a lot more painful because you have to pretend that you believe it, have to pretend that this is real and the only this falling on the ground is his pride
And in most cases, you do believe this, because you will convince yourself that your love is enough for the both of you to share
Though you know you feel more, it is okay because your overflowing cup will fill up the empty space of his
Do not fool yourself
You will want to do everything is your whole being to make this work but love only held on one side is not love at all
Regrettably, there is no way to train your heart to realize when someone means it when they tell you that they love you
But there is a way to know
Do not believe them when they tell you
Believe them when they show you
That is how you will know

22:34
But now it has passed,
And that time is wrong.
For another 24 hours,
Waiting,
Ready,
For just a single minute of being right,
22:34 lives the other 23 hours and 59 minutes being wrong.
It's admirable,
So determined, that for just a few moments,
Everyone will agree,
22:34 is willing to spend the majority of its life,
Accepting to be unaccepted,
For a brief period of acceptance.
So spare a thought for 22:34,
And for those who try so hard to be right,
That they are fully willing to be wrong.

In this city the bright lights can blind you
let you forget the rustic coins littered around the floor
caught by grimy hands belonging to a woman
she holds her life on a thin piece of cardboard
written in faded Sharpie

If you ever lose your way with the crowd
and stumble upon the empty alleyways
they possess cracked glass from beer bottles,
old shopping advertisements, broken toys
and the stench of trash mixed with lost hope realizing
the pavement isn't always perfect but littered with cracks

Walk further down and you will pass the rejected streets,
houses gone foreclosed and no remorse
all that matters is the country's history,
pressed on notorious green paper belonging to greedy hands
forgetting about the family that lost their house

Wait at the train station,
for the rumble and two yellow lights
The snake of a train claims passengers
trapping them between closed doors,
only allowing them to face their own misery
some escape with headphones
others just stare into the darkness with sunken eyes and drunken sighs

Walking home see the gum wrappers and dead leaves skid around
the soles of your worn shoes
Graffiti garage doors only display discarded art
And when the night is still
you can feel the empty consonants and vowels crawl up your legs
forming the unspoken words from unwanted voices that lay

Hidden under our feet.