She dreamt of sunken people who spoke of hope
And iron hearts who bled empathy
Hunger that fed on peace
War which longed to unite with life
Immortal ethics set in practice
Children who never escaped childhood
Flowers that refused to die
And love which was incapable of lies
She dreamt of dreams coming true
But awoke to a full blown strife
Still she believed with all her might

Some days I want to do nothing but write
Grab the moment
Dwell in it for life
Fingers that itch to bleed letters
So I let them fall
From a mind that buzzes with nothing but white noise until it can be seen before me
I can hear non existent conversations
Words that make new meanings
Until meaningless starts to make sense
And I wish I could feed on it
But then I remember how it will leave me
Alone and mute
Some days nothing comes to mind
And I wonder if that part of me has died
One hit wonders
It happens all the time
I'll still write
No quality
It lacks shine
Leaving discontent behind
And I long for old times
Still it's mine
It deserves a post
To those words I can't be unjust
Then like a whirlwind tornado
Something unexpected will set me off
The ball starts rolling
And I'll write words in the air with my fingers
Committing them to memory
Bringing them to life
And that is when you too
Can feel the passion

but what is a broken home
when you've never known anything else?
anything beside empty chairs
and closed doors
floors that dont tell you
who's walking by the creaks
I dont recall how old I was
when I stopped peeking in your bedroom
every morning
to come crawl into bed with you
it seems so strange to me now
because we cant even seem to look
each other in the eye
and every goodbye is either prior to
or followed by
a sigh
I'm not quite sure when it started
and I don't know
that it can ever be stopped
we fought about simple things,
dinner and movies and
who'd pick up when the telephone rings
the arguments are silent now
nestled between closing doors
and awkward hello's
because we both know
I can never say for sure
when the door
will open again

maybe it was when I saw my room for the first time in six months
bare walls
no bed
empty closet
almost as if
I had never slept there at all

or when I never got the invite
to Thanksgiving
because you already knew
that I wouldn't bother to show up
when I realized

that your life
her life
their lives

had all gone on without me
from the outside looking in
your glass castle had never known
I ever existed
I didn't anymore
my room was not my room
the tomb I spent my nights in
does not even begin
to remember me

luckily
I'm half way okay with this

because as much as I would love
to write about how
when push came to shove
I know
that I did this

to myself

they say our sense of smell
is by far the most powerful
in revoking tucked away memories
and I'm not quite sure who they are
or who gave them the right
to unveil these monstrous moments
stored away in my head

but I remember
your bed smelled like cigarettes
you said you didn't smoke in the house

maybe that was true

but the last time you told me
you loved me
was on a piece of loose leaf paper
taped to my television set
three years ago
and I bet they were up there
placing bets on when I would drive you back
to the point of madness that
my mother had once put you in

three years later
have felt like a nicotine free eternity
of their own

but you're back

back planting cigarette butts
in ***** flower pots
filling your lungs with cancer and your
blood with toxins that I can only imagine
are named after me

and everything we used to be