I still get butterflies when I see him
I have a faster heartbeat than a runner in a marathon when we are close
I feel like noone can stop me when he tells me I'm perfect
I love that he doesnt judge me for the ****** i am
I feel like I'm in a movie when he tells me cheesy things
I love how I can totally be myself around him


I know that everything happens for a reason and he was definitely a good one

"There are no diseases crueler
than the ones we self-inflict"
but I still find myself
thirsting for the bottle
and you still find the beast in your heart
begging to be smothered in smoke

They sneak out to smoke their cigs
between classes
just another insolence, another act of audacity
another fleck of rebellion
a way to express their contempt
a way to say ********
to the government and the educational system
and to the clockwork holding them back
from a death they secretly long for
Because i think at least a few of them know
that it’s still a suicide
even if it’s in slow motion
And every cigarette
is a calming coffin nail

Legally, they are too young
to drink or purchase
their ambrosia and tabacco treasures
Yes they are young, minors
but they’re already afraid of growing too old to die young
soon they'll get withered and wrinkling
and they won't be able to leave a beautiful corpse

Pulling off clear, crinkling cellophane, shiny silver foil
with nimble fingers and
sliding a single cigarette
out of the pack
and slipping it into their lips
It fits so effortlessly, so easy
they've been repeating the same motion for years now
sparking the lighter,
The small flame erupts
promising relief.
The sweet taste of nicotine trickling
down into the back of their throats.
They smile.

Behind stone gargoyle smiles
thunder eyes and rock fists
they hide their heavy hearts
with shrouds of smoke
like small-featured bride faces
behind heavy veils
Holding their precious gaspers
between 2 fingers,
elegantly, the way they saw
james bond and models in glossy magazines do it
There are no children here,
just the lost and the lonely,
the ones who wear such solid masks
They’re all looking for some form of redemption,
but they'll settle for attention
Faith, on the other hand,
is a language they don't speak

Their love for each other
is not sweet and childish
it's a collision of souls,
a necessary train wreck
a desperate tempest
to survive the deadly drone of school
it can't be done alone
regroup, collect, stick together,
collide

Their arguments and apologies
have the tragic tone of ancient rome
empires rising and falling

I hear them bicker
and argue and talk
with echoes of prayers in their voices
please see me, please hear me
please validate my existence

Debating
American Spirit, Malboro, Camel
the intricacies of the taste
they taught themselves to love

To me every joke sounds like a hymn
every nervous pair of hands
the brittle after-math
of broken promises
chaotic thoughts tumbling like dust in the wind

I know they are different
but they are human and young
and perhaps they are like me
Maybe they too
have fears
maybe they too awaken in the dead of night
sweating and confused

I can see them now, drifting in and out of focus
dragging their reluctant shadows
into school and out
Frail bodies running on caffeine and nicotine
pain, boredom, indifference and panic

You can tell they long for solace
in the way they hold their coffee
tenderly, fingers wrapped round
the comforting shape and smell
and kissing their cancer sticks
with faint hopes of necromancy
and rebirth with every puff

***
they take turns objectifying each other,
feigning tenderness when really
they are just new bodies
interlaced for an hour or two
There is no emotion here
they're just kids who've always loved playing
the ***** Doctor game

Mothers
use their name as a cautionary
tale and
they're the kids
our parents warned us about.

I know they've given up on perfection
so they want to be some kind of dazzling cataclysm
a bright, flaming disaster, a lovely wreck
they offer me a drag
but all I can think
is that rebellion isn’t a language
I know how to speak
All I can do is write this poem
which is both a eulogy
and an obituary



                                                     ­           I love them.
I love them because I know each of them is a work in progress,
because I know each is shattered in a sense
because they're just souls searching for a voice.
I love them because I'm starting to see
beyond the archetype-- a true expansiveness.
And I love them because the smell of cigarette smoke
reminds me of afternoons in France,
sitting on the curb of my dying grandfather's home
and watching the passer-by stroll through
the pavements.

I love them because everyone needs a place,
and they know that.

Their parties are an emergency exit.

They're a lighthouse for the lost.

I been strollin down by the riverbed
Searchin for answers
Shifting the rocks, the pebbles and stones
Trying to dig up the secrets and unknowns
But the ripples never speak
The ferns never reply, that's the natural technique
Only silence
As the water slips and shimmies on by

I been walkin on the beach
Searchin for answers
Under the sun I wander and roam
Diggin the sand, kickin the foam
Tryin to unearth
The secrets of the world's worth
But the sand barely whispers, the foam only scorns
Only silence
As the tide shies away and mourns

I been crossin every desert
Searchin for answers
Climbing the dunes and braving the storms
The scorching heat, the flies in swarms
I couldn't understand what they were tryin to preach
And the solace of water remained always out of reach
-Never an oasis
Only a mirage

The oceans flow and bring with them hope.
The tide comes and washes our sins away.
A means of finding a way to cope.
I hope this waters are calm enough to stay.

A levee is built to hold back the flood.
But still some sediments seep through.
The pollutants build up like contaminants in blood.
Flowing toxins deep inside of you.

I look up for a moment and notice a cloud,
The sky and the ocean are one in the same.
Both with tremendous ability to burst aloud,
While suppressing it's power in a matter that's tame.

I look back down as I drift to sea,
And a smile comes across my face.
I realize that everything within me,
Is a possession of this enchanted place.

I've already smoked most of my cigarettes while the night (along side my six pack of Angry Orchard Hard Cider) is still young.
The stars are outside
and in a few moments
when my head clears a bit I will join them.
I have so many places I could go.
In fact, the options are limitless.
There's the church parking lot across the street,
or the forest beyond it, hiding pleasant little benches to sit upon.
There's my favorite spot as of late
which is simply a bucket which sits next to my truck which sits in my parking spot on the street.
There's always my truck, which could take me to many far away places but I've already had a few beers and don't trust myself to that.
I could stay inside, and not greet the stars.
I could simply stuff a towel under my door, turn the fan on, face it out the window and smoke
but the house is stupidly hot and the stars, I would miss.
I could also stay inside,
write what i call ****** poetry
and what one beautiful girl cried about
and not smoke.
Bud *******, I want a cigarette.
Looks as if the bucket will be seeing me soon.