I watch these fleeting scenes flit behind my eyes.
Moments where I've captured you.
The silence is unbearable.
I can't undo hurt.
Taking blame is losing my pride.
I'd give it all.
I've thrown it all away.
You lie there, in a troubled slumber.
I brace for the next slide.
Trauma on replay.
Please don't leave.

The New Year.
Some say it's a fresh start, others pat themselves on the back for
another year down, even though they probably don't deserve the acknowledgement. Some use it as an excuse, to get high, drunk, and all the things that follow so.

I see another year closer.

Another year I've waited to leave this town with its overly feigned cookie cuter houses and plastic people, if you can even call them people at all.
Another year closer to the year I can stop pretending. Another year closer.

Another year so much nearer to showing what black and white can really do, to all the little lights and yellow flowers and raindrops and white canvas.

So much closer. But I'll start here.

Hello, Poetry.
It's nice to see you again.

I want that waking up at 6 am to make you breakfast kind of love,
that my friends think I'm absolutely crazy kind of love
the kind of love that is reckless and addicting
that I don't care what you look like I just want to stay up all hours to share secrets kind of love
that every time I see you my heart throbs kind of love
that I see you upset and you don't have to say anything and I already know what to do kind of love
that stand next to me because I love you kind of love
that "you can have the cup with more coffee" kind of love
that you get my heart and the world gets the worst of me kind of love.
that you are my everything kind of love.