Black nights and the sound of you through my bedroom wall
Sing about her so you can see past your own skin
Flaws and fault lines captivate and horrify so you pick apart what you can
Young man trying to balance civilization with the old magic you once felt in your heaven that soon after became my hell
But don't cry for them
In time we all change
In time we all rearrange our feelings and heartbreaks
We all figure out all role models fall
But it broke you
And down you fell into a sea of your own discontent
The winter of 2014
Quiet brilliance never one to avoid a fight
You kick and you scream where you should lie back
And I loved you for it
Millennial abomination that you are
Spit your voice and chase her off your chest
Drink away the excess feeling and burn the rest
Don't you know that what the fire leaves untouched isn't your load to carry
Leave her along the side of the road for someone else to burry and pick up your megaphone and preach your gospel of self reliance on the streets
Born of Walt Whitman you speak of dependancy like a curse
But I know you need the stage to breathe I know you weak shouldered boy better than you know yourself at times
Though I only know you through the wall of your bedroom
I've watched you fight demons and cowards alike
Watched you been bruised and forgotten for years
Disciple of your innocence you were ignorant to the faults of your fellow youths
Pinned them up like prize fighters on your walls
Don't you know I watched it all
And one by one they fell
Unfaithful, thankless wretches and they took the life from you while you washed their feet
And you swore off dependency and trust for years on years and let it all go
And now it comes out soft and sweet through my bedroom wall
Let down and hanging around you sing for every ******* that forced their way in to your chest
It's a wonder you survived the rest
But here we sit after all.

She was a dancer
And I a writer  
Born of the same day
But different hours
Barely friends
But almost lovers
Destined to be connected
But never together
For I am winter
And she is summer

I keep writing about you
A lot of people say that my poetry is amazing and I have no idea why they say that
And I think it's because they're all about you, because you're ******* wonderful
But what you don't know and what they have no idea is that
I stare at the ceiling for hours
And my hands can't seem to move
Leaving my pen untouched and just having a blank page
Filled with no words about you or about love
Because all I feel is frustration and disappointment
Maybe I write these things but it actually doesn't come close to how I'm really feeling
But if actions could be expressed into words
I would write about how I should have hugged you for hours and convinced you to stay
How your favourite song just came up the radio, reminding me the first you made me listen to it
I would write about me standing outside the rain near the bus stop, thinking and replaying all the things you said to me, as I hide my tears from the rain
Then I realized I never had you
We were never official
I would write about the burning fire from my heart as it start to burn because of how much I miss you
and how the burning flakes have reached my brain at 3 in the morning thinking about how I miss your voice and how I crave your presence
And then I remember being up so late was only that much fun when you were still around, with our deep talks & late phone calls
I wish every ******* day that you were still here
And I don't know how to end this writing because there is no poetic way to say and describe how I feel so empty and that I just want you back
But what I know is that I'll never let go

She sleeps with her arms cradling her body,
holding herself together as she lay.
Afraid she will come apart while her eyes are closed.

If you rip her open, a quilt of leftover pieces.
Pieces placed and abandoned.
Find a spot between the ribs where her heart used to be,
patch in your lies and your empty words.

Perhaps her frayed seams will finally split.
Tugging at the binding of her forearm and hand, she digs for proof.

She wishes to peel off every inch of skin sewn onto her bones,
to create a new canvas free of rips and tattered edges.

I traced stems on your back with my fingertips.
Rows of goose bumps lined your field of skin.
The bumps nestled softly along my fingertips.

I want to plant myself between your ribcage.
Grow closer with each beat of your heart,
blossom among your desire.

Perhaps tomorrow I can press petals into your neck;
knead leaves into the curves of your collarbones.
I want to grow with you, bury myself into your soul.

Dusk descends across the west

     as our yellow dwarf star 

surrenders its daily reign -

     washing the horizon 

in a diadem of refracted light.



Prismatic clouds blaze

     like a wondrous skycape

brushed by an impressionist deity
-
     conjoining the passing day 

with the emerging veil of night.



The first stars have arrived

     to escort the silvery moon

along its nocturnal journey.



The season of sleep is upon us.
     A few tilts of the hour glass

will transport our circling furnace

     just below the eastern peaks - 

a harbinger of the coming day. 


     Dawn and twilight

framed in luminous Alpenglow.

*July, 2014