Suitcases of the past flooding from my closet
burying you beneath it;
I am sorry.

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bruises like clouds after sunset,
heart like ice after it's been counter set,
fingers like branches in a hurricane,
eyes like condensing windows in the rain.

one beat, two beat, two beat, two beat,
can't count to three,
my mouth is weak.
can't stop shivering,
trying to speak.

my head is screaming,
and my arms are outreached,
but my voice has broken,
and their palms are in fists.

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clouds move as night arrives,
shape-shifting in movement.
looking for a new home,
soft and slow,
fragile,

but still hurts.
still abandoned.

float away like a cloud,
it still leaves me dark.

(NJ2014) All Rights Reserved.

All the weight that once rested on my shoulders
dissipated into the air and was swallowed into my lungs.
My heart still beats, but not without struggle;
it pounds beneath the weight of my regrets.

I never should've let you get so close.
You searched me like a cop in the night,
shining your light on cob-webbed feelings,
and broken down fantasies.

You cleaned me up in hopes to find something,
beneath the law you cannot speak details
and I never knew what it was you were searching for,
but either you found it, or did not,
and never needed to come back again.

You were always a bit messy;
you left fingerprints on my skin,
and evidence in the form of thoughts;
you breathed life into my heaving chest,
only to take with you the rest of the air
I needed to get back on track.

Now I'm covered with yellow and black tape
labeled endlessly with the words 'crime scene,'
and I'm not even putting up a fight.

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The cigarette in your mouth burns away with the flame,
and you toss it to the ground once it's done
- but there's a little light still burning,
and to make sure it won't go ablaze.
you stomp on it until it's completely gone.

I was hooked on the way your hands handled me,
the way you could set me on fire with a simple touch of the mouth;
I was burning bright and you were satisfied -how could it be wrong.

Time grabbed you by the hand and took you away from me;
I was growing smaller and smaller with distance,
but from where I stood, I was the same.

You could no longer keep squinting to try to see me,
especially through the smoke of your cigarette.
You could not stand to see the light at the far end of the road,
nor tolerate the tiny, what seemed to be weakening, spark

and so you shut your eyes,
and tossed the cigarette aside.

The cigarette was still burning,
but not strong enough to set the road in flames
and bring you back.

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He's the boy with messy blonde hair and emerald eyes;
the kind that can make you blind after some time.
I wish I had known that before I made space for him
on the shelf I call my heart.
His hands were strong, yet gentle,
and they traced every curve
without leaving a mark.

I'm the girl with obviously styled hair, and brown eyes;
in time's company I'm a stranger -so I must always try
to look my best even when I want to cry.

I found myself holding this novel of a boy in my hands,
and quickly much too quickly fell into the pages;
excitement tore the corner of the sheet,
a scar formed on his nose,
and I joked with him
you can't forget me because I've made my mark.

But behind every light giggle there is a truth;
behind every highlighted sentence there is reason.

Here I am physically unscarred by this boy with emerald eyes,
but each night I find myself wondering why he left without a goodbye.
I could only hope that if I was unable to leave an impression
that maybe he will come across the bookmarked page,
the teared sheet and remember me.

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I have a lot to express,
but the words are suppressed.

Can't eat, can't sleep, can't speak.
But that's all I want to do.

I have never felt so lonely
as I've been feeling since I've met you.

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