lately i've been falling asleep with the tv on, when about a month ago even the slightest bit of light kept me awake. days spent with you have molded me into something i haven't quite figured out yet.

like sedimentary, maybe this confusion will just erode away. or maybe i've permanently metamorphasized into something new.

all i know for sure is that i'm feeling a way i have never felt before. i can't determine whether the feeling is good or not. and i can't promise that it's not dangerous or fatal. i can't promise you that the thought of 'us' is stable. but i try not to think about it. please don't think about it.

i fall asleep now to the chatter of the television. it quiets my mind. i used to find comfort in silence, but now it just screams at me. ironic isn't it? how i turn the sound up to find quiet.

i don't stay awake with my thoughts anymore. they wake me up in the form of nightmares from time to time. i could never escape anything. not even my mind. i won't escape you. tell me that's fine.

no, don't talk. please, change the channel.

[NJ2015] All Rights Reserved.

he woke me up and said, 'you're always tired,'
said that i always fall asleep when i'm with him;
and i argued and said i just rest my eyes;
but truth is his arms are more like blankets to me
than my own sheets.

his chest carries a beating heart
and it's more comforting to fall asleep to that
than to the sound of bickering between hard-headed family members.
his laughter, usually mixed with the sound of anime,
or the narrator of YouTube's 'Watch Mojo' series, is my lullaby,
and the way his hands run through my hair
help rock my nervous mind to sleep.

but i tell him i'm resting my eyes,
because i can't tell him that he's my lullaby,
i can't tell him he's my refuge from a long day;
i can't tell him that when i'm with him,
i feel satisfied to just end my day.

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he puts on slow music and leads me off the bed,
spinning me into his arms and dancing into a waltz;
we're wandering around the whole room;
my head on his shoulder, his hands on my waist;
and we're dancing the night away.

if it's not like the movies,
they say to let a love go;
but with choreography like us,
that film would surely fall apart;

but it felt like a movie;
the way he held me,
the way he looked at me,
the way he
                   cut scene.

All Rights Reserved. [NJ2015]

Don’t you understand? I’m the careful girl who sets her alarm three hours early to guarantee she wont be late, the girl who’s scared to use boxed hair dye because there’s that one percent chance of a fatal allergic reaction. I’m the girl who gets sick every morning because anxiety tells me that i “might mess up something today.” I’m the girl who reads the fine print, the terms and conditions, because one time i didn’t, and i got hurt.

You’re the boy who sees terms and conditions as guidelines. The boy who drinks every night because though its drowning your liver, its what you used to fill an emptiness that’s now addicted to it’s harmful comfort. You’re the boy who sees a party as a release from responsibility and real life, a lazy Sunday night as a day wasted. You’re the boy with messy hair, tired eyes, and a tired heart. You welcome chaos because it keeps your mind from straying.

Cause though you’re reckless, you never were with love. Your heart is a liquor bottle that was indulged and tossed to the side by girls too drunk to understand that glass breaks. And glass cuts.

I always read ingredients before I consume, but i wasn’t thinking before i tasted you. So now here i am, the careful girl, and here you are, the reckless boy, caught in one world that’s both hazy and precise.

I’m trying to handle you with care, but youre screaming that there may not be a tomorrow. I’ve read your terms and conditions, but disregarded the “more terms below,” and found there’s more to you than i thought.

this careful girl is dealing with a reckless boy with a careful heart and I’m not sure whether to place the wine in a cabinet, or just down the bottle.

All Rights Reserved. [NJ2015]

he comes to me at three in the morning,
my hair a mess, my feet in slippers,
my attire dingy, but my eyes sparkling.

drunk and tired, hiding behind a tree
so my father won't see; he holds me;
light drizzle and cigarette smoke,
hazy eyes and alcohol breath;
trying to make the best of it.

he's no romeo, and i'm no juliet;
but my parents are Capulets
and he's the dangerous boy
involved with their princess.

sitting beneath a tree
at three in the morning,
no place i'd rather be;

he's no romeo,
but he's all i need.

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trying to figure out what my head thinks,
my hands are searching for something to hold on to,
my feet skimming water hoping for solid ground,
but it seems the only branch to keep from drowning
is being weathered by the tide.

the one thing that can save me is destroying himself,
broken from the whole of him that i never have known;
you can pick a flower and admire it's beauty,
keep it in a vase and try to keep it in your presence,
but you will never see the way it's roots were planted,
and you cannot keep what once was from wilting;
even if you constantly take care of it.

once upon a time i was walking through hills,
now i'm running through forests,
gasping for air, holding my chest;
and it's ironic because amongst the trees
is the most oxygen one can breathe;
but i'm lost, i'm drowning, i'm screaming;

how can i save you,
i can't even save me.

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if i'm the apple of his eye,
then he is the worm;
biting through my skin,
devouring me,
trying to reach the core.

All Rights Reserved (NJ2015)