I remember the smell of summer rain
and how thunderstorms used to help me sleep when I was young.
I remember St. Patrick’s Day
and how the grass always seemed more green than any other day of the year.
I look at pictures of my family when I was eight
and it’s a harsh truth to admit
that I don’t remember much about my parents being together.

I remember having a sense of wonder in my childhood
that now I see was so precious and rare.
If we could all have that astonishment at the little things in life as adults
the world would be a much happier place.

Colors are no longer as vibrant.
I’ve started to look into the darkest corners of my mind
and the world to find new miracles and beautiful tragedies.

Christmas used to mean love, family and comfort.
Sleeping underneath the tree, the smell of pine needles would lull me.
Nowadays, gin is as close as I get from January to November.
With each sip, it’s the bitter taste of Christmases past
and the ripe, sweet smell of nostalgia.

People walk into my life through many doors and exit unexpectedly as well.
I’m in a forest, it all looks the same.
I turn at every tree with moss
Desperately searching for something new
and the hardest part is always searching
Never knowing which path leads to demise.

The friends that I keep are the ones I hold close
Are the good ones that stick through the depths of it all.
I remember the smell of my mother’s perfume
Yet the sound of her voice becomes more distant with each passing month and year.

Saturday morning cartoons used to be enough.
This wine is my blood and my blood has boiled out.

How to define pain and how to escape the wreckage?
I used to believe that time heals but the opposite has proven itself to be true.
The more details become unclear and fuzzy,
the sharper the knife becomes.
The more it hurts with passing days.  

I once heard that mourning is like being inside of a snow globe with flurries with slick, stealthy blades that sometimes float by and sometimes cut deep with no warning.
Time sharpens the daggers and that is a truth that is time(less).
Trust meant the world and gullibility was not a death sentence.
As we age, we find new ways to cope. We get by.

My dreams have been vivid and coated in a melancholy feeling
that I can’t break no matter how hard I try.
Woken up by the drunken calls of lush fools in the grass outside of my window,
I close my eyes and try to slip back into sleep.
Meeting failure, the clock taunts by the second
Synced with the laughter of the people outside, surrounded by friends.

Some say the glass is half full, some half empty.
I say the glass is being poured to the brim, on tap.
I take comfort in the solitude I used to curse in the early hours when slumber never came.

we used to be as close
as the sea and the shore
the world is nothing
against us
we tore apart all the expectations
and made our own
inseparable and honest
that was our motto
but one day
we started drifting apart
like there is this
invisible wall
acting as a barrier
between us
we confronted each other
tried breaking down the wall
I guess it didn't worked
I tried hard enough
maybe you didn't
maybe you just stopped caring
a feat I could've never done
as you were my friend
my best friend
maybe our friendship
was meant to end this way
maybe I did mistakes
maybe you did
maybe we both did
but it doesn't matter anymore
as there's nothing worth saving
not anymore

This is Icarus drowning:
wings once held up
now weight,
burdened toward
the bottom of the sea.
A father stands
alone
on destined shores,
words of warning
having left lips
now echoed empty
against the current.
And the sun
is evil only in apathy
if not in deed
smiling still
upon us all.

This is Icarus drowning:
hopes once held up
now weight,
burdened downward
toward that eager end.
Daedalus stands alone
at a funeral,
silent on distant shores,
with only the
current's whisper
as a eulogy.

The sorrow
of a world
is none to a father
lost of a son.

Your cruel crimson lips
Blood dripping from your finger tips
My love a shattered work of art
The result of my broken heart

Splatters of scarlet hope
Mark the sheets where we eloped
My love a discarded virginity
The result of my mistaken affinity

Garnet was the decadent shade
Of the dress that veiled my vestal glade
My love a slippery hemline
The result of my relentless pine

The rusty curls on your head
Delivered me willingly into the bed
My love a handful of tangled hair
The result of my wanton affair

The flowers he sent were red
Reluctantly, I told him you were dead
My love a half-hearted lie
The result of my wandering eye

A ring offered, of ruby and gold
Silver is better, but I was sold
My love a rehearsed song
The result of my doing wrong

A burgundy kiss for a charming knight
A wedding of chastity white
My love a perfected role
The result of my injured soul

An artificial cherry-flavored *******
Sloppy second copulation
My love a feigned first
The result of my unquenched thirst

The sheet is stained with merlot
Out with the trash, then he will never know
My love a memorized line
The result of my spilled debaucherous wine.