in the crevice between the sky
and the ocean
this is where my soul lay open
my body burnt away
from the sun's embrace
while gentle kisses from the waves
keep my mind at ease
and in a peaceful slumber
i'm reminded of the pain
i desperately try to keep in

"you're ok. we'll keep you safe. let go young child. wash your fears away"

here
i am loved.

Can you hear the gunshots?
The bang of a bullet shooting through the air
to strike someone with a life,
a house,
a family.

Can you see the pain?
The endless torment of men being beaten,
women being *****,
children being shot.

Can you hear the bombs dropping?
the screams of innocent families trying,
fighting,
clawing for their lives.
As the battle rages.

Can you taste the blood?
The taste of innocent people who have died here without a cause,
without a single chance,
without a single goodbye.

Can you smell the dust?
The dirt that flies from the soldiers’ feet as they jump over the bodies.
The unidentified shells of humans who were just trying to live;
to survive.

Can you hear the prayers?
The sound of good men who value religion over their own life.
Who believe that there is a god somewhere who can save them,
as they are executed one by one.

Can you feel the suffering?
As you sit by and watch from a distance,
because you’re too scared,
too troubled,
too damaged,
to face the war.

waking up to the sunlight.
clouds are still.
were moving in motion of love.
only lovers do this
only lovers left

I like living in the ruins
There used to be life here
The halls are familiar

While the walls are scarred
The foliage consuming once vibrant and buzzing spaces
The light shining through the cracks
Dimly floating in
To touch remnants of what was is hauntingly beautiful

I like living in the ruins
There used to be life here
And the world outside is foreign

It is loud, crowded, lonely
The time goes by and everything, everyone changes
I remain a stranger
A Neanderthal whose senses are overloaded
Unable to handle the noise

I like living in the ruins
There used to be life here
While its absences breaks my heart
Solitude is a comfort

these scars on my knees are a reminder
  i cannot run away from the past.

but still I am buried here
   staring at soil unsettled
   basking in the outline of my body.

I have spent my days trapped-
  holding on to this idea
  that I can dig up dead memory.

Holding on to what keeps me guessing.
  everyday I am reminded
  of this ghost that carries me
  like it is a harness that helps me sit up straight.

But it seems I am slouching again
  seems my posture cannot handle
  the fact I'm trying to stand up for myself .

Where did my backbone go?
  how do I repair this absence?

When will I know that I can trust myself
  when will the alcohol stop being a cushion
  for everything bad thing I have ever done
  and every bad thing that has ever been done to me.

I am relapsing into oblivion
all because someone else wrecked who I am.

All because of this spine that is missing
and this spirit that cannot be dug back up.

It's shame I can't tell love from deceit.
It's a shame I only sometimes recognize intimacy.

When will I uncover the parts of myself
  that make me fit for recovery.

Why is survival the only thing my body knows?
   why can't I convince it things are fine now..
   why can't I convince myself?

here comes the crash and burn
here comes me keeping score
of every **** thing you've ever done
in comparison to me I think you've won

watch me unweave into a basket
of backseat insecurity
you're driving me mad.

I'm sorry for not being there enough
and I apologize for shutting you out
but when every word from your mouth
shouts "this is your fault"
it's hard to stay calm,
it's hard to keep going.

I took my last breath for you yesterday
and now I breathe much easier,
without the weight
of a thousand problems on my plate.

this is food for thought,
your universe is not as big as me
I'm as small as a pebble
and as frail as the dirt
but I can still become something more.

Dissemble myself from you
piece by piece.

I don't want to leave you with nothing-
but I don't want to keep on hurting

Myself.

I'm done trying for your sake
should've seen this mistake
coming around the bend again
but we're at a four way intersection
and none of us wants to go.

I'll guess I've make the first move,
to move on from being you.
to move on from letting you
love me.

it's a sad song,
on a good night
it's a long drive
with no goodnight
kiss.

I'm craving things
I don't seem to miss
and it seems I'm done
reminising
about you.

These memories
were good to me.
But the pressure was too much.

I threw myself under the bus
and I never looked both ways.
I should've looked both ways.

my savior is myself
and I am swallowing solitude whole.

once again I am sitting inside
all of this dissatisfaction
awaiting the perfect storm
awaiting to be reborn.

but this trauma lingers in the shadows
it always seems to follow me
while everyone is shouting,
why can't you make it leave?

so I'm stuck in explantion
surrounded by those
who will never understand
this severity.

I sink.
I sulk.
I'm dirt,
I'm mulch.

The thing that makes others grow,
but they seem to always toss aside.

I am scuff on shoes,
and chips in paint
and no one will look at me
as anything but.

still I sit
idly awaiting the instructions
on how to rid of this weight.

clinging to this hope
inside of my chest
but chagrin finds me
charges me a fee of suffering
and reminds me I am nothing.

just the supplement
to a walking monument
of something I will never beat.

this trauma it lives with me
it stands in my silhouette -

maybe I'm just the shadow to it.

I'm intoxicated inside this tragedy,
it weighs in my palms.

paints something timid
and thick like a calligraphy pen.

I try to write the words that keep me sane
and try to rationalize falling in love again.

but can I carry the weight?

will my palms be able to hold onto
both the pen and still maintain the penmanship
or is this dynamic too graphic
too unrelenting
and messy?

who will I become when the ink dries?

will I smudge this pain
onto the mouths of others?

or will my silence
be enough of a concealer-
or will my silence
be but a fashion accessory
that I wear on my wrist.

this fear it has no use for me anymore
it is just taking up space now.

I must find something to make it all worth it
something that looks a bit more pretty.

do I continue to carry this with me
when it is all I have ever known?

or do I learn to let it go?

so I write until the pen runs out of ink
and I seem to run out of stories.

maybe I'll make it out in one piece
or maybe I will make a piece out of it.

either way this is where the fear stops.

somewhere between lost earrings
and the stain of alcohol the next morning-
I have found something.

It's stuck behind my snaggle tooth
and beside the lump in my throat.

it's called salvation
it's called ambition
it's a misnomer that spells out the sound of my own voice
I will spill myself as ink spills on paper
and I will unfold, over and over again.

I will make more than a story out of this malice.

Here's the dagger
use it in the same places on my back that you always do.
It's my only form of consistency.

Every time I turn around you're there, making me feel so unworthy.

Remove you from my mind and I become nothing-
just another sick sense of normalcy I've never been accustomed to.

This anxiety shakes my ribcage,
I'm having trouble breathing the same.
Having trouble feeling this way-

I haven't in a long time.

Not since the alcohol made you confident.
Not since my turtle neck and long black jacket.

You can only make progress by trying
but I am too consumed with your timing.

See I'm either reprimanded or taken for granted  
and in my mind that's inane.

In my mind I've gone concave.

Caving in again
I am now sheet rock and monolithic.

Show someone who has always had nothing
what having something is like and they might use it against you.

Too worried about who will have the last laugh
that we never think about the satisfaction.

I will become dust in your wake and we will both
make the mistake of letting stubborn tendencies fill the void.

This tension is leaving me desperate.
Wanting nothing from you, but all of your attention.

I'm dying to find your insides again
you lost them behind friends who never knew you.

but I still do.