Dark forest of Tao  .  .  .
Black boughs under evergreen,
  .  .  .  Raven wings in wood.

TWELVE. THAT'S THE NUMBER OF CHESTS I'VE GONE THROUGH - TRYING TO FILL YOUR SHOES OR AT LEAST COVER THE FOOTPRINTS YOU LEFT ON MY HEART BUT NONE OF THEM ARE LIGHTNING OR EVEN MATCHSTICKS NO MATTER HOW MUCH TEQUILA I POUR DOWN MY THROAT. I CALL YOU  THE ONE THAT GOT AWAY  BUT THE TRUTH IS YOU WERE GONE LONG BEFORE YOU LEFT AND NOW YOU'RE BACK BUT NOT HERE TO STAY. AND YOU'RE NOT THE SAME AND I KNOW YOU NEVER WILL BE BUT YOU DO THIS TO ME EVERY SINGLE ******* TIME. AND NOW YOUR EYES ARE GOING TO HAUNT ME WHEN I'M ASLEEP AND YOUR VOICE IS GOING TO HAUNT ME WHEN I'M AWAKE AND I'M GOING TO SIT AROUND AND COMPARE THEM TO THE NORTHERN LIGHTS AND NATURAL DISASTERS LIKE I HAVEN'T BEEN DOING JUST THAT FOR THE LAST NINETEEN MONTHS. NO MATTER HOW MANY TIMES I NAVIGATE THE BERMUDA TRIANGLE IT DOESN'T GET ANY EASIER AND THE WORST PART IS YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT.

Hollowness was a gift
given by tragedy
she unwrapped it ever so
delicately
and wore it like a crown

and her words were knives that
cut the silent air and made
gashes so wide,
souls sailed them like the seas
and oh how loneliness
was like a beggar-
she stopped only to feed. For greed,
isn't for riches, but for what makes you feel
more.


Hungry.

you're the snake
coiled around my throat
snapping my vocal chords







to: my tongue

I'd do it all over again
if it guaranteed each time we'd end up here.

Those who love will never find it.
Those who love will write odes to crisp fall mornings
And hear symphonies crunched out of the yellow leaves beneath their feet.
Those who love will smile, even though they know
it will give them away
They will offer themselves up as if they had never given the mirror a second glance,
Let themselves be beaten like drums,
And a drum is just a bucket of silence
until you beat something out of it,
Beat something out of it.


Those who love will find poetry in the steam of their coffee
And beauty in even the worst of times;
Leave names like kristallnacht in our history books because they know that broken glass looks like stars,
And when a person truly loves there is nothing, nothing that can stop them from hoping.
People are like buckets of silence
Until you make something out of them,
Make something beautiful.


People who love know that tears
are the same as rain, and they are ready for monsoons
Because loving is lonely,
and for every drop out of shining eye
there are hundreds more waiting in the sky
and the people who love will dance in the downpour,
Collect every drop they can hold where the silence once was because drums can hold tears too,
and they will still be silent until you splash
and make something out of it,
make something beautiful.

She drew a cherry blossom
On my cup with a marker,
Right by my name.
And for a moment I smiled,
A gummy, bright-eyed smile.
In a place so dreary,
It felt so lovely
To see my name written
Beside a happy drawing
To make me smile
Every time I feel a bother
For asking a nurse for water,
In this penitentiary
Called a ward.
I carry this paper cup with me.

I know my vision is often clouded,
but even when I try to blink away
the blur of disbelief,
I still see it with impartial eyes:

You float into space
and strike at the stars,
expecting to glimpse Euphoria—
But your hollow heart is
burdened, harbored;

And the weights of a long past
cannot be so easily
expelled