scream into the void
run into the night
stop these voices
fix this broken heart
listen to this voice hoarse from screaming
heal these bruises
forgive these sins
wipe these tears
close these wounds
lift the weight
get me out of this mess
get me out of my head.

at times, i wish i hadn't learned to love so much.

there is always a lingering weight in my chest;
my heart, already fragile enough,
fights to carry it through every waking moment.

hellos are my favorite things, but they're merely precursors
to the poison of goodbyes, to the sickness of loneliness
and the yearning to be elsewhere
in other places, with certain people.  

tears fall as quickly as grins go from ear to ear,
roaring laughter easily fades into deafening silence,
and this wishy-washy soul is one i could never get a hold of.

but what would i be without love,
without the burden of feeling?
what would i be without the days spent day dreaming,
the moments i run out of breath
from gushing about people and moments,
the nights spent crying all alone,
and being vulnerable to the world,
but feeling the best of it anyway?

i love, but i hurt.
i hurt, but i love.
and that is all that matters.

I suppose if the arts had any real power
Michaelangelo's David could have healed my brother
Rimbaud could have saved Hiroshima
Monet could have painted the world in shades of peace
Desiderata could have protected me
But this is the real world
And where poetry once grew comes the art of fabrication
Dali's obras are no longer enough to make me forget
Moonlight Sonata never warned me of this hurt
The waltz never healed a broken family

I suppose if the arts had any real power
Beethoven wouldn't have gone deaf
Van Gogh would have been happy
Hemingway would have loved better
And Ginsberg wouldn't have been afraid to love

Yet here they all are
When the only light I see is on hundred year old canvas
When the only solace I have is a dead man's words
When the only thing that keeps my heart thundering
Is the promise of a Boticelli ending in Picasso figures
All colors, beauty, light and metaphors
The promise of a Renaissance gleaming in the ashes of prose

This is the real world
I suppose if the arts had any real power
It would heal more than just my heart
It would build me a new Garden of Eden
And I'd pave a way to nirvana
So the world could join hands
And start anew

But it's saved me for now
That is enough.

i'll pick the blues that you carry
in your heart like flowers.

let's crawl up trees like Morning Glory vines
so we can watch the world, just us two.

let's make our hearts burst into petals
with all the love we can give to each other.

let's sway with the wind like fields of Dandelions,
let's dance the pain away
even though i have two left feet.

let's be flowers,
let's love tenderly and beautifully,
and heal our torn leaves
under the light of the sun.

i am a silent soul,
forget about me, if you must.

but one day you'll wake up
to find my bed made, but empty.
i will be off to nowhere,
but i will get everywhere.

i'll scatter myself from the sky like ashes,
i'll fall like the rains of July,
i'll kiss mountain tops like the snow of December,
i'll drift around like the golden leaves of October,
and i will be left to the wind.

i will no longer be a soul
trapped in this cage of flesh and bones,
i will run through the world,
writing post cards about all i will see and do,
but sending them to nobody.

The morning after is when the heart is at its heaviest.
Remnants of the night before are broken in fragments,
barely alive but still breathing, like wilting flowers—
Neon lights, stolen glances, cups of coffee, roaring laughter, moments when you feel like you're in love—
They turn to memories left in a time
that isn't far away just yet,
But the distance of just a few hours
makes you feel lonelier than ever.
*(The past within your reach, yet impossible to grasp once again.)

there's a certain way some parts of the city
are covered in graffiti that's impossible to erase.
there's a certain way my parents never forget
to kiss my forehead at least once a day.
there's a certain way some gardener in the countryside
remembers to water his rosebeds every morning.
there's a certain way the waves
never leave the shore for any of the ocean's secrets.

and in those same ways,
i want you to never forget me.