I had a dream last night. It was one of those dreams where you can't tell if you're awake, or even alive. But actually, I had a nightmare last night. It was one of those nightmares where you can't tell if the darkness lives inside of you, eating away at your organs, or if the darkness is surrounding you and eating away at you. But if I'm being honest with you, last night was a tragedy. It was one of those tragedies where you can't tell if everyone actually dies in the end or if we've all just been dead the whole time.

In my dream I was sleeping with the stars, high up in a nest that I made from all of the sticks from eyes and the branches from my brain and the leaves filling up my heart like taxidermy; making it look like it was never stomped on and kicked to the curb like road ****. Making it look like it wasn't shot at for sport because it would look nice hung up above the mantle.

And suddenly my leaves were running away from me into the current of the wind, and the wind was running too, as if the wind came and swept them away from me, but I knew better. My leaves weren't taken from me. They were leaving me. And the wind was leaving too and I could see the wind holding my stuffed up heart above me, taunting me, "na-na-nanana, I'm not touching you!" until I could feel that there was no more wind left in my heart. I always knew my heart was only felt with dead leaves and sticks but I didn't feel it until that moment.

Suddenly, the wind threw my heart to the ground with a malice that I never knew it had. How could my wind, once a gentle breeze caressing my skin, treat me so harshly? The wind threw my heart to the ground which such a speed that I thought for sure it would make a ****** mess all over the cobblestone pavement. And then, I realized I had fallen too, without even noticing because I was so focused on the potential pain of my heart that I never noticed my own body sprawled upon the ground. And I lay there I watched my heart beating outside of my chest, knocking on the ground. I saw it leaking, as if somebody had poked tiny little holes in it; blood was oozing out of it but not in the gory Tarantino kind of way. My heart was crying crimson tears that flowed through the cobblestone like veins dying to be seen by everybody. And then I watched it stop beating as if it simply ran out batteries and I had to go to the store to buy more but I knew better. Even batteries couldn't revive it this time.

And I was terrified, so I turned away from it because I couldn't look at it anymore. But what I saw behind me, staring me in the face, was far more terrifying.

It was you. And you were watching me like you had been there the whole time and I never noticed because I was so **** distracted by my beating heart like a bird buzzing in my ear, my heart was making intricate rhythms with my eardrums creating a song that I couldn't get out of my head anymore my heart was needing needing needing needing needing needing needing needing needing needing needing needing needing needing needing needing my attention. Pathetic. And as I observed you I noticed... you weren't breathing either. So I started pushing you, shoving you, hitting you, shaking you, trying to wake you up, demanding your unanimated attention... but you were stuck like me. Just dreaming.

It was like the old days, you were alive but not awake. There were no more golden stars in your eyes, they were empty. And your eyes didn't look at me anymore because they were empty. No, there were no more golden stars in your empty eyes when you looked at the golden birds buzzing around my head like a heavy halo crown straining my neck, they were just annoying to you. No, you had some ****** up agenda in a foreign language from a ****** up foreign planet that I couldn't understand. And you knew I couldn't speak like you but you still taunted me with the curl of your tongue and the intonation of your voice. And I saw you slowly drifting away from me... back to that foreign planet of yours; my little ******* prince. And as I watched you leave me I saw delusions leaking from your brain as your eyes rolled back. But all they did was rain down on me.

This clock smokes a cigarette and tucks itself into the nest hidden inside of my jaw made from the sticks in my eyes and the branches in my brain. They act as a memento of all of my cherished and celebrated flaws. You know, the ones that to everyone else seem deep and emotional and artistic and cool, but to me seem just seem clinically insane. These branches are pawns from Fool’s Paradise calling to me—I can see them floating idly above my head like tiny taunting yellow birds from my memories. They try to make me forget whether this is a wedding or a funeral releasing these doves from my nest into my heart. They flap their wings in my chest monotonously and obnoxiously; a tireless taunting heartbeat. You’re a modern desolate suicide with your heart filled with fearful and uneasy pesticides, poisoning all of my beautiful birds of Fool’s Paradise.

They’re teaching me to fly now, making me too exhausted to even lose it anymore, and too exhausted to think I can choose it. (“It” being the toxins making me dizzy and Ms. “Miss Me Please”. Pathetic.) This restless clock stays awake and is impassively beating a tragic ballad like a phantom of my pallid heart which silently screams. It’s foolish and hushed and timidly invalid. The rhythm paces past pit stops searching for the sound of silence but never stops to eat or for a pick-me-up when it’s lasted this long already. You’re a modern romantic suicide wringing out my heart with your rigid hands and hanging it out to dry.
Sometimes my heartbreak will abruptly brake and snarl at me like a moon exhausted at daybreak refusing to hold itself up for the world anymore. It’s as if it trips and stumbles across its own canvas in the sky, collapsing into my nest weighing me down into the deepest of these one-hundred thousand lakes of solitude, making me a drowning anchor at best, bringing the whole **** ship and crew down with me. It’s as if your shiny poisonous soul blasts my shaded nest with lasers from a science-fiction fantasy with all robots and no magic, and the necessary darkness needed for dreams begins to fade. Your sparkle is surfing and effortlessly riding the tsunami of my mind, unaware of the sharks with razor teeth made of my pathetic emotions. How are you so charming and rustic, and yet so piously unkind?

And I could tell you that you’re not alone yet, but you would never believe me. And I could tell  you you’re far too ******* yourself and too ******* me and too ******* us and the catastrophic hurricane we’d be lucky to be, but you would never want to believe me. I could tell you that you’ve got your heavy crown all tangled up in your hair filled with twigs and branches but I won’t because I know you won’t dare to care.

But it’s true, you’re not alone yet. It doesn’t matter what you’ve been through or who you’ve been through or anything we’ve been through . It doesn’t matter what you’ve seen or who you’ve seen, these sentimental knives still seem to lacerate your brain, I know they have. I’ve acquired my fair share of daggers—please let me guide you through the pain or at least pretend to if you’ll let me. You’re not alone, although I know you wish you were. I’m sorry.

So leave me be when you’re not alone. Let’s both abandon me together so you can be alone. Give me your hands because you’re staggering on this uneven floor. Let me hold your struggling heart still because it’s beat is staggering. Let me be alone with you because you’re staggering… but I’m a chore.

Sometimes I feel like there is a balloon inside of my heart that is deliberately deflating to a point where my skin can’t stretch far enough to protect it anymore. Sometimes I feel like there a minuscule puncture in my heart that is so small that nobody can even see it. I wonder if I’m the growing void, or if the void is growing inside of me.

The delusion of you lurks in the corners of my brain and I’m so ashamed about it. It’s like you sleep in the underbelly of my eyelids that keep leaking because there is no more room for them without you living in there. It’s as if you made a puncture in my eyes so small that nobody can see it but they can see the streams that used to snuggle up in there.

You make me feel like I’m a speck of ******* that gets left behind on a dollar bill and spent on a pack of gum.

Like valleys in a desolate wasteland bear the skeletons of water
and the tundra is envious of the desert that's regrettably hotter,
these scars show where blood used to flow
and remember the life in a cave leaking tears down below.
My veins are an ardent irrigation system
That try to forget that I ever missed him, kissed him, and dissed him
and wish that I  had thrown a fist at him and ****** him off.
The life from my blood is putrid and lucid and trying to rid
itself of hidden embarrassment sleeping amid a bed of emotions about to burst.
Let it dampen your thirst and immerse itself in this sobbing flood.
I need a well to siphon all of my blood back into my veins
and to feel less insane and less hopefully vain,
you're the bane of my tears and the bane of my main fears.
Humanity is persisting with an impossible dream
that seems to tease me, tearing my seams and threatening the steams of my inner hot springs to bring this kingdom down into the ground remembering nothing.
Embezzling these dreams from the hopeless lovers and the luckless lovers and foolish and moronic and simple-minded lovers.
So wait with me for the monsoon of dust because I must not wait in solitude waiting for my crowded heart to spontaneously combust.
The darkness for once is a beacon, meek and a freakin' immature fawn
exulting in our fictitious devotion, crying from it's eyes
bathing in the tears crying from the skies,
and mourning through our veins and dreaming in the morning in pain.
I'm hosting a caucus for flirtation but you're the only one invited.
We're a landscape of brutal simplicity.

Although we endure our breaths in this this shack upon the shore,
The icebergs lurk before us clearer than ever before.
Dancing animatedly in our Siberian tundra,
like a hero taking selfish refuge before the storm.

I think we should try on these tiny snow shoes anyway
and swim through the snow that's buried us beneath our fragile beating sleigh.  
I keep putting my thumb on display,
exposing my heart to these wolves that transpire around us day by day.

I envy their silent and still tails
that rest quietly, sturdy and as deadly as nails.
My thoughts recognize an after party to hide my pain
that I only partake in to seem less insane.

So I coach my brain to copulate with my emotions
rather than with the hurricane motions of the ocean of your brain.
It all seems transparent to me now,
a ghost in my chest pounding to get out somehow.

This night is going backwards
as I entomb and eat all of my words.
We're not vigilant anymore
and I wish I wasn't aware of it anymore.
I shattered our animated screen
and am practicing remaining carefully unseen.
I'm grasping at loose strings with loose fists
and burying the things I've kissed and moments I've grievously missed.
I'm learning how to be detached
and to manage these vibrantly mundane daily tasks
and recognizing a resonantly unseemly girl
monitor my reflection which unfurls
into some unrecognizable mask
and I dress myself in a costume of a cloak
that's a joke to poke around at
but still clings to my body and to my memory like some ancient artifact.
How about that?
And is this all because you are weak?
No, I think it's because I am weak.
And so we attempt to refrain from our harrowing fumes.
Somehow you're inhaling our fumes,
detached in solitude somewhere on our atlas.
You're oblivious to the fact that I'm deflating to nothing.
But it's whatever.
It's nothing.

In a tragedy I'm collapsing from a canopy above me
falling onto a cobblestone platform beside you, fatally.
You remain dormant as I shriek at you and shove you
in an attempt to animate and awaken you.
And like before you have no passion for the golden stars
on your agenda that you persist on our own personal Mars.
Your delusions still follow narratives like a script
with fabrications that you wrote, reserving our crypt.

So now I melt into your back until we dream together in a morgue,
forced down by the weight of our cancerous lips in this cancer ward.
Nurses of alabaster and indigo serenade and encompass us
with cumbersome shovels cradling earth meant to bury us.
You tucked us into our tomb a little too soon
and now your blood runs cold as mine runs maroon.
I want to dig you up but you want us buried together beneath the moon.

I'm screaming and swearing and sullen and aching and laughing and sobbing and  apologizing.

This clock smokes a cigarette
     that tucks itself into my nest of a jaw
          acting as a memento of my most cherished flaw.
I can hear Fool's Paradise calling to me;
     it's hollow promises idle above me until I fail to remember
          whether this is a wedding or a funeral releasing it's doves to me.
You're a modern desolate suicide
     with your insides filled with fearful and uneasy pesticides.

I'm too exhausted to lose it.
     and too inferior to choose it.
and the restless clock stays awake impassively with your ballad
     like a phantom of my pallid heart which feels eternally invalid.
I pace past pit stops but I never eat
     when I've lasted this long already.
You're a modern romantic suicide
     with a heart that has hung itself out to dry.

Sometimes my heartbreak brakes,
     snarling as it painstakingly falters like the moon at daybreak;
          stumbling across a canvas to its haunted nest
               and sleeping beneath these ten-thousand lakes.  
I won't let the shine blast my shade.
I won't let the darkness begin to fade.
I won't let the sparkle ride my mind.
You're so rustic and piously unkind.

Paramour, you're not abandoned yet.
You're scrutinizing yourself and you're far too unfair.
You've got your crown all tangled up
     and I wish I could make you care.

No Paramour, you haven't been abandoned yet.
It doesn't matter all you've endured.
It doesn't matter all you've observed;
     sentimental daggers still seem to lacerate your brain.
I've acquired my fair share of knives,
     I'll guide you through the pain.
You're not abandoned.

So abandon me when you're not alone.
Let's abandon me so you're not alone.
Give me your fists because you're staggering.
Let me hold you still because you're staggering.