Pathetic are the mid-night thoughts
about your future love
your past heartbreaks
your poorly thought out hook-ups

Sad are the mid-night thoughts
about the loss of those important
what you could have achieved but never did
and maybe never will

Depressing are the mid-night thoughts
about what a burden you are to everyone
how you'd never hurt again if you weren't alive
that everything you do will never amount to anything

But, it's time for me to move past those emotions
on to something better
an emotion I've never truly felt
that only I can control
and that's the happy mid-night thoughts
about tomorrow and what I might achieve
who I could make smile
what pretty faces I may see

You have time and I have ink.
We both, use each other
until we completely run out,
then somebody throws us away,
and on the same day
the next one is made
to fulfill the purpose.
You think you are so unique.

I fall inlove
With every single
Part of me
That I see
In you.

i wanted to write about you
like my skin was on fire,
but i don't think that a boy like you belong in poems
you taste like black champagne,
and said i smelled like hot honey and wet leaves
you promised me the red morning sky,
but you aways slept to the early afternoon
you told me that i was everything you ever wished for,
but nothing you ever needed
when you touched me i knew the difference
between breathing and living
***** fingernails, morning coffee  and peaches
reminds me of you
i've never seen such blue eyes before

Redundancy.
I read my words
and I’m sickened,
that you had this
effect on me. I read
them and I’m fatigued
by the redundancy.
I have nothing to say
that hasn’t been said
in the same way
only reconstructed
to better play the illusion
of new ideas and
some sort of change.
There is always the basis
the substance of being
the substance being
my overactive feelings
and constant repression
of what makes me alive—
this feeds the depression
and I cry when I think
and I’m dead when I don’t
I’m lying when I speak
and lying when I don’t
I’m fighting every day
my feelings when I
have them, and finding
every day, I have more than
I can fathom, and I can’t
always put into words
how or why I feel things
so I tend to repeat
what comes naturally
and when I reread
I am exhausted by
my own redundancy.