This being has always
been my refuge. My brittle
mind was never worth a penny.
But a token she had given me.
As of now, I would be lucky
to see a strand of her brown locks.
 
Maybe it is wrong of me
to expect so much out of
one little person. Who am
I to ask someone to care.
I'd never tell even a muted
ear of my broken soul. In
all of honesty, death does not
seem that horrible, not as
terrifying as they make it
seem.
   
I think I am strong
enough to end it all now.
For months my refuge veered me
off of this course, but she
has left me defenseless against
the monsters, my monsters.

listen--
         it's two-thirty in the morning.
         there is a song playing, and it doesn't remind me of you,
         but i thought you should know
         because this next part is important.

the singer is Elliott Smith,
         and he's kissing his darling between jailbird bars
         just like that time--remember?--when we kissed
         through the gap in the barbed wire,
         and our hearts danced like the strobe of police lights.

                      (we were trespassing)

i'm not thinking of you,
        because while i'm out here smoking,
        and i wet my lips so the paper doesn't stick to them like heartbreak,
        i don't imagine your cherry Chapstick or the way it left
        mellow pink stains on your cigarette filters.

these are the facts:
        i've nearly forgotten you;
        i'm not still hung up on the smell of lavender handsoap;
        i haven't rifled through a single Facebook album;
        i don't know the name, address, and telephone number

                    (not to mention, i haven't memorized a single
                               stupid, snarky tweet)

of your new boyfriend
       with the pretentious French last name.
       anyway, i don't know why i decided to call,
       i guess it was just to let you know
       how i'm doing just fine without you.

Once more the ancient feast returns,
And the bright hearth domestic burns
  With Yuletide's added blaze;
So, too, may all your joys increase
Midst floods of mem'ry, love, and peace,
  And dreams of Halcyon days.

I'd pen a paragraph
or two
scribble out a
scroll
for
you
the ink pours out this pen
to produce a pretty prose
that's true
hoping
to show my view
my hopes
my dreams
the best for you
don't waste life
heed
this
be true
to you
make mistakes
keep youth's virtue
get a tattoo
in fact
get two
try that awful hairdo
keep your family
close
remember their value
be spontaneous
an impromptu trip
to a beach
or igloo
hug your mother
when
she's blue
learn Kung fu or write haikus
just continue
down your own
avenue



             I hope to be there to see
             how you grew and take
                 some credit for the
                              you
                              that
                                is
                              you