your cigarette smoke
floats into my lungs
and out chokes
everything i meant to tell you
hours ago
when things could get better

but now your cigarette smoke
took a year off of my life
and a chunk of my heart
as i suffocate
under your presence

I'm so tired and exhausted,
I just need some time to rest,
rest from your uncertainty

Because the way you saw me
before I said I loved you,
was even better than now

When I told you I loved you
after all that we've been through,
you told me you felt the same

But do you still feel me here?
I wish I never told you,
things I've always wanted to

'Cause you said you felt the same,
But that's the thing about it

You "felt".

Whenever I need
a little sunshine
I look at you
and watch you radiate love

We've written you to immortality
among the stars in dark skies
trasncending life and death
despite giving us affliction
towards our one sided affection.

Look at us all write
to the Saints who ignore us
kneeling at the back of their altar
pleading to be heard of.

We don't mind the sadness and longing
you keep us sane, keep us writing.
Musing to our muses,
we adore the inspiration.

Look at us all writing
despite the fact they won't be reading.
Demonstrating our devotion
through our humble emotion.

When I was seven my mother broke a glass cup against the ground by accident
my bare feet taking the plunge.
I cried for an hour when the blood continued to gush the way it does
as my mother bandaged my wound
that is what it meant to me

until I discovered that my hot breath on a cold day
would encourage me to write words
invisible to the air
until it was against glass
until my fingers carved into the condensation
"I love you", punctuated with an off-centered smiley face
that too soon descended to frowns
when he would ask

"Where'd you get those scars?"
"Got mad. Threw a glass."
all up and down my arms
using my worst enemy
and my best friend
to get by with the skin of my teeth

parted slightly
paired with a not-quite-there expression
imagining better days materializing
under the roots of grass
personifying trees
executing what I could only dream of:
Sweet peppermint lips
rough stubble corrupting soft peach fuzz
branches restoring their shape
only with interruption
when a teacher would drag claw marks down my desk
"Do you agree?"

she spoke, on your first day back from winter break
but honestly you did not know
you were thinking of me
200 miles away

behind glass again
the same concept
of being so close
but so far away
of our palms pressed against each other
with only a sliver of clear distance between us
just enough
that we couldn't feel each others skin.
That's probably what hurts most
more than any amount of seeping blood
accident or not
piercing cold
nostalgia out a window.
Whispering good-nights
accompanied by glitches and lags
just wanting to be a part of our sweet conversation
a crack in the system
never so large as now
feeling the warmth of my laptop
wishing it was you.
I try to decide differently
find an angle that will bring me closer to you

your eyes have always engaged mine
through somewhat of a double framed looking-glass
taking them off so I could see you more clearly
so that there was nothing stopping us
even if my face would blur together
in strange triangles and squares
hazy colors and faded motions
you were still seeing me
much better.

Until I reach the big red "X" on my calendar again
I have to fight through 2 layers of glass
to really find you
without ever touching you
the best way
the worst way
I've always remembered.