In between the desks
there are whispers,
whispers that seem too loud for my ears.
Abstract secrets and ideas shared
between friends and strangers
within one foot of emptiness
that we call personal space.
The space that has us worrying
about the amount of breath mints in our backpack
and if our breakfast could be stuck in our teeth.
The space that is irrelevant
when surrounded by the people you love.
The space between the desks
that is uncomfortably necessary.

Covered in mud composed
Of sticks & stones
So I'll never know
How bright I could glow

born in a rain cloud
bitter to the bone

My days filled with ways
To keep from feeling alone

There are no shortcuts
or such thing as luck

So instead there is beer
Joints and pity *****

I can't tell you what the future brings
I have no grasp on that sort of thing

And when I start mumbling curses
Please darling ignore me

Because I can still say I love
you in the morning

I need 10,000 tomorrows
to make up for wasted yesterdays.

The sky wept lifeforce, potential and love. Draining into a sea of tears on a seafloor of fears. Coral encrusted ambitions bathed in shallow inhibitions as we lost what the clouds could not bare. Alone and dieing our chances ceased to exist amongst the lost splendor of this once plentiful abyss.

you ******, and i flew
why did you leave without warning
irreparable, i
shut the world out
and so we have not spoken
for three hundred and sixty-five days
how are you,
and how
did we end up like this
i cannot forgive you
yet i cannot forget
the days spent on cloud nine
nor the affliction when I am withdrawn from you
maybe, just maybe
turn back the time
and let me do it all over again
let hatred be lost, let agony be abandoned
and let me do what I should have done
three hundred and sixty-five days ago