Wasted days hang like corpses
in the five second pause
between our lips
and thick melancholia spreads
through my bones
with thoughts of
what should have been.

I want to tell you that I'm sorry,
but that's not quite right-
I want to give you the oceans
that press against my seams
and bend with weighted remorse.


I want to tell you that I've missed you,
but that's not quite right, either.
you have been missing from me
and I've been sticking these leftover pieces
together with chewing gum
and bits of dental floss,
blindly trying to recreate
a feeling from shadows and memory.

I want to tell you that I've changed my mind,
but this one sits like a lump in my throat.
I haven't changed my mind
because it's never really left you.
I've been looking through this camera obscura
at all of the things I thought I knew
and I missed the ghost of an idea,
patiently waiting for an eloquent realization-

It's always been you.

I hide in plain sight,
giving small pieces
of these patchwork thoughts
crawling in cold circles
inside of this silent skull.

I only allow myself
the safe, silent pieces-
the ones that won't offend
or be misunderstood.
and all of those
lecherous little things,
those things that might
make them think too much
or feel too much,
gather and swell within
my eyes
my ears
my mouth

until my entire atmosphere
is clouded with these things
reverberating quietly
in the spaces between my tongue
and my teeth,
moving with molecular force
until they become too heavy
to carry around,

until they start to die,
calmly resigning themselves
to an unfulfilled purpose.

Silver tides roil and spill
across wayward toes
and crossed fingers,
haphazard eyes
moonlighting as mirrors
flicker and stick
and there might be something here
that I can touch
that won't turn to stone.

I navigate through
cnidarian carcasses
and splinters of shattered sunlight
to find your fingertips-
an X where reason meets delirium,
and I trace the passage
of cerulean veins
that never lie.

It seems that time is circular here
and all of your questions,
rhetorical.

What the **** is love,
anyways?

You live only in memories
for me, memories
and ashes on the floorboards.
It's strange to think
that you're out there
living and breathing
and moving about
in a world that I'm not
a part of.

I think of songs that we sang
bruises we made
broken guitar strings
ragged throats
disembodied words
wasted glances
and it all just sits there
misty and faint
in little corners of my mind
and I don't miss you at all.

the human condition
is rarely terminal.

I linger at skin that clings
and hollow bones
that catch in the moonlight,
pausing at mirrors
that look more like
still-life paintings-
an empty gold vase
over here where my heart
used to reside,
a fresh green sprig
where there were once arms.

There is a sickness
sleeping in my hypothalamus,
heaving with every breath,
every step, every heartbeat.
I try to look at it
and it slips like sand
through my closed mind.

I smile, and it's not
my smile anymore.

My soul is old
Yours has grown cold

I'm a lonely traveler
Your a haunted passenger

Two souls searching
Forever hurting

You were my companion
Hauntingly handsome

I was your healer
Your guardian angel , a dreamer

Two souls that walked the earth
Awaiting the rebirth

Two lives completely separate
Looking for there soulmate

Two souls one old
One cold
Two hearts forever intertwined
How could they be so blind