and with a ghost
I lie awake all day
just to stroke his head
and late at night I swallow pills
to put myself to bed
3 am I lie awake
fighting the feeling
as you begin fade away
the rest of the ghosts
come out to play

I wish you could have stayed

If you fall in love with this poet, (and she with you),
Remember, she will not tell you of the words she ascribed to your name
unless you ask to hear them.
(She likes her thoughts kept secret)

If you fall in love with this poet (and she with you)
Remember, she is not as solitary as she looks
and she will let you hold her till your arms ache.
(She’ll do the same with you)

If you fall in love with this poet (and she with you)
Remember her heart is paper, and on it she inscribes in blood
the words her soul could no longer hold.
(Your name will always be written there)

If you fall in love with this poet (and she with you)
Remember the things that made her smile,
she’s serious, but needs a break from
the things that go on behind her eyes, within her soul.
(They’re darker than you think)

Most importantly,
If you fall in love with this poet (and she with you)
Remember, you will never die.
Her words will last longer than she does.
(and as long as her heart beats, you are in it.)

seep through your fingers like time;
the sands of an hour glass that came with the board game
blood staining your fists, my wrists
the mattress soaked in summer sins

my innocence as dead as the stars above
my heart that could never beat out of love

We're like two subways passing each other in a tunnel, you and I
There are lights that dot the sides of tunnel,
attempting to guide us through,
but we hardly acknowledge them.
We can see each other in the darkness,
the subtle outline of metal,
the red and white indicators of our existence.
We're carrying so many people in our cars,
people from our past that sit in cars,
each representing different stages of who we are.
And we try and steer these subways through the dark,
searching for one another.
Yours just as full as mine.
The rickety tracks push metal against metal that ring through the hollow of our ears.
And we become distracted by this screeching,
this friction between the rails and our wheels,
and lose sight of each other.
Every station we pull into -
Museum, Queen's Park, St. Patrick -
we expect to catch a glimpse of one another -
going in opposite directions but comforted by the fact that we are in the same station.
We might pick up the same passenger but at different locations,
at different times.
Our paths cross haphazardly.
But I keep wishing that one day
all the lights will point towards me,
and your wheels will stop inches from mine.
And you will look into my cars
and see all those people that have made me,
and I will look into your cars and see all the people that made you
and you will realize
and you will say
"I don't want to keep going from station to station.
I've found my passenger."

lies i tell myself
when the truth
is shaped of sorrow
i will be fine
i will be fine
i will be fine.