Adolescent Eyes- So full of life and sugar coated. So lacking of knowledge and regret.
Adolescent Eyes- No metaphoric ghosts of past, just demons under the bed. No fathoms of tragedy or worries of society.
Adolescent Eyes- Blocking out bigotry like no other.
Completely oblivious to questionable circumstances.

Maybe I'll see you in the grocery store, or at the ice cream parlor downtown. Your eyes will meet mine and you'll watch my every move. Because I'm older and have experienced varieties you couldn't even fathom. I'll think of your future in ways you wouldn't understand, and despite our growing differences I'll think of you years later. You'll be the child with gloss coated eyes, unrealistic dreams, and a permanent smile. Perhaps someday you'll be near me again. You won't remember me, but oh will I remember you. This time though, the gloss won't hide your eyes, your dreams will be reachable, and your smile will be gone.

Beating hearts and gleaming eyes,
concoctions of simple and naive.
Beautiful faces and experimental styles.
So untouched by reality and its gifts.
So full of life and trust.
The young mind still only sees demons and goblins under the bed-
no metaphoric ghosts rimmed with goodbyes and regret.
Following rules and begging for freedom,
but so unaware of the time passing.
Catastrophe, tragedy, and insanity doesn't faze the adolescent eyes,
just brings lack of knowledge and confusion.

Blue eyed boy with a beautiful crooked smile and unforgivable tendencies who's imperfections made him more admirable. Blue eyed boy with troubled history and a life before he was here. Blue eyed boy who let me braid his hair and tell him about my childhood. Who held my cold hands and bit my neck hard enough to leave a mark. Who will not be in his 8:20 am half asleep position in his usual seat when I return. Who I told I wished for nightmares because I loved to feel fear. Who told me he wouldn't wish nightmares upon anyone. It's too late for that now. I always wanted nightmares. Now I see they aren't killers and clowns, but a lovely blue eyed boy laying so still on the ground in front of you due to the candies you gave him.

Today I wake up and look into myself to see I am, in fact, a pessimist and perhaps on an occasion a cynical nihilist who’s vices are evident and collaborative with sarcasm and slight vanity.
Today I see the dryness of my hair and the dryness of my mouth from screaming my stubborn debate to the gods who do not exist.
Today I drag the sled of carcasses from my dreams to my ever-changing new site of hope and inspiration.
Today I skin a rabbit and hang the filthy fur on the clothesline the way they do in the movies, for I’m nothing but a clone of the girl next to me wearing my shoes.
Today I drip the wax from a melting blue candle on the tips of my fingers to mold my fingerprints in justification for my moral crimes.
Today I hum the joyful tune of a death march and dial Fear’s number on my phone like a beaten drunk widow.
Today I laugh along to another torture **** with the light hearted grin of an ignorant child in a vacant church sitting beside the priest.
Today I go to bed with the infinite love for my grotesque face and inevitable feeling of satisfaction knowing tomorrow should be my last.

a lot has changed since you left.
a lot has stayed the same too.

the songs don't sound quite the same,
but they're still on my playlist.

the sunset doesn't look as nice,
but i still watch it and think of your eyes.

the grass is itchier on my back without you next to me,
but it still grows too tall in the spring.

the swings don't go as high,
but they still squeak.

the book doesn't feel the same,
but your highlighted quotes still speak.

you're not as evident in my nightmares,
but you're still gone.

i talk a little less,
but i still miss you.

they don't understand,
and they never will.
our love isn't just afternoon tea with honey,
or sunrises on rooftops.
It's not *** and candy,
long drives at night,
star gazing or constellation counting.
Not breathless midnight strolls,
or screaming for our sins to wake up the neighborhood.
It isn't even our enveloped hands or public demonstration of affection.
It's your poetic kiss on my skin,
whispering choruses of lost love songs,
and tracing hearts on my back.
It's your acceptance to my flaws,
letting me know you love me anyways.
It's our word against their's,
because they don't know us,
and they'll just never understand.

Ghost;
your wavering scent of cannabis and coffee,
your cracked and bruised hands intertwined with mine,
your pretentious and morbid stanzas,
your black jeans and moth-eaten band tees,
your tight and "safe" embrace,
your 3 a.m. adventures.
Ghost;
your love for me.
Ghost;
you.
Alive;
my love for you.

there's something so endearing about hearing that song i used to love. a meer recollection, a dreaded reunion of unforgotten words, but never thought of. it's sensual expectations, and a beaming nostalgia of tears and cheers, from time so unthinkably distant from now. the very essence of remembrance, and the intamcy of the infinite chorus. a perspective of a lost love or
lost lyrics, it's a simple far sighted mess, in which i've engulfed myself into once again.

Eyes coated in icy gloss and body draped in lace.
Skin so silky and pale,
nails chipped with black and grey.
Even your sultry lips,
everything was so familiar but so forgotten.

I felt sorrow for your helpless parents,
who cried tears of pretension.
They shall never know you,
nor your hazy thoughts you shared.
How horrid.

I recited a well rehearsed soliloquy into my skin,
in the hopes of your missing approval.
Perhaps morbidity and salty warmth can revive.
Do you see me now?
Do you witness me engraving my madness?

I can not blame you,
but I do.
I do for the sorrow, the deranged ache,
the lack of knowledge and memories,
and everything that dripped from my wrists.

Poor girl, with the icy eyes and sultry lips.
Poor girl who craved comfortable sadness.
Who craved the barrel of a pistol,
pressed to her skull.
That skull so packed with stories.

One horizontal and one vertical maybe.
Can I join you?
Can I lay so still and so zen, just as you do.
No. I can not. I shall not. I will not.
You're beyond and I am here.

So to hell with you and your potential,
your untold stories, your novel you never wrote,
your smoke and bourbon dashed breathe,
as you whisper Emily Dickinson quotes to me.

You left me here in this dystopia, without a savior.
Now I will pass your empty locker, and your seat in honors english,
I'll feed the cat who devoted itself to you, and I'll sit on the edge of your bed.
I'll look around your room and will focus only on your favorite book.
The one you read aloud to me in the park at midnight.

You're a ghost and you lay feet ahead of me in a casket.
You suffered from your own catastrophe,
and truthfully it's my fault I didn't listen deeper when you called.
Soon we'll be together again,
and you won't be alone in the darkness of the stories I never heard.

Did your icy eyes gloss over? Was your silky pale skin stained with crimson?
Did your sultry lips quiver,
and did your chipped nails tremble beneath the trigger.
I hope your eyes were soft just at that moment,
becasuse they were always so cold.

You lay next to me on the hill that was covered in silk grass,
and you whispered unfathomable realities.
All the dusk filtered sky would portray,
was your cigarette smoke and milky eyes.

There was a time when I dreamt of laying in your arms late at night,
and danced in the rain to upbeat songs talking of happiness.
There was a time when you held me tight and told me I was your one and only,
as I traced hearts into your palms.
There was a time when you made a promise to me,
and I thought I could trust you with my flaws.
There was a time that you stopped answering,
and left me alone in the shadows.
There is a time that I live in, where I love you,
but you are all gone.
And I am stuck listening to loud lost love songs and crying in the shower,
where you used to stand and condition my hair.
There was a time when I was a better me, with you.