She reads
                                          And she sleeps
                                                      Way too much
                                                            ­           It's her coping defence
                                                                ­               When nothing else will suffice
                                                         ­               She needs to get away
                                                       Without actually leaving
                                             Because she's too scared
                                   And too tired
                                            To leave her bed
                                                      So she cracks open a book
                                                            ­     To escape somewhere far away
                                                            ­             And she'll sob for the characters
                                                      ­                       Whose brokenness resembles hers
                                                            ­                                   And then she'll sleep
                                                           ­                                   And have sweet dreams
                                                          ­              Of realities that are not her own
                                                       Because pretending is so much easier
                                                 Than facing reality
                             So she'll sleep and dream
          And secretly wish she won't wake up
So she can finally escape

Why the feeling of nostalgia
when sitting in an airport on your own for the
how many times is it now?
well this is the last at least
for awhile

What can I miss when I chose
on my own
to leave this place behind, is it regret?
or the natural progression of emotion in events you can't control
but I'm in control, I am, I'm in
this motion half between happy and apathetic and
**** why'd you have to make me miss it here
and I haven't even left

Nostalgic for nothing
for what I chose to forego for myself
for the people, though few, I'll miss and mourn
for the culture for the music for the body
that no one else will quite understand

How many 'you had to be there's
how many 'I guess it's only a thing there's
how many times will I look at art
look at rocky, horror
look at a cynic and think
'**** what have I done'

It's an in-between kind of emotion
that will pass I have no doubt
pass and leave room for a chance I'd never get to take
but **** the in-between
**** the waiting

More often than not
my feelings manifest like the notes
of songs I have ingrained in my skin
and to find the words
that translate the way anger and sorrow and…

I don't even have the words for emotions
I don't understand them
beyond their most basic of means
I don't know how to say I'm so mad I could….
but I know what it sounds like

If asked how I feel
I can feel the motion in Piano Concerto No. 1
that means my skin is tingling
my heart is beating faster then
that drum roll Jukka plays and just as fiery and just as raw

It's never come naturally to me
to discuss how I feel
my instinct is to make someone listen to a song and tell them
that
right there
that note
that tremble in his throat
the way those chords interact
That's what I'm feeling

perhaps one day someone will hear it too

We walked in to darkness,
putting off what we both know what it will bring,
as sadness began to flare, and anxiety started to sing,
we both looked up to stars,
knowing it's one thing that has always healed our scars,
I began to cry a bit,
knowing it was going to be a while till we got to sit,
and talk aboot how many views we got that day,
I said I love where the middle star in Orion sits,
because the darkest spot in the night sky,
is a lie,
its a gateway to every thing that has ever come to pass,
and as our cigarettes came to an, I was praying the final drags would last,
we smiled at each other with a knowing,
that in the morning I would be going,
with a sigh I put the night to and end,
talking aboot the pictures each of us need to send,
we said good night, with a belly full of lead,
the conversation never ends, but the cigarette is dead,
and we say,
sleep well and see you in the morning,
looking at you with eyes full of sad, we say I'll talk to you later,
but in my heart I am saying,
I love you Dad.

The space between us is congested
with all of our unspoken words. I
breathe them in, feel the way
they cut down my throat as I swallow
my thoughts, choking silently. They explode
inside my chest, forcing
their way through my ribcage, shattering
the very framework of my body, until
shards of my own bones embed
themselves in my heart. They burn
inside my stomach, fueling
the automaton I have become, making my
movements strong, jagged, hasty, making
my smile too loud, my laughter
too jarring. Can you
feel them, too, or is this just
what you call air?

I wish you could see
how happy I am without you,
and see how much better I can do;
how much better I did.

If only you could see
and let it eat you alive from the inside,
hurt you so much that you can't even hide,
hurting far more than I did.

Let it eat at your heart
like acid raining only there.
Make you scream in agonizing pain,
Get the craziest of thoughts and go insane!

Regrets piling up over more regrets,
you reminisce on memories of the past,
ponder on ideas of what could have been us.
But our denouement resulted from having no trust.
None.