Do not fall inlove with a writer
they see and feel everything.
particles that somersault in the morning ray telling them to embrace the day

They can smell the haunting
aroma of a coffee
whispers 'go grab your pen and write'

they look into a person's eyes
and could witness
how a sea crash into someone's soul

Do not fall inlove with a writer
they appreciate and value everything you do

they could see the entire universe
from your smile
only the ocean could tell
their hopes and fears.

They easily fall and break too hard.

Don't fall inlove with a writer
they'll make you their muse

from good times to bad times,
you will be the lyrics of their song.

If you knew the landing were made of swords,
Would you jump?

If you saw the bridge collapse, descending to the deep,
Would you follow?

If you had to rewatch your life at heavens gate,
Would you regret?

If you knew my touch were poison,
Would you accept it?

If you knew your actions had consequences,
Would you lie with him again?

Then why do you return to me,
And fall down on your knees
Begging for what I cannot give

If you knew I'd say the same,
Scream at you to leave,
Would you go back and treat me that way again?

I was a 4 year old kid who visited his father in hospital every day for months. The worst part about that was prentending everything will be normal. That me telling my dad "it'll be ok" will make it come true.But it doesn't.People would walk around and tell me that ok is relative. Some are just more ok than others but in that moment I felt anything but okay. Because to this day, I still say "no kid should watch his father strapped up to machines trying to breathe the words that say don't worry too much". Between each broken breath I can remember him asking about whether I'd behave at home, like a few bruises and cuts on my face would change how anything was going to play out. Some days I wish I could reverse death. Some days I wish I could reverse time. This is one of those days. Because 17 years ago I lost a man who was supposed to show me what it was like to be a man. How to stand like a man. How to walk like a man. How to talk like a man. So you know what really keeps me going? Being childish. It's easier. Easier to pretend. Easier to believe in imaginary things like an imaginary dad giving me advices. Most kids grew up with an imaginary friend or a unicorn, I grew up with an imaginary dad.

The sound of cars driving by in the distance,
The sound of trains carrying passengers,
The sound of the night breeze dancing through leaves, making them rustle.

There are no stars in sight as I stare at my blank ceiling, a single bulb in the middle, fused.
I keep my eyes open and the darkness starts to swirl, fading at the edges and congregating at random spots.
The dryness in my throat somehow spreads to my eyes.
The stinging reminds me of soot and fire.

(Remember how you burned my lungs in a forest fire?)

My eyes start to water as I fight to keep staring at the darkness.
I refuse to fall asleep.
I refuse to return to the dreams abundant with your luring smiles, plagued with your careless whispers.

I refuse to wake up from those dreams with you.
I refuse to wake up to another cold morning without you.

I know the quietest way
to crack an egg.
The softest way to close
a door. How to pour
the water into a tilted
glass so it doesn't splash
back. A bird chirps at
just under sixty decibels.
A light bulb sings at
fifteen. I dream
of polymer chains snapping
clean, recyclables humming
to each other at night
while they biodegrade
at a rate negligible
to the human timescale.
Twenty decibels: the chiral
calcite spiral of the snail
when it falls to the sand,
when it dies,
when a girl apologizes
for asking a question.

my throat is stuck on something these days
my ears do not listen to songs these days
my eyes refuse to focus in on things these days
fingers clench up, my knees freeze, the voice in my head is quite, this stomach is left without desire, mouth lags gaping around food, sleep an unwelcome stranger, work is welcomed- more more more, the world seems colorless, as if a grey filter hides everything
....
why are the faces all the same? can i throw up? i just want to get all this out my gut

i dry-heave sitting in chairs, looking at people i cannot tell the difference between

is there something i can take to make this better?