This story begins and ends
in a place that does not exist
darling, I didn't listen to this song enough
there's a graze under my ribs I should feel
but there is nothing,
only the aftermath of a sunset
you are one year older yet
you are seventeen forever
severe tranquility aged youth
heartbeats sweat,
something's ripped inside your chest
you are still alive

It’s not so bad to grasp anything
that doesn’t look like sunshine
you are moonlight, waxen frowns, muddied shoes
the tremors in my toes

where are you in the mountains?
come back, come home.

I think these bleach scrubbed walls
will hold the memory of how
I have always longed to look you in the eyes
and wished for something more
this place will always make my heart leap
it has been a year and all I can think about is
how much I have waited on a boy so beautiful
every time I look at him I feel something in my chest give way.

This is the tragedy of falling in love
a whirlpool of desolation
and an abysmal sadness
somewhere in the mountains
you think you hear someone calling out your name
It’s me, I’m here
and this story will end when you come home.

Sometimes I fear
I will run out of things to write about.
Often I fear,
I already have.

i am the door...
that you leave slightly ajar
in your comings and goings
in an effort to find out who you are

i am the wall...
feel free to stare at me blankly
or if you have greater need
you're more than welcome to climb me

i am the table...
for you to lay it all out
or if you prefer to wine and dine
in this riddle of doubt

i am the drawer...
you hold all your secrets in
your poetry and diary
of who you now are and who you have been

i am the bed...
your afraid to peek underneath
but still with enough comfort
to give you your much needed sleep

i am the window...
that opens into your soul
telling you what you want
and what you don't want to know

i am the floor...
where it all gets swept
into that lonely corner
with the rest of your mess