it weaves in and out of your preoccupied consciousness
then the towers crumble into that sweet sweet sanity
and the flowers all bloom with the intelligence

it weaves in and out
through the pores of your fingertips
where lavender oil is spilled over a mountain

it weaves in and out
through the crevices of your solitary mind
your last breath becomes of it

your last chance to redeem your father’s stance
it weaves in and out of your arteries
pumping like roses

your legs separate from your talents
your passions become something extraterrestrial

it weaves through your education
and leaves your nail polish sticky

it differentiates the grass from the moon
constantly spilling, pouring
from your mouth

your heartaches become minute and simplified
but are constantly ****** into your very frontmost
vision

it weaves in and out of your preoccupied consciousness
then flowers into separate entities
similar futures

it’s always on your head
and in your soul
what you’ve become

my skin crawls,
i can't help but write.
to you and her and my mother.
“i loved you"
i can't help but write

i can't help but paint
"i loved you"
onto my head and heart.
i can't help but paint

i can't help but sigh.
onto my head and heart,
i dispel the warm wickedness

i say "I fell in love with you"
to you and her and my mother.
i fall in love with other humans:
my skin crawls.

the brick lining
of my fist-sized heart

is all crumbling
on the outside.

but the foundation
is sound.

my "I love you"s
are solid--

genuine--

and my "I miss you"s
are sad.

my roof is
shingle-less

and my windows are
shattered,

but I feel every bit
of us

with my soul.

sometimes you say
i have oceans in my eyes.
not once have I thought
that so.

my eyes are thin
and grey;
they are no "silver lining".

the green that lines them
is not seaweed,
but the mold of a past
mess.

you have told me my eyes
are reflective.
but they simply harbor the
colors of lonely skies
and mismatched loves.

you have described beauty
and freedom
within my irises.


but I can't see them
unless there's a layer
of glass between.

i don't see the oceans.
so how can i know they're real?

cigar smoke
In my lungs,
no alcohol in your
System,
we live on
stupid caffeine headaches
and doing bad things
to our bodies.

goodbye became
all too real,
all too soon.

neither of us was ready
To let the other one go,

but you are on a journey
i don’t fully understand,

i just know that
sometimes the flower
has to grow through snow

to become
her blossom.

we have
a pair
of demons
that constantly
cover our
eyes and
rip open
our chests.
they wrap
us up
in chains
and yank
on our
throats. we
are always
in a
duet with
our devils,
and they
know every
step. we
trip and
fall, but
i will
not hide.

my devils'
duet will
not be
my death.

i will
not let
them push
me. i
will not
fall down.

the duet
is over.

i win.

between the lines of conversation, you have the words. the fragments of thoughts that seep through letter after letter combination. emotion and experience placed in the minute spaces within the letters. each phrase is a cracked door. opened ever so slightly, but enough to catch a glimpse of its contents. between the lines of conversation, you have your Leo Tolstoys and your Virginia Woolfs. you have an idea of the artistry of living. you have the ability to keep breathing. between the lines of conversation, you have the hesitations and the “wait a minute”s. you have the slow, heavy “i love you”s. you have “i miss you”s and “don’t forget about me”s. between the lines of conversation, though, you also get your “*******”s and your “leave me be”s. you have relentless chasing and lonely nights. your messy break-ups and flaccid first loves. when you have a conversation, it is more than thin letter arrangement. it is response and meaning and power. between the lines of conversation, you have the words. the fragments of thoughts that seep through letter after letter combination. you have life.