i yearn for the sunlight to touch my scars because it feels like the darkness that created them disappears
see, now im sure you're thinking
walk outside
let the sunlight seep into your scars
youll be alright
but the thing is
my sunshine lies within fingertips
that can no longer be reached

youre laying right next to me and to be honest, i could get a buzz just off of your breath. but i couldn't care less. you want me, and thats all i could ever ask for.
i had come to the conclusion that you only kissed me while you were drunk so you could blame it on the alcohol or say you didn't remember because you had these hidden feelings for me,
but now im thinking you only kiss me when youre drunk, because youre drunk.

my love, you are the definition of *heartbreak

i call it intoxicating poison and you call it the pain killer of the night
i call it cancer rolling off your lips, and you call it the taste of rebellion
you and i are so different, but we couldn't be more alike
because i like the taste of intoxicating poison and how the cancer feels going from your tongue to mine

im sorry that i didn't put you down.
im sorry that you were the most beautiful flower that id ever seen and im sorry that i got attached.
the moment that i picked you i realized it was a mistake,
because you, just like any other picked flower, began to wilt and die
and now im stuck so in love with what was once a beautiful flower and that is now only wilted petals because i had not yet learned to admire from a distance

heartbreak is the most common illness.

love is insane.  or maybe, love has just made me insane.

cancer kills. diseases ****. plagues ****.
    
    heartbreak kills.

maybe not literally, maybe not pure true death,
                  but,

     heartbreak kills.

sunsets fade, stars lose interest, flowers are pale and lifeless, and everything you see, smell, feel, hear

  reminds you of the culprit of the illness.

heartbreak may not cause pure, true death,

          but it induces the closest thing possible while still breathing.

im so tired of being tired. i remember the time when breathing was so effortless and normal, and now it hurts with every inhale and exhale i take
you were my oxygen
you asked me why i overlooked your flaws, and at the time i said it was because i was in love with you, and now i wonder if i did it because it was a necessity in order to keep breathing

the human heartbeat.
     It's a rhythmic song that never ends.
For me, it means that I am alive. I am here to serve a purpose, whatever that may be. Sometimes I just lay my hand over my chest to feel it beating. And others heartbeats, well that's a different story.

      Others heartbeats give me hope.
It's a melody that soothes my crazy mind and it gives me something to hold on to when everything seems to be falling apart. I guess that's why I love it so much, it's always there.

No combination of perfectly sought out words could ever come close to comparison of the poetry your eyes speak to mine with only one unsubdivided glance.

  I now understand what they mean by "your my favorite book."

  Only, your not a book. Your a flowing scatter brained poetry piece.

  From where I'm standing, I don't think I'll ever reach the end.

  maybe their is no end.
Interminable depth in the drowning midnight blues.

  Quite frankly, I could continue, without fail; reading my favorite poetry piece incessantly.

he studies people and he sees people, not for the outside but he looks right through them like the outside doesn't even matter. he can see your heart right through your chest. big and bright and warm, or cold and stale and unreachable. when he hugs you, his warmth seeps through your shirt and clings to your skin like your favorite perfume that you wish would never wear off. who needs a light in a room when you have his smile?
he started out as a little seed in the ground, and now you turn around and he's grown another 6 inches.
he doesn't care about himself. he doesn't mind if he has a cut on his ankle and its bleeding everywhere, if you have a paper cut, he will give you the last bandaid. if your sick, he will bring you a trash can and some water (spilling half of it on your floor) and he will sit with you on your bed all day talking to you and watching movies, even though you and him both know he can't sit still for even 5 minutes straight, and when you get sick and pick up the trash can, he will throw the covers over his head and he will pat your back (from under the covers) so he, as he quotes "doesn't get your sickies, or see your sickies."
when your feeling down, he will run into your room and he will look you straight in the eyes and say, ***** your too pretty to be crying, whats wrong? and you can literally see the compassion flowing out of his eyes into yours.
nate is a perfect example of how every human should be. live like nate does everyday, searching for no reward, finding satisfaction in simply the smile he puts on your face.
live like my superman, and you'll finally understand what it means to live.

i wanted to be a poet, i wanted to fill pages with my words about beautiful people,

but maybe in all reality, i just wanted to be a poem. a poem about a beautiful person.

i haven't written anything since the last time i looked in your eyes.
i don't know if its because im scared of what ill come up with,
or if its because im scared i won't be able to come up with anything at all.

i'm tired of comparing the stars and the galaxies to your crystal blue wonderfully lit up eyes
    that reflect your sadness like a shimmering lake in the darkness reflects its surroundings

i was at the depths of july and the beginning of an endless summer

she said that she was winter and that frostbite had taken over her body, but after i saw her smile i didn't believe her

her smile was not cold and bitter, it was a huge white daisy in the middle of my brutal november

yes she was different, but she was far from the inescapable december.

sometimes she would give you a quick cold shiver, but never without sitting you down next to a bonfire after

she tricked herself into thinking that she was winter,
cold and lifeless,

but what she doesn't know is she is my summer filled with daises and brightness

i am terrified of the things you come up with when your alone.

            your sweet words fool everyone around you

you remember your first love like it just happened yesterday

        and i remember the look in your eyes when you told me about it like its my only memory i have left to hang on too of you

         maybe someday you'll understand why im so afraid of you
        
                 its not your actions,
     its not being afraid that you don't love me to the extent that i love you, or even the way you say my name like its the last thing that you have to save you;
from yourself

          a comparison of those things would be quite unrational in all actuality

                 what am i scared of?
         im so scared,
so deathly afraid,

                              of your mind.

    of the way your eyes shimmer in the darkness.

       ive never been so speechless because of a person.

     never so embarrassingly speechless

               about a persons drowning midnight blues,

        or the way someones lines in their hand connect on the right side perfectly coming to a cease beside
their black painted fingernail

            or so in love with one single freckle that rests right in the middle of someones
rosy left cheek

   never in my life have i ever been so petrified of a single
tear drop
escaping someones so heartbroken,
but yet so lovely sea colored eyes

        and never had i moved as fast as i did,
when i lifted my shaking hand to your face to wipe away that trace of sadness that knocked all of the breath out of my body

im scared not because its no longer about me,

         im scared because your the first thing that has ever made it no longer about me

thinking either creates depression,
             or cures it.

She has a mind full of endless ideas and veins pumping nothing but the most extravagant words.

                 She stares off into the sunset admiring it's glowing beauty, never once stopping to see me beside her, admiring her own.

       Her tears roll off her cheek onto my arm wrapped around her securely, and with every wet mark they leave on my skin, my heart aches a little more.

          She listens to music that explains what she could never describe and I listen to every word, only growing closer to the girl with the hidden heart.
      
        She drifts off to sleep and I hear her restless breathing.

      Her eyelashes flutter, her fingers twitch, and she scoots closer seeking a home

                   within my arms.
  
    And that's the only thing I can give her that will always be there.
        
              My heart, my arms. A warm secure place that she can call home.
    
      No matter where I go,
who we become, and where we end up,
My arms will always only serve one purpose.
  
                     A home for the beautiful
sunset watching, heartbroken, searching girl that I call my best friend.

Nobody will ever understand why I fell in love with you the way I did.
                          So hard,
    so passionately.  
           But that's okay, I didn't ask them to. I hope somebody gets the privilege to feel the things you have inflicted on my heart.
                 The last time we kissed,
I whispered
                             goodbye into your lips, but I'm still trying to figure out what      

                    goodbye really is.