once you are gone
there will be no evidence that you were ever here at all
no photographs
no letters
no clothes left behind
the smell of your hair will not be on my pillow
your warmth will not resonate in my bed
I will find no hair of yours hidden among my sheets
and I will eventually find it hard to prove even to myself
that there was a time when you existed
and I ask myself
if you even do
now

I am the only one left.

I am the only one left, at the end of the fight.

Past your drunken Friday night.

That really remembers and feels the insults,

That are later etched into my burning skin,

That moments later will release a near frozen blood stream.

I am the only one left, at the end of the night.

That remembers the yelling of a drunken man.

“****.” “Evil.” “Hate Her.”

These words sting I know, as they hit my mothers face,

And slip under my door.

And yet not a word comes out of her mouth.

Because there is no point in fighting a drunken man.

Because when the sun shines the next morning, and father is sobering,

The fight is forgotten,

Until.

Until there is yet another night,

Like this one.

For each shot thrown back,

And each cigarette put out,

There is a hurtful word,

“****.” “Evil.” “Hate Her.”

“****.” “Evil.” “Hate Her.”

After all of it I say,

And say over,

And over again,

I do not care.

I will be the only one,

Who has left.

I will be the only one,

Who has left.

There is a place I go,
that swallows me whole,
when I allow my eyes to rest.
In this place,
my mind thrives,
and I have no say,
as to what use my thoughts are put to.
Here,
I am small and feeble,
swallowed by darkness,
and drowned,
in the hues of shadowy black,
and morbid red discoloring.
In this place,
my writing comes to life.
Wrecking all in its' path,
including myself.
This place I speak of,
is simply my imagination.
And it takes hold whenever it is given the chance.

If I scream, who will hear me?
If I bleed, who will heal me?
If I die, what's the point?
Nobody will hear me,
Nobody will heal me,
But I wouldn't want to be dead anymore,
that's a big step...

Truth be told,
I know what I need in life,
but not everything comes with need

Love is such a hard subject to conquer,
for I have tried,
and I have fallen in the mud below

How can people who can't do for themselves,
pass through the woods I am lost in,
who find the jewel I can not,
who win the battle of love I lose,
but i still stand here as if I'm repulsive

Am I,
do I make others uncomfortable,
do I make them sad,
do I drive them away,
with something I do,
all questions I need answered,
all questions that drive me mad

Why am I good at everything I do,
except the one thing I want most

Seeing others who have it,
just drives me crazy

I looks at so many,
but there are none that do look back,
stuck in the corner,
that no one looks at,
that everyone overlooks,
to look at others that aren't me.

Youth.
   It is pretty, naive, and innocent.
Death.
  It  is grotesque, wise, and tainted.
However, both are equally
  
   beautiful.

refracting our
smiles; smiles; smiles;
into light
which our
eyes; eyes; eyes;
use to see.
reckless and ignorant
hopeless and childish
innocent and helpless
she was,
before these years came to
swallow; swallow;
time bites at her legs
her arms
her ears.
pulling skin loose,
white freckled flesh
creased and folded
thin and old
hanging from weakening bones.
clothes long out of style
floral prints
and granny knits
what she does today
won't affect yesterday
or her disheartened life
for it has been
lived; lived; lived;
her finishing days
that will tie her together
are yet to come,
but soon,
petaled decease will come knocking her down
for it shall manifest beside her window,
and someday soon,she won't wake up.
--she'll be too tired, is what you'll tell your daughter.

The empty beer cans that you used to defy gravity
They empty shampoo canisters that washed away your wrath and loss
The empty notebooks not filled with the poetry you weren’t inspired enough to write
The pages of books you couldn’t finish but pretend you did
The lost shoes and who you where with you feet deep in grass and not cardboard
The bed you don’t sleep in because you have found a warmth the don’t sterilize
The roommate who things didn’t fill up your cupboards now designated for other objects
The roads you don’t drive because you have nowhere to go

Life is in the muffled noises you hear between rooms
The nights you didn’t take pictures
The ones you don’t remember even though they shaped your exact being
The times you felt boring
Or when you didn’t realize how many substances you were on
Or the papers you could have made genius  
The empty boxes of hairdye that washed out in a week and didn’t cure your suburban binality
The dumb tattoos you want to get but now would be a shameful laser treatment
Your daydreams that never came true
Your daydreams that always came true and somehow didn’t lead up to there power of inception

Life is in other peoples good nights
Other people dark pasts of drug abuse and  civil unrest in the **** of an earthquake
Life is in the drug you where afraid to do
In the lies that you tell to become a different person
Its in the people you treated like **** for your own guilty needs
Its in the people whose gritty *** you walked in on

Life is in your lack of passions or skills or drive or organization
Its in the stupid ironic thift store choices you don’t throw away but never wear for 99 cents
Its in all the time you didn’t sing in a crowd
And you let someone convince you of facts you knew where wrong
It in every liar, and ****** human being you defined inorder to not believe they were ****
Its in every used ****** of the one night stands that made miserable times but good stories
Its in *** length hair
In tongue scars
In the people who know too much about you and you have know idea

Life is in your love of things you hate
In empty coffee cups that once saved you in a moment of weakness
In all the tears you shed drunk
Its in all you temporary obsessions and forgotten hobbies
The greeting cards you didn’t read and the thank you you never gave

Life is in the person you thought you would be right now
The empty packs of stubbed cigarettes
The forgotten names and anonymous snuggles
The empty guns and unfolded knives
The unmailed letters that help you reach redemption by telling them you would never forget

Life is in the times you didn’t run to the wild
The people who weren’t who you thought
The soul mates that became frat brothers
Or those people who drifted because you didn’t no what to say anymore

Life is in our unbrushed teeth
Or the void you cant find
Or the puzzle piece hid under the radiator
Life is in the wine bottles we stack

Life is in what we treat as forgotten streaming unconscious waste
Because we always looked ahead, and to empty more that will never fill