You know. How when. Wait. Is it just me. Nah, im sure im not the only one. People are weird like that. Unique. Just like EVERYONE else.

I digress. You know. When you play a game. Or read a book. For long enough. And you start to identify with a character. Like "yeah, thats totally me out of all of the other characters." And then. And THEN. you notice yourself picking up on the mannerisms and speech pattern of theirs.

I wrote you something. Im so angry. No idea why. The paint peels, the fruit rot, and I am still here. The world spins, the birds chirp, and I am still here. And people ***** and people moan, and they run and they laugh and they cry and they sing and they mourn and they **** and they die. And I am still here. sitting in the dark lit only by candlelight writing in a tiny notebook. writing about how I feel. And I wasnt planning on writing a poem.

Heating your tubes,
Resolving in stroke.

Live while you can,
All of your might.

One day it might
All Run out.

Run away
From you.

Out of reach,
Out your grasp.

Reaching far
Fingertips width away.

With
You
Away.

Skys dull to grey.

ive always said that

pain is art"
"art is pain.

well then i guess
that this means
that im in pain

**** you. Establishing a fake, quick-and-easy false sense of connection, closeness, & intimacy. (Who can so easily share such a dark and painful secret. And all the while proceed to practically skip away like some whimsical creature in which you are.)
Take my breath as I see yours also being expelled from your lungs. (Why is it such the effect you have on me and why, oh, why can i so clearly see it on you as well?)
Lord bless me in spite of these impure thoughts & urges within me, as I glance no more than a few half seconds, for it is all my heart can take. (Oh the things i would do to you. Oh the things i would let you do to me)

I said to myself, in my head, "im only gunna take TWO shots." I lied. I lied to myself. Well i guess not. Not yet. But. Im so close to taking that next one. I really want to. How long has it been.

When in

Doubt

Drink 6 shots of espresso


Or, you know, maybe dont.
Whatever.

I loved you. And you hurt me. You COULD have cared more. You could have tried harder.

Truth. You probably could have.

Maybe you didnt have the capacity.

Maybe you couldnt have.

But you should have.

It could have been better.

It should have been better.


If i meant that much to you why did you hurt me?

The cigarettes, they make me sick but they make me whole.
The smoke fills my lungs; fill me with your smoke.
You're a craving, i'm itching for a hit.
Just half is enough. Just enough to feel it.
Make me feel light; make me feel alright.
Just let me get my fill.

Cryptic.
Miss understood.

At it again.
Your one and only friend.

But is it
What is seems?
Falling apart
At the seams.
Are you thinking what im thinking,
Are you what you think you are
You me? Are you, me? Im not
Sure, you are.
No?

How many people have forgotten about you?

A brief face on the bus.

An old acquaintance from high school.

An older teacher or professor from school.


There are a thousand faces we see daily.

Maybe more.

Maybe less.


(Im no mathetition)

But.

A thousand or so faces.

And guess where they end up.

(Cause.
We remember them.)

They are stored in out brains indefinitely.


They show up in our dreams. Our minds use them as background characters.

Its hard to imagine brand new things.


Have you every tried inventing a new color???


Shites hard.
Haha

Thats life. Its hard.

And complicated.

And difficult.

And beautiful.


Like you.

Like me.

Like the cosmos.

Like the universe.

You think youve won
Youve got it all
Finally;
It all makes sense.
All of the pain,
The struggle,
The hopelessness--
It all led up to what you thought
Was your reward
For staying strong
For keeping on
Keeping on.

And now,
Things are in pieces again.
Nothing makes sense
Again.
Just like that
Gone.
****.
Goodbye
Bliss.

Im sorry
That i didnt cherish you when i had you.
Im sorry
That your wife is gay
And that your girlfriend is a free bird.

Meticulous and true. They are so careful. So skilled. Deftly and with a swift and sure hand, the words,    
Oh the words, they flow like a brooke. The one in the forest, you know the one. The one out there, out far. In the deep of the wood, over root, under canopy. Through the branches you have to look real hard. And the hard part is not knowing at all what youre looking for. And then there,    
After an eternity and in an instant it is there infront of you. What you have been looking for. A vast clearing. Wide and open. The sun glints through the salt-and-peppered leaf roof. It crawls and stretches and lightly caresses everything you lay your eyes upon. Even matte mossy rocks, they seem to shine. You look down and it caresses you as well. Gentle and warm the embrace that you cant quite put your finger on. The location. The origin. It is everywhere, it surrounds you. Close your eyes. Embrace the sun back. But i digress my digression. The brook. It flows over, around, through. There is no stopping the water. It is relentless, it WILL get to its destination. You cannot change its mind. It is immovable.

That is what it is. It is beauty.

I know i should not compare. There is beauty in it all. But, goodness, the feelings invoked when reading others' poetry in admiration.

Though
That wasn't even my intent. It just happened that way.
Originally I had planned on just picking one for myself.
(As i often do.)
I just so happened to change my mind. when I had realized where I was. what I was doing. that she stopped and walked up besides me.

And maybe thats what got her.