night falls like eyelids
on the brink of sleep—
I lay on ***** sheets,
no fault but my own

there are 432 tiles
in my shower stall
I count them everyday,
twice a day,
three times,
four if it’s real bad

after the fith time there
is no more counting,
or singing, or crying,
just being.

water falls off my body,
into the drain,
and i go with it.

The scars on my wrist have faded but the intent remains the same, in theory, not in practice. I bury my body in handfuls of dirt that was never good for growing, that would never sustain life.

You always ask if I'm okay but it's earth that crumbles past my lips instead of words so I shake my head and climb out of my grave as if it never even happened, and still you remain under my nails, in every bump and bend of my body.

I showered for three hours yesterday, my wrinkled fingers wiped steam from the mirror to reveal a dirt stained face that will never be clean of you.

and tonight i fell in love with the world
only after reaching my hand
inside my chest to find that
yes indeed!
my heart still beat,
and was never idle, not stuck
in one place like it most often is
to be living, rather than existing
is to be, for lack of a better term, happy

I've rewritten this five times
because it's so hard to put into words
so wrong to put to paper
you always knew what i was thinking
and i'm sure you still do
i'm not religious but i believe in the sun
and the moon
and that the stars aligned
to bring us together
and who is to say that we shouldn't be?

Remember
When we were kids
And a planetarium
Was a most wonderful place
Everyone simply obsessed
With outer space.
It was strange
And new
And beautiful
It was full of wonder
As was everything
A galaxy of stars
And empty space
We were flying through it all
To a new planet
For us to discover
Floating towards the future
It was like a dream
But as we grow up
We realize
Falling stars are chunks of ice and rock
Not wishes
And stars and the sun
Are ***** of flaming gas
The wonder fades
And you realize
Outer space
Would truly be a lonely place
Alone out there
But I guess it would still better
Than here
And you yearn
For that wonder to come back
But even if it would
Someone would take it away
They always do.
Growing up is sudden
And shocking
And changes you
Forever
And you wish you could go back
To planetariums
And outer space
But you can't.
We are all stars
***** of fire
That will eventually die out.
But some of us are falling
And hoping someone will catch us.

the most frustrating thing
when it comes to a writer
is when everything
every word, every letter,
isn't enough to give justice to
the captivating picture of you
in the afternoon:

soaked in sweat,
grinning foolishly,
striking up a conversation
about coffee,
and how unhealthy it is
for me to drink
three cups straight,
to stay awake,

yet the bittersweet taste
stains my lips.

it spills down my throat,
covers my lungs,
and drowns them
with the addicting aroma
of coffee beans
and lazy dreams,
until i cannot seem
to breathe,

and the only thing
i can ever do
is to spill ink
for you.