It's 3am*
When will I be okay?
It'll get better they say
I've just gotten more comfortable with my stay

I'm filtering you through the crack of light that universally seeps through all hotel room doors at the tender hour of 3am.
That is to say,
this isn't a sonnet of love
Or an overly romanticized image of a 21st century youth,
This is realism
In that I am trying to process everything around me like it will disappear tomorrow
Sipping tepid cola watching the day fade through the trees
Losing track of time or when the hell I'm supposed to be anywhere
Because lately I've been going no where
Tracing my veins and driving in circles around your block
Trying to remind myself that though we live in an infinite universe,
And though we are all alone in our own skin
we're still connected through the cracks in the concrete and the curve of the earth.
And I think about all the river water I drank in trying to get to your shore
All the time I've waisted hanging just outside your door
And I know I tend to get stuck on the little things like the songs we sang or the arch of your foot
But I'm just trying to ******* process you so I don't have to spend one more night on my best friends couch staring at my skin wondering where all the time went,
Wondering if I had cleaned up a little better
then my mind wouldn't be so spent
So I'm staring into the light coming through the hotel door at 3am so I can filter you out of my chest and onto paper
So if I disappear tomorrow
I can know your memory for today.

7pm
My friends bring you up in conversation for the first time in months. I say it was for the best, couldn't have worked out anyway.

9pm
On my own again. I can't close my eyes without thinking about you. This alcohol is burning through my body.

11pm
My vision is distorted, all my mind is clearly focused on is your voice.

11.30pm
Wondering if you ever think of me, or my voice. Wondering if you miss the "good morning" as soon as you wake up. Wondering if it sounds as homely coming from her.

1am
I thought I was doing fine. Whenever you come up in conversation my heart starts racing and I can't stop thinking about how you made me feel, how we made each other feel.

2am
This is torture.

3am
Red eyes and wet cheeks. Please miss me back. Please call me and tell me.

4am
I want to call you. I want nothing more than to hear your voice again.

5am
Wondering if it killed a part inside of you like it killed a part of me. Wondering if I'll ever get that part back.

6am
Black coffee and 10 cigarettes. I wish I could **** this habit as much as I could quit smoking if I wanted to. I know how much you couldn't stand my cigarette and alcohol kisses.


7am
I break down again when I realise I'm nothing more to you than a memory.

10am
Baggy eyes and unbrushed hair. Yes, I am okay, just a little tired.

9pm
He's not you. But he's here and you're not.

do you remember sitting in the ER at 3 AM and seeing an x-ray of a head and a big white blank space in it and the warm white blankets on your 11 year old legs felt cold all of a sudden.  you were given a stuffed Beanie Baby frog and you ran around the hospital courtyard nervously taking the frog to Animal World with your 8 year old sister and her rainbow colored bear. and then you sat up and helped the nurse take your mom's blood pressure and he smiled at how clear her lungs were even with the asthma and told you that you could be a doctor if you wanted to because doctors save people they fix people.  

people can't be fixed.

there are so many different levels of mastery.  I have counted all of my fingers in rhythm backwards and forwards and I think I have mastered that there are 10 and only 10.  there are only 7 notes with little half steps increments in between them in the musical alphabet but the mastery of those? next to impossible.  who knew playing a violin could make you sweat down the nape of your neck while lining the rim of your forehead with frustration.  fingers become red and warm stop trying to play so quickly so much.  however, self-loathing is not healthy so maybe we should keep playing until I am red in the face and the loathing is cured.  

will it ever be?

you should stop doing the friggin peace sign at everyone you see but you won't and that's okay I suppose. I hope it's not true that people say what they really feel when they're angry...if it is I'm lost in contempt some of the time.

I am the most oblivious of the aware I hope salt skin is accepted here.

An egg, boiled fresh
a matryeshka doll watches
                                                     somewhere the last train
                                                     makes it's way down the tracks
past the lakes
& the reticent pine trees

                                                          ­            the street lamps
                                                           ­           shine wearily

                                                        ­                                        & again, the rain
                                                            ­                         is starting up once more
she reads Kurt Tucholsky
' Schloss Gripsholm' with a dictionary

                                                     ­                     writing down his odd words  
                                                                ­       daintily as if they were glass,  
not to be handled
except lightly                                                          ­          the city holds her
                                                             ­                              like a child

It's not about who you think of at 2pm when you're busy....
or 3am when you're lonely....
it's about the one who never leaves your thoughts...
the one who has you biting your lip
and blushing,
even though he isn't around....
The one that has you wishing for
A pause button,
Just so you can live on his lips,
A tad bit longer...
The one who awakens the female in you...
Who makes you feel powerful,
Beautiful,
Breathing, Alive...
It's about the one that quickens your breath...
That looks at you and just like that,
You'll willingly do whatever he says,
If only for a kiss or a spank....
It's about the one that has you thinking
You might be insane, slightly obsessed,
And yet you can't, or rather won't
Give him up....
Because no-one has ever made you feel
The way you feel,
When you're with him...
A crazed, passionate, starfucked love
A love of only poetry.....
A love of only Him....

©MV (cause I'm tired of that meme that reads its about the one at 2pm when you're busy not 3am when you're lonely, *******)

neon light of slow
revolving doors in this
dumb, silent sleep

It's like my body's going supernova.
Every abstract nano millimeter of my being is imploding on itself and exploding into this humid atmosphere - I become slivers of glass on an insignificant Saturday.
My eyes are shattered like marbles -
My fingers scattered like wine glass stems -
I am a shifting, silver star gone supernova -
In the midst of constellations spelling out your name -
There is a vacuum inside me -
My flesh collapses in on itself like aluminum -
I am incandescent like a lightbulb.
There is a bomb inside me -
And the timers gone off -
I spread like a grenade -
Every part of me becomes part of something else.
I am growing from a wasteland -
And dying from the waste -
This encompassing medicine grows within me out of barren soil.
I am a fire -
Golden plasma coins -
This poisonous currency -
I will pay for it all, for it all.
This fire burns branches -
Becomes ashes -
I inhale this dead earth and my lungs are joyous at this fire you've built me from cardboard boxes.

I love you so deeply - I am being broken and repaired all at once.
I feel so full of something I cannot fully understand - I have exploded.
There will never be enough of your lips
Your smiles
Your eyes
Your voice
Your words
Your skin
Your face
Your fingers
Your chest
Your stomach
Your shoulders
Your legs
Your feet
Your kissing
Your voice . . .

If I were walking through an airport toward you, I would not be walking for long.

How many ways can I express my love for you?
You are sunset on my loneliness -
The medicine for my insomnia -
The balm for my aching heart -
And yet my heart has never ached more.

I cannot put my love for you into words - I am without words.
God has finally stumped me -
"Make her fall in love" he said -
"And watch her try to write that".

3 am and we started pretending we were high because we were underaged.
You shared me your loveliest words.
I read your flowering poems.
I felt each word deep down and I pretended not to be emotional.
I felt special because you shared them to me first.
You taught me how to whisper to the cold winds of December.
You opened my eyes to the hope that I have lost,
You reminded me to dream the most unrealistic things.
... And that surreal starry night ended when my phone died and my eyes shut themselves.
Days dashed through their ways and time made its fate that I slept when you were awake.
I saw you sharing the same lovely words to other people.
I heard you saying your flowering poems to them.
I might be selfish... but for the first time, I felt like those words were only mine.
Maybe it was my fault that I slept through 3 am and you were awake until 5 am.
Still, I whisper to the coldest winds at night.
Still, I remember that night when we pretended to be high.