& if you
never saw me
lying on the floor
again...?

Those poems about she  I've been writing all this time,
Are they really about she ?
Or were they actually about me ?
I am confused by myself sometimes,
Am I living as me,
Or am I living as she,
Who am I?
And who is she?

I will never write about you again,
I swear to myself...


F.Z.N

art is my life
art is the oxygen in my broken lungs
art is my only way to exist
art is me

i am art

park that car
drop that phone
sleep on the floor
dream about me

I will not write about the way we met
I cannot tell a story that has not reached it's ****** yet

I will not write about the way you make me feel
When words arrive on paper they are in the world to steal

I will not write about the way you changed my mind
When I had decided there was nothing left out there for me to find

I will not write about the way I'm falling far too fast
For when I say these things aloud they never seem to last

I met you for the first time when I was really young. You were small and cute and kind
but
I didn't notice then. I only realized this just a little while ago.

We grew up beside each other, always close but never really.
I thought you considered me a friend
but
I was one of many. I didn't stick out among the rest.

Though your age and all the other things that separated us, I loved for the things that didn't. I tried to keep it to myself
but
I couldn't. Not for one more second.

I told you how I felt. I'd never taken a leap from that high up. You could have caught me
but
"Let's be friends."

I didn't have the guts to tell you that we never really had been.

But
I moved on. I did. You weren't around for awhile and I forgot the way your face looked when you teased me. I forgot your thoughtful expression when you concentrated on your music. I almost forgot about you
but I didn't.
but I won't.
but I can't.

I love you
I hate you

And there's no buts about it.