Unwillingly,
I will spend the rest of my life
looking for something that cannot me found.

The way you never cease to smile,
the way your nose wrinkles when you're confused,
or the way you grip my hair when you
fold me into your arms,
and laugh to hard,
and get too close for comfort,
and manage to brighten a room
without doing a thing,
and never understanding the use of a semi-colon.
Or, how you could never seem
to write your sentences correctly
and end up rambling on and on
until I can hear your thoughts through cold lips.

Can I just say,
I will spend the rest of my life,
hoping to find another you.

Pink cheeks pluck from your smile
Enticing me to your touch,
Cruel admirations lurking
I was lost hoping.

Rose as white as your lies,
A fake reality I was with.
Tearing me apart,
Grasping my breath to oblivion.

How do you deal with pain I ask, I cannot see behind the mask.

I punched until bare knuckles torn. I cannot wait until reborn.

I drank until I ran away, I come back home a wasted day.

I call my friends to no avail. I haven't eaten I'm turning pale.

My sleep is restless, night sweat's soaked. I screamed until on tears I choked.

She does not understand my pain. I don't know, who I am to blame.

It was love I had but now is lost. This memory it must be flossed.

It is indeed my heart she broke. I swear to God I will not ****.

I will face my demons, bring it on. Until I see my troubles gone.

no one knew how i felt except
for all the dusty back roads
in their dreary isolation and brokenness.
i spent countless hours standing outside
the entrance of the buckaroo tavern
with stephanie when i was 3 years old
because daddy was too *******
wasted to drive home. the heat waves
from that broken down neon sign
during the frosty seattle winter of 2001
felt like a security blanket at times
if i pretended hard enough,
i felt like there was something in
the big bad world that actually cared for me.

-*z. vega

You left.

I stayed.

Window panes are rightfully named.

It's what I felt watching you walk away.

I open my bottle of red.
Watching how it splashes into my cup.
I'm memorized by the depth of the red.
Reminding me of all the blood I would have shed to keep you.

The drop drips down my glass and lands on my skin.
It's like the many tears cried for you but now red.
I savor the fruity but bitter note with each gulp.

It tastes like us.

As the bottle empties my body is now boiling, intoxicated with the thought of you.
The last drop enters my glass.
I find myself unsatisfied and wanting more, more of you.  
But I have to be strong and stop.

After all, it's just w(h)ine.

I stand here today
alone, brokenhearted,
to say
I do not understand Love.
No, not at all.
Its easy when new,
or newly unparted,
when the flame of desire outshines every flaw.

But, when seen through the eyes
of three decades behind us,
it doesn't seem all that thrilling,
that new
or that grand.
It wears like a harness with the weight of forever.
So tell me,
then why is it in so much demand?

I've been told,
while its true,
that your heart is a muscle;
it doesn't get stronger, but weaker from use.
I thought I knew better.
I thought I was Rustle.
But that granite presumption
she did disabuse.

Is it wrong,
That his best friend
-Who I'd never met-
Had to tell me?

Is it wrong,
That even though
He left me
For another,
I'm not the slightest bit angry?

Is it wrong,
That when other people
Speak horrible things about him,
It sends me into a rage?

Is it wrong,
That after he snuck away
Without a single good bye
Or thought of my well being,
I have an urge to protect him?

Is it wrong,
That he's cheated on me multiple times,
But I'm happy for him?

Is it wrong,
That my heart
Was stomped into the dirt,
Yet it left me
Feeling at peace?

I'll tell you what...

It sure as hell feels wrong,
Because I still care!
And I know for a fact,
That you don't.
Not anymore.

l.v.s