i was
falling in love
but love is blind
and blurs our vision
because eventually we all
fall off the high clouds that love brings us to
and we are always left with scars
that will bleed
until someone else
decides to bandage me up
and bring me back
to those
high, high clouds.

The sky is pink silk
Candy floss clouds for angels
Feathers for stained eyes

Golden halo, crown of gold- rings as you call,
Golden halo, heart so bold- yes and yes to all-
yet all the time that falls off the leaves after rain,
dry up too soon in the mid-morning sun’s heat

Golden halo, not of gold- just as ever blinding,
Golden halo, made of light- slowly ever fading-
the sky is clear, buts its clouds uncertain to cry,
Sit and wait, sit and wait and talk- golden halo

I hear your whispers, golden halo- loud and soft
echoing from the fleets of galleon clouds
and crashing nimbus waves
blaring through soft torrents of gale and gusts,
dodging the lighthouse of heavenly fire

I hear your secrets, golden halo- safe and sound
safe in me, golden halo, deep in locked chains
safe in me, high above the clouds,
the key, broken- its pieces, heavens apart
the lock molten shut

golden halo, golden light
golden secret, lips sealed tight

He comes, she goes, no one every really sticks around much.
It rains, the sun bares its face, the clouds come back to steal it’s thunder.
Nothing is ever set in stone
Well, except for maybe human bones and Founding Fathers.

This is a poem I quickly threw together after I heard the line “Since when did my apartment become your watering hole of choice?” —Dan Humphery, Gossip Girl, S2:E22, 21:45-21:40. The last two lines are a play on Mount Rushmore and the setting, Founding Fathers, a bar that often appears in the hit TV Drama, Bones. In the show, Dr. Temperance Brennan, Agent Booth, and their friends often meet at FF for drinks after work. The poem is basically saying, “Nothing is certain, except alcohol and my favorite watering hole.”

You are like a sky.
A fire across the clouds.
And I can't peel my eyes away.
Like a moth drawn to your flame,
I'd rather burn down to nothing, then to
fade from your memory.
I was a part of you,     the way each  
                                crater
adds a little bit of character
                  to the moon.
And you erased me from your life. Dressed me in nonexistence.
                      It was easier for you to look away than to wrap me in
                   your love.
I guess I flew too close to you, because
my dear, you were the sun, and
when you pulled me into you,
                      my wings
disintegrated, and
                   I crumbled away in your
warmth.

You were a drug to me, babe.
      You weren't the medicinal kind either.
                                          You weren't just a painkiller.
You weren't an antidepressant.
                                                     You weren't a Xanax.
                                                        You weren't ******.
You weren't even the good kind of drug.

                    You weren't ****** or **** or ecstasy.
You were the kind of drug that
                                           messed around with my heart and left my brain feeling clouded.
You were the kind of drug that left me confused and
                                                                               feeling worse than before I took you.
But I did.
Again and
again.
I told myself I would
break this vicious cycle of unscrewing your cap and
                                                                   hating myself for it afterwards.
That I wouldn't draw back the plunger and
                                                          force you into my veins anymore.
But I didn't.
Again and
again.

I told myself you
                                                would be the death of me.

Every high you gave me left me feeling
                                                                          lost in the clouds.

I might as well have been
                                    six feet deep.