I've seen
better days.
I've been
in better states.
Days without
inner decay.
Held together
by better bindings
than fading
splintered sanity.
I feel
the painful disconnect
from you;
steering clear
of what was
once ours.


I've lived
and died
while still alive
and doomed
to walk
this earth
a dead man.

Everything is falling apart and
i cant fix anything because of my broken heart, which
never stops beating even when
i'm begging it to
just
stop screaming.

There's parts of me that wonder if you're doing okay
or if once again your mind is fading away because
i see the cuts on your body and
you really have to find a new hobby
other
than killing yourself.

What do I do with this blank space
I always have something to say
But today that's not the case

What do I do with empty page
Maybe I can use it to get out of this cage
Maybe I can use it to escape this rage

What shall I do with this unwritten story
Maybe I can write words that will help them speak of my glory
Maybe my words will go down in  herstory

What do I do with this bare canvas
Maybe it can bring joy and stop me from being anxious
And maybe it will get rid of all this worldly madness

What do I do on this earth that's not my home
Acquire a defiant syndrome
Or stay hidden under a dome
Forever alone?

The day of my freedom, clearly unknown

Then, there you are,
with her,
while i was helplessly
watching my figure
disappear on your face

It only reveals itself after it's gone–
In the colors of rotting fruit, in the portrait of the dying.
In a photograph or a broken bauble.
It typically shows itself in the weary faces of the several-times-married.
It was in conversation with him that I suddenly realized–
He too was not oblivious to this fact.
Someone as aware as I am of what we're losing right now.
He in particular knows the feeling better than I, I'm sure of it,
Sometimes I can still see the outline of his youth,
A faded crease in time..
Youth, a mere thumbprint now.
It comes when he's caught in-between actions:
Looking up, sitting down, shifting his eyes, walking through doorways.
It shows in a certain thoughtful expression or when he stands up tall.
Youth is a neverending escapee, an eternal bandit.
For some it's best forgotten, for others it was the height of their life.
Youth, the time of eternal Spring.
And it's going, going, going, going–
And it's gone.

There once was a boy
Who thought he was in love.
Though she treated him like a toy
He thought her an angel sent from above.

He called her his very very first love,
Though he was still young.
He didn’t care she was abusive
She didn’t care she made him choose and,
He didn’t care she cheated
....
But he did care when she wanted to leave him.

There once was a boy
Who finally got over a girl
She’d been very coy,
But she was no longer his world.
Until she came back suddenly.
....
He didn’t know how to feel or who to be.

There once was a boy
Who fell for a new girl
She filled him with joy
And he loved watching her spin and twirl.
Albeit uncomfortable at times
She was still always on his mind.
Until she started to disappear
She was here then there
....
And then no where.

There once was a boy
Who fell, once again,
For the girl who could disappear.
Only this time he held up a mirror.
So he could be there for himself,
When she left like everyone else.
But as he grew on himself,
He started thinking of her like everyone else.
And he knew he had to end what they had.
Because a relationship like that would just be bad
When she knew she began to cry,
....
But all he could say was goodbye.

There once was a boy
Who tried to avoid
Any more notions of love
Until he was sure that was what he would want.
So he stayed far away,
From the girls who’d say “hey”.
And he stayed far away,
From the girls who wanted to stay.
He just wrote what he wrote
Meaning every word, every note.
Until one day he read a confession
....
What now? Well that’s a pretty good question.