You used to call
At times like these
From the dark of a starless sky.
Filling the night so perfect yet cold
And the stillness I lived in.

You used to remind
At times like these
From the shadows hidden in.
Searching for a place to lift
Bringing the light abandoned

You used to laugh
At times like these
Creating dim lit memories
That shone unyielding I hoped
Though time erased

You used to say
At times like these
Nothing at all and yet
It meant everything needed
Simply knowing

You used to
Well I don’t know
Some, mirrors need no sight
Because the future is ahead of me
And used to is used.

I could touch ground to the idealization that all love is impossible;
not the kindest touch of palms against the breastbone of my soul,
could heal this immaculate desire and terrible crushing feeling
of being alone. Not even the notion of dry lips against even dryer ones could form and mold back together the splintered pulsing place in my brain that still aches for you.

Dying at noon with a boiled shot glass of ***** seemed fitting.

The ever growing heated birth in the sky blinded out the grave-****** silver of clouds. I wanted to reach out my overdosed arms, push that fiery ball of hate and replace it with something much more of grace: The moon, the moon in all her calm and peaceful beauty.

But I was left with the devil, it seemed, the devil and the still fixated image of your smiling face behind my clinched shut eyelids.

I prayed for a redeeming act of elegant forgiveness. If not from you, than at least from the one we both tried so hard not to believe in, the one we so desperately tried to tie a knot around and leave slaved to the broken fence out back.

God: he seemed too barbaric and cruel to even think of, but he still, lie there, in the back of our minds, keeping some part of us both safe and alive and breathing.

The ash of you is kept in a jar that doesn't speak or move or try to resurrect itself back into the loving boy that had once possessed it. And being alone here, trembling numbly back and forth on this creaking rocking chair, almost seemed like a thing of torture. You were uncountable miles away from me and I was sewn in frugally to this wooden piece of rotting slab wishing more than ever I was a ghost.

A ghost that haunted the deserted halls where you might be.

The sky should be bathed in black nothingness, instead, it washes my skin with unholy punches of toasted warmth.

I close my choking, pleading mouth shut and let the warm salt of my body dissolve in hail like figures down my face.

Accepting your loss was more an impossible act than finding out how love, the most ferocious, corrupt perception of life, could still somehow exist, out there, in the world full of tremendous hurting.

Don't think about her,
They say.
Don't think about a pink elephant.



Yeah... you get the idea.

But it's worse if you've seen the pink elephant.
Such a thing does not leave your heart easy.

Sure, you could think of a blue elephant.
But I,
I would feel guilty.

"Never say goodbye
because goodbye means going away
and going away means forgetting."
How I yearn for Peter Pans words to be true
When you said goodbye
I wanted nothing more than to forget you
I cried every night wanting the memory of you to vanish
Wishing we had never met
Hoping I never gave you a chance
But to this day
Months after your goodbye
I am waiting to forget you
But I am miserably failing

How can I possibly forget
Your presence
When your head always is on my chest
When you are a family for my heart
And not just a guest

I loved the way she looked at me.
Even if it was for a brief second, I would always stop what I was doing.
She had a knack for making me forget the simplest of things.
Often times making me stand outside of myself.


She looked at me.
And I was in a full length feature movie.
Surrounded by a bunch of characters before the plot shifts to us.
I'd watch as her pupils dilate.
The way her conversation changed from the way I heard her previously.
Before bumping into me.

 
She'd look at me but wouldn't  see me at all.
She'd see that I had a bit going for myself.
That I had a good head on my shoulders.
That nine times out of ten, I would stop if she seemed like she was in distress.
With so much going on it's hard to tell what's real from fake.

 
Frankly, I didn't mind it.
The way she looked at me.
It's been a while since I've seen myself in eyes that large.
It appeared that I was in a movie the way we met.
The way our conversation would last for hours.

 
Whenever she would speak it made it that much easier to forget that she didn't see me at all.
Honestly I haven't seen me in a long time.
The way that I use to be.