Grandparents: "Happy birthday, sweetie!"

Aunt: "How does it feel to be old?"

Uncle: "Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you!"

Cousin: "Happy birthday! I love you!"

Girlfriend: "Have a very happy birthday, my love!"

Through all the enthusiasm and happy birthday wishes, I still feel an empty hole.

A depressive state that won't go away.

Five years...

Five years in a row...

My parents forgot my birthday...

'mongst teddy bear shaped clouds,
and with friend whose eyes are as amber as honey sickles,
the sky melts sugar milk,
and whispers bubbles of candy cotton!
for the twilight knew much of the Wonderer.

with hopping rabbit bunnies,
and boxes with a fellow named jack inside,
the puppy-eyed child learned of many names,
and knew of many creatures--
O! have you heard of the bunna-easant?
the child would love of you to learn lots about it!

it seemed the Lord had blessed this young,
with naive heart and brave mind,
for you'd have to drink gallons of melted butter,
to be as sweet as he.

old nightmares beg for sips of the Wonderer's dove wings,
for the child knew of no such thing.
'what are mares of the night?' those eyes glistened toward the faeries,
with 3 sharp "ha"'s, they lean in and whisper,
'stay in your cradle, my young,' they'd wave their lolly finger,
'for there're no such things as those.'

for the white candy cotton was a favorite of the child,
same hue as the glowing deity he worshiped,
and brought the bouncing child through the embers of the day,
to hush the child to midnight play.

for time was awfully kind to this young,
as it pushes the child's golden swing,
following the young's silver eyes,
as they twitch with hunger,
at the appearance of the new critters it drew.

as cherry mermaids flicked the child through hearts of jelly,
and the fish from Stockholm 'plashed through chocolate lanes,
the Wonderer's taffy hair grew lengths,
and body took its outfit and changed!

the child basked--astonished!--and jumped from the tails,
leaving the mermaids and fish staring at one another,
with questionable marks and exclamatory minds,
'did we just lose our Wonderer?'

in shock, the deity's hair ruled short,
and no longer kissed the face of the 'Wonderer',
and bags filled blue light 'neath its eyes,
and rust reigned miles over the kingdom of orbs.

and the canvas had a streak of black,
'long its body,
and dried it lay,
unfinished of what was started.

for when the 'Wonderer' did decide to crawl 'neath silken shield,
and the deity's hair grew,
toss and turn, and turn and toss, the child did,
and the hair frizzled at tinted noon.

for in the Wonderer's brain,
an old horse awaits him,
with mane as black as goo,
and eyes as fierce as sandstorm,
the old horse awaits him,
and takes gallons from his wings.

and the teddy bear clouds turned to cotton,
and the fish melted by the amber,
and mermaids collapsed to bone,
and the golden gate said 'keep out, don't enter.'

for the bunna-easants had long since migrated,
and the sky turned a scared octopus,
for the candy bubbles had quieted,
and the child hung its youth.

but the Wonderer had long forgotten of his favorite candy,
and knew wonders of the mares of the night,
at cubic, he sits as blue light spills from bronzed eyes,
with the caffeine shots he jolts...


and the mares kiss him good-night.

I feel like a folded symbol,
inside the chipped-cherry boxcar
that is my damp, June mind.

A fetus seizing in the womb,
hooked up like a cheap monitor.
A foreign strandedness, wrapped
by a boa of dark country back roads
and sterile air skipping across grass.

If I stop, If I sleep
the sweat seeps from my pores
like a sterling grey squad,
oxidizing in the fog,
swimming around headspace,
guns melting with claymation cheeks,
howls into the night, darling deadbirds.

I am now happy and remember
only other happy memories.
Over a decade of depression
and now this.

I feel unfinished, unwanted
by the quickness of life.
I feel like a grain
caught in a gust so swift,
I may never adjust.

I, the empty-headed boy,
causing jet-black glass
to appear on sand,
to remove my footprints,
and incase them, phantoms.

Reality on plump
Green summer leaves
Sits still while time
Rolls on
And the old blue sky
Breathes sudden trills
When enchantment
Is all but gone.

Remember the nights
As if the moon were a friend
Yet age forces
Its craters to part
Remember the skies
With a tear falling dry
Off the hanging cheeks
That were sterling
Works of art.

Hours are but seconds
And days are but moments
And years are all but slots
Of smiles in sunshine
And rain in a long line
Of lives that time forgot.

You dot the i's
and call yourself  
modern day romeo
coming to sweep me off my feet
coming to zap my heart
with lightening bolts
of awareness
awareness of you

Yet you never once
told me a poem
melted my heart with haiku's
or moved me with impossibilities

Never once has it occurred to you
that capulets and montagues don't click
because you always had your way
you're a modern day romeo
full of narcissistic poison
melting off your logic
revealing every chiseled muscle
that you think
will make your Juliets
melt

Oh romeo, romeo
where for art thou?
Show these modern newbies
the ways of articulation
the ways of seducing without the flesh
the ways of making eyes glow

oh romeo,
where for art thou
for the romance
I seek
is long
forgotten

i'm the man drinking coffee alone at the diner who kindly asks you for the time. you reply but you don't even look at me in my eyes.
i'm the lone deer you hit while driving at 3am. you don't even stop the car. you even forgot about it the next day.
i'm the homeless cat you stopped feeding at night. i still meow at your doorstep. you just ignore it.

I almost forgot the way his lips felt against mine, or how his lands left trails of fire on my skin, or how our bodies tangled together perfectly, underneath a pile of blankets in the morning light. Just like the way he laughed, I almost forgot how he would smirk when I caught him looking at me. He is so much more than anyone can see. He is the lyrics that are constantly in his head and the summer nights that make him smile. Everything from his favorite kind of beer, to how he got that scar on his cheek. He might not be important to everyone else, likewise, neither is every little thing about him, but to me, he was my everything. He is my everything. He is everything. and I miss everything.