I read a lot of poetry,
and there's a someone,
who's always written about.
Her name is "she",
but who could she be?

Who's she?
She's not a he,
she's definitely not me.
There's hundreds, thousands of poems,
about her, how special could she possibly be?

I wonder what she's like,
do you think she'd like it?
The way that my hair curls on the sides?
Maybe she's beautiful,
or maybe just has a sharp wit?

I wonder if she knows how to ride a bike,
or if she could cook pancakes better than I can (somehow)
Truly, I really wonder what she's like.

i'm getting tired of it,
waking up once a day,
feeling dead and forever unpleasant.
i love too much,
i'm not much pride to swallow.
let your roots grow into me,
feel yourself waste away.
we wept, sea between beds,
always but a dream never to be seized,
nothing is forever.

hope i die.
wish i might,
pass to soul,
and move to light.
toss my heart,
please don't cry.
don't give up on me,
before tonight.

quick, hurry up.
If you don't,
People around will try to stop it.
Hurry.
Please.
I say i'm sorry
But then i don't stop.
h e l p   m e   p l e a s e
s e n d   m e   t o   w h e r e   m o s t   p e o p l e
d o n ‘ t   e v e r   t h i n k   o f.

ikeepgettingfurtherandfurtherawayfrommygoals
hurry.
actually,­
F   o   r   g   e   t         i         s   a   i   d         a   n   y   t   h   i   n   g

-
with dark brown eyes,
you searched,
for someone,
for god,
for light.
with deep brown eyes,
you saw me.
in me you found,
cold hallways,
broken tiles,
but never light.

with tired green eyes,
i searched,
for someone,
for warmth,
for you.
with vacant green eyes,
i found nothing.
all i ever wanted,
was nothing.
in you i found,
something.

with boring, sad eyes,
we pondered.
on death,
on love,
on us.

with wide, bright eyes-

we awoke from our own dreams,
in messy sheets far from heaven.
we wept, sea between beds,
feeling dead and forever unpleasant,
from too many words and antidepressants.

a pack a day.
feel yourself waste away,
let your teeth decay,
so you can put your addiction on display.

i'm a weeping willow tree,
a hot cup of black irish tea,
a door-less skeleton key,
i'm an undefined wannabe.
pedantic as can be.