It's always like this
We fight, kiss, makeup
Cries from both of our lungs
We **** each other when bodies touch
Like mourn less regret, we say no words
Our understanding lies just under sheets but it never escapes
Like caged words trying to break out of teeth
The only chemistry we have is alone in a dark room
Where no words are said and the only sound is flesh
We love our bodies not our minds
Like brittle flowers that bloom together, roots intertwined
Good night, good morning, a vicious cycle that has no end
But we've killed our fair share of souls
It's time to end this mess

Silver ripples
Crinkle on the lake
Grip the paddles
Echo in the waves

Seattle rains
Fall hard today
But sunlight always
Slips beside the grey

Shine down
Through the clouds and funeral shrouds
Comfort us
Mortal beings on the ground

From the highest peaks
Come crashing through
Silver marble
Dive deep into the blue

I have traced the war torn lips of death
But never the relief of her graceful intimacy
She found me in a bed made up of morphine
With a stomach still regurgitating loss
Her undertone was pitiful and the octave never changed
But she was full of a warm embrace
By the skin of my teeth, I have touched her only on days that consist of threes
The hour of the unholy
The hour that god sleeps
And he plays my preys on repeat
But humanity still hides at the thought of my farewells
They reside between their bones and mourn their probable loss
They hold no flowers of remorse nor confine
But rather weep for their own, still and barely shifting
Leaving me to soak in fears and fright
They hold their lives in such decay, survival fit
And disregard my uncertain departure
In the face of death, many run home to hide beneath their beds
To mourn the loss of a soul not yet left
They fear the loss of their own in simulation
And will not give up preys for reconciliation
Leaving me to throb, to pulse and bleed dry in a bed made of white

When someone dies,
there will always be that ONE person who tells you,
"get over it"
as if the world hadn't stopped as soon as they left.
But what they don't know is the gaping hole in my heart.
The huge absence that was once always there.
Mourning is not just a word,
it's a practice.
Each time, we get a little better.
But tears still end up winding their way down our cheeks.
Each time, it brings a pain not felt last time.
Each time, bringing regrets and taunts because there was just something we did or didn't do.
But if you truly have the audacity  to tell me to get over it,
well,
let me tell you that the person I mourn for,
will not be coming back any time soon.
And when you open your mouth to speak,
you open your heart for all attacks aimed right towards you.
I will not stop crying so you can stop hearing me.
No.
Because my tears are life,
and they bloom to show that I am a human.
You cannot define me by something,
if you have felt it for yourself.
Who can say,
they've never lost a thing?
Because I can count one.
You lost respect
from ME

I mourn not for the silent voices
whom hide behind practiced smiles,
but rather for the weeping authors
of anonymous autobiographies
where pages smudge and smear
by worn, overused erasers.

Today,
is 4/6/16.
It is 7:46 pm.
And my childhood friend
just died
41 minutes ago.
No lie,
no joke.
I cry as I write this one,
my eyes are probably swollen,
and I know
he wouldn't want me to cry.
But,
I look at the pictures I have of him,
how he seemed so happy.
I held him in my arms,
just hoping he'd eat something,
at 5:10 pm today.
He hadn't been eating for days,
he couldn't stand up.
My friend's name was scooter.
Scooter was the best pet I could have asked for.
He was the main attraction at my home,
because he was a pig.
Such a lovable pig.
He was just like a dog, but better.
That pig could make me smile any day.
He used to dance.
He used to oink so cutely.
I am gonna miss him for sure.
I just know it.
With that, I end this one.
With tears in my eyes,
I wish you a final goodbye.
I will always love you, buddy.
R.I.P
my dear, dear scooter.

the day she died,
I felt the absence.
The second she pulled the trigger,
i fell to the ground.
She was my inspiration.
She rose above drugs, and alcohol
by the age of 15.
By the time she met me,
she had gone through more than most will in their life time.
She gave up.
She let go of her life.
And for that, I mourn.
But I rejoice to her life,
and what she did,
who she was.
I wish she was still here,
maybe I could've met her unborn children
and become the best uncle ever.
But I know she was in pain.
I give her credit for the hell she conquered.
So I say now,
I cant wait to see you again,
someday

I do not mourn a dead shell
Nor grieve for lost words
I mourn something that lived
that now lives in our thoughts

I do not mourn a lost soul
Nor one that's in "the other side"
I grieve for the living memories
The ones that still live inside

I do not mourn a dead shell
Nor something left behind
'Cuz what lived can go on
In the stillness of my mind