i went to the place we first met
to try and make amends with my ghost
not much has been the same since you came around
im missing you terribly
and sometimes i think i can make out the faint noise
of you screaming you love me into the wind
like you did seven months ago
in a field blooming with bugloss flowers
how puerile of me to not realize
that we were surrounded by the flower of lies
i hate anything that reminds me of you
so i guess i hate everything including myself
i see you in the passenger seats of cars on busy highways
and i see you in empty grocery store aisles
i see you in clouds and tv shows
and newspapers and sunlight
and everything else there is to imagine
because youre all i see now
i gave myself to you the first day we met
but you refused to take me
so now my soul is out wandering
these weakly lit streets
people ask why i see so distant
i turn to them and wonder
if they can see the image of you  
kissing me for the first time
in the reflection of my eyes
i also wonder if they can see
the image of me throwing up
and shrieking and sobbing the day you left
im begging someone to fix this absence we created
three months ago when you walked away
i went to the first place we met
to try and make amends with my ghost
but by the time i had arrived it had already moved on
just like you

-m.v.

I cannot simply write a song
For I have lost my melody
I cannot simply move on
From a moment of tragedy

It is like a ghost
Haunting
And haunting
And haunting
Until it possess me
All over again

For a moment
I was back where I started
Then I remembered
How our love never lasted

Young and naive
Is what I'd say
But in another world
Maybe it was true

Everything that happened
To me and you
Maybe it wasn't a mistake
Maybe it was life's way in saying
"Give your heart a break."

I am naïve aren't I?
How could I possibly believe
That you could ever look beyond yourself
To just once
Consider maybe,
Just maybe,
That Everything is not about ye.

i might have become
         h o l l o w
         as the bottles i drank
                       numb
             as my cold fingers
      e m p t y
        as the inbox on my phone
         disoriented
  as how this poem is typewritten

how much more naiveté
do i have to go through
in order to realize
because i know im hurting
yet i dont know how to explain the pain

She faces the sun,

Turns her face straight to its beams,

Letting it wash over her disposition,

Bathing her in naivety,

And she shields her eyes,

With her rose-colored glasses.

Don't break my heart and walk away
Then come back and expect me to welcome you back

Don't think that my heart is your stool (seat)
You can sit on and relax and watch me make a fool (of myself)

You may have run out of your supply and need a naive like me
But don't expect that fools will not grow wise one day
Your behavior's so predictable,  stone blinds shall stare

Pourquoi autant de haine et de
Ignorance chez toi; qui jouas avec mes
Emotions chétives et mes mots en
Redondance, partiellement
Répugnants jusqu'à la perte de leur
E**légance? Cryptique, n’est-ce pas ?

When I was young,
I thought I could control all the problems,
with the love of my heart,
through the sweet words spoken from my tongue,
but I grew up,
after my efforts,
were beaten and broken,
after they were worn and torn,
and here I am sitting,
older than I was before,
younger than I will be after,
trying to absorb and accept,
that things are beyond my control.