Officially,
the calendar now marks
that it's been over a year
since I've last had your taste.
I should be proud
of myself
- and I am -
but more so, I am
surrounded by frustration.

I cannot write code like I used to.
Neither can I
find the words to write poetry
like I used to.
With you,
my creativity and passion
came effortlessly:
like turning on a tap
from which the essence
flowed,
whenever I took
my next hit.

Now, it's been
over a year from you;
and the passion from which
you robbed me of
is starting to come back.

I refuse to let
my memories of you
taint
that which I love.

My subdued passion
for programming,
video games,
and literature
shall not be dull forever.

With every new moon
that passes,
the fog in the mirror
continues to fade,
as my reflection
becomes clear.

And with it,
I feel (more than anything)
the ambition
that which you stole from me
ever-so-slowly return.

I so desperately
searched for my soul
while in your grasp.
Clouded by your embrace,
I lost myself,
and saw only the image you painted
in the mirror.

In time I will find myself again.
Fully.

One year clean
is something to celebrate.

To this day, I don’t know
If what I really wanted was to leave and just let go
Or if I was just scared of the speed of the flow
What feels like yesterday, is a million years ago
I wonder if I’m just a coward
People always saw me as strong and hard
But now, I’m crying alone in the dark
Maybe, I’m just human or maybe just a fraud

Outside, I’m an unbreakable wall
No words, no stones could ever make me fall
But that’s just what they saw
Inside, the pain has taken it’s toll

The cuts I have is not seen with the eyes
It’s buried deep in my chest, cold as ice
I chisel them out of the cold when I write
It’s messed up I know, but it’s my vice

No matter what you think, I don’t care
Because emptiness is something I can’t bear
I’d rather be hurt and pay the fare
It makes me feel alive, I swear

You were late.
So late that I had given up on you
but when I first saw you extinguishing a smoke in the struggling grass
I knew it was you
and I called your name
and this was my first glimpse of you,
fumbling to hide your vices,
hair springing around your face
like a thousand little Slinkies
yearning to get free.

You were late.
So late that I had given up on you
on the 7th floor of a hospital,
my first hospital,
we sat outside and fumbled with our vices
and you told me it was over,
two kids ****** into the murky pond of
ADULT ISSUES,
neither one of us did our job very well
and all my fellow patients kept telling me how pretty you were that night.

You were late.
At 21 you were too late to save me
but I never gave up on you.
Forgiveness is an unfaithful mistress
and I look back and sigh,
remembering the ease with which I hated you.

You are late.
I am still waiting.
I am waiting.

Too many paths where the traffic has slowed,
Too many wrong turns down forks in the road.
Too many hazards where I’ve blown a flat,
Too many stops that I didn’t know I was at.
Too many false steps into a puddle,
Too many treks where my plan was a muddle.
Too many times I was lost in the rain,
Too many times I crossed the center lane.
Too many speeds where I needed to brake,
Too many wrong places reached by mistake.
Too many spin outs from driving on ice,
Too many times I left driven by vice.
Too many trips life put me at the wheel,
Too many heartbreaks I caused her to feel.

i. let the flower crumble in my hands
my hand moved of its own violation
no petals just fine powder
ill make a new lipstick to wear

ii. i take my coffee with chocolate now
my hard liquor with water
down my wine like a shot

iv. these festering bugs are my halo
muddy feet to mark the path to avoid
good nights rest in a cesspool

iii. jaw popping like a *****’s gone lose
if i cut my tongue off today
i know it'll grow back twice as long

v. red in my pocket and it's not even blood

**** and alcohol are there
They keep me stabilized
No one knows

It’s my vice right now
I’m drunk writing this
Slurring my words

I may seem fine externally
Internally I’m screaming
I got to pretend

You can’t know how I feel
You won’t let me drink
But it really helps

Maybe that’s bad
But to me it feels amazing
You don’t understand

Just let me have this
At least until I get help
Maybe I’ll get better

I know his doesn’t make sense
It was just a rant
**** it, I don’t care

It hides in the spaces between
every adjective I spit out
like milk that’s gone bad,
patiently waiting
to lace its fingers around
the back of my neck
and pull me closer with
its newest allure
cigarette breath,
kiss me to death.

Nestled as a punchline,
after every minor inconvenience
like accidentally running out of gas
or driving past my old place
and knowing
someone else
lives there now.

Showing up
when least expected;
I find leftover bits of it,
stuck to me indefinitely,
like forgotten electrodes
glued to my body
I peel them off
one by one
but somehow
there’s always more.