All these people..
find!
          Me!
i'm too far down the..
                              edge
where they'll catch Me.
But by then
They will see
just how late
they'll
be.

I took a class a few months back,
it taught me how to drive a vehicle,
the extracurricular activity is Driver's Ed.
I listened well, but I wrote better,
and in the notebooks we were given,
I had written poem after poem,
covering all the whitespace.
About notes for later,
and love that was now
(it still is "now"),
this book is full of literature,
but the actual necessary contents
are one hundred percent
illegible literature.

It didn't snow this year
I'm not sad
Just a little numb
And a trifle stunned
The hours pass too swiftly
Pounding past me
On elephant's feet
And it's a shame
That he's spending this evening alone
It's a shame that she
Still thinks we're in love
It's a shame that they
Are drinking with friends
Instead of going to bed
Like they should be

What if I showed you all the poems I wrote
Would you taste the asphalt
I felt
As I sat and scribed
Would you see the graffiti
The street signs, city life
Would it mean anything

Have you ever found yourself
In a burning room
Walls marbled by the heat
Eyes stinging
Lungs shrivelling
Full of a fear
You never thought you’d know
And will you move
Crash out a window
Down onto
The dewy grass
Surrounded by shards
Of broken glass
Staring at the sky
With overcast eyes
As the sirens draw nearer
Until the police come
Or will you stay
Will they be too late
As flames lick up your skin
Will they find a body
The body you left behind
When you looked at all your choices
And decided to die

She could’ve died
Slipped away
Under the surface
While the world sat by

She could’ve died
In a trance
Hypnotized
By the choice she made
A bottle of pills
Sweating in her palm
They say death
Hurts like hell
But I think it’s more like fire

She could’ve died
Just like I did
Buried alone
In a hospital room
IV’s and screaming
Until she couldn’t breathe
They say death
Steals people away
But are you a thief
If I want to be taken

I had such a great thought
but its gone away now,
never to be heard from again.

I hear the tone of a thousand galaxies. Only sweet angels shed whimsical tears

    Some thoughts form bubbles in the mind, and with a pop, they are gone. Prancing further and further from the fingertips of those who wish to comprehend them.

      They still their breaths and try as they might, halt their lungs but thoughts are fickle things that only come when one does not call for them. This mind experiences assorted thoughts, some plunge like rain from the sky, rapidly and frigid, with no notions of passing by.

While others are sweet and delicate murmurs, some thoughts hold nothing but lie full of animosity and self-hatred, there are those few certainties that cling to our senses like moist cloth on heated summer days.

       And there is a singular truth that none can deny. Through these sights, soaring belts of asteroids and the birth of newly hatched nebulas can be seen.

     For these gazes see freshly pickled specks of lights dispersed across the realms and heed the sounds of a thousand galaxies.

And in these galaxies, holds dust and nothingness