There are things I miss more than I should,
even more things, I would change if I could.
There are things I should do, I just wish I could,
even more things, I wish would happen so life would be all good.
There are things I need in life, that  I will never get,
people that I miss, always will; my only regret.
There are things I need that are precious so I protect,
things I cant understand - but they still make me upset.
There are people I will always love and never forget,
some things never change, so I just pay my respect.

I was once confined in colossal walls
Each corner and path lead to the unknown
Thought of escaping by flying above this cage
On a contraption Daedalus called his own

I saw the end of the labyrinth
The sweet smell of liberation filled the air
I saw another thing-- much brighter, more captivating
To ignore the beauty of Sol, I wouldn't even dare

I knew reaching the sun was pure insanity
I knew I wasn't supposed to go near it
But what was stopping me?
What could get in the way between you and me?

All my efforts flying up were completely wasted
It didn't even take a while to realize
How the wings made of wax quickly melted
Down I go in utter surprise

I used to think that only animals are kept inside cages
Now I know why hearts are confined in them, too
To keep us from listening to the temptations of its sinful desires
Before we realize it all too soon

We should step into the lonely o'clock
To play games beneath the ruptured lamps
Where every drunk can offer an undeniable
Explanation, or convert a lie to invention
And your smile can be heard as an intense myth
Imported in its agitated recognition

I’m tired
tired of trying to be strong
of not being allowed fall
on the ground and cry
for as long as
I need
working and living
with those who are thinking
everything that’s wrong is so right
leaving me to look forward to
alcoholism and depression
in no particular order
the powerless letters I carve glow in inappropriate spaces
withered clouds humming a fluttered contribution to naught
I wear a jacket, once loose and hungry, begging for release
from the corrective lumbering of my contrived conceit
this is not the girl I was looking for but
this is the girl that I found
my tumbledown baby
waiting to drown
beneath my warm butter breath
a half sunken death
of drunken larceny
and all the while I am growing
out of the conventions of relationship
the paper smoothed, green,
drink and drugs exercised
in a push for contaminated revenue
maybe this is why
the coffee tastes like **** today
and all I write are
three white wisps
the smile wiped off a blue faced sky
ignored by the Berghaus couples
matched down to their laces
each distraction disguises the bestiary that is civilisation, ironically splashed upon an earth that, like me,
has no interest, that grows bored waiting
for the next great extinction
the helium has already had enough, every party breath inhaled in jest lost to space forever,
it won't be back could I un-dream it all
I would, in less than the spurt of my heart,
and wrap it all in the bloodied rags of
your disgraceful god

Two bits of cardboard stuck onto each other.
Perfectly fitting, but you unmake me sober.

Three double bends with the bone folder.
A figure of a bird, and his broken cage lying in the corner.

you smell like water boiling
with maybe a teaspoon of salt in it.
like safety, like a prelude to food,
like the reason everyone gathers in a kitchen during a party,
like home. which is cliche and sappy and ultimately true.
my least favorite poems tend to talk about how
cliche they are and how it's true anyway.
it's true I don't know another way to say this.
not yet. i think i'll learn.
there are constellations that you can only see from the other side of the world, that i've never seen.
the southern cross, phoenix, carina.
constellations I've seen over and over again.
orion, cygnus, the pleiades.
I've never seen them in your eyes. I'll never see them in your eyes.
There are still a whole universe of stars behind them.

you painted your nails again. spanish moss, this time.
it's meant to be a signal. an intentional marking of the body,
your (white) body, to say something. say?
the cat scratched your hand up pretty well-
you even bled a little.
there's something pleasing about the pink lines,
dents and pock marks,
knuckles russet where cold air and washing dishes
ripped away. it hurts, just a bit.
you keep your nails short, another signal.
sign in, out, off. signifying nothing?
these things are relative. related to other markers.
relating to who is doing the looking.
you are often curious as to what they see in your hands.
when they look and they don't see you,
despite the careful work you put in,
it hurts, just a bit.

what do you say to the ocean at your door?
lapping at your welcome mat
leaching dye with every push, every pull
slip sliding under the foundation
rendering it sodden. fertile ground
for the mold that you breathe in
with every pull, every push
of salt air entering your lungs.
what is there to be said to the ocean at your door?
there are claims that
making sand castles on the shore together
knowing the tide will come in
is still worthwhile
journey as opposed to product
but this is your home
being eaten away
this is where you live
and the tide is coming in
can you talk to the ocean at your door?*
anymore than you can talk to the ocean
in your mind, eating away at the levees
you worked so *******.
eating away at you.