memory*
n.* the power of the mind to remember things.

i may not be the best psychology student and
i might not understand how something is either
filed into your long term or short term memory,
but i think the entire concept is strange because
i can't even remember what i had for breakfast
this morning, yet i can remember everything
about you.

i thought being an astronaut was something
that only little kids dreamed of becoming,
but i wanted nothing more than that when
i realized that your eyes were planets
and that i could float around in them for
the rest of my life and always be satisfied.

two kids run past me one day in a walmart in
the middle of nowhere and it's eerie because
they are like the ghosts of you and me.
they race shopping carts down the food aisles
and laugh when the employees chase them
and it reminds me of how you knew who you
were and didn't care what anyone else thought
and i can still feel how much i envied that.

sigh no more by mumford & sons comes
on the radio and the only image i can see
is myself, hanging on to the very edge of a
cliff made up of emotions and "i'm sorry's", and
you come into the picture with a heartbeat
so powerful that it causes earthquakes of
anxiety in my brain and you say nothing as
you watch me fall and crumble to the bottom.

i don't know why i can't remember what
i ate for breakfast, but what i do know is
that i would rather have that memory than
suffer with the ones created by the words
you said that rattled my bones and sometimes
i shiver because i can still feel the cold breeze
you left behind from you walked away from me
for the last time.

Narroweyesfeeblemindsthanks,butI'dpreferto beachildleftbehindcrosshairsblankstaresoutofsyncandtimeandmindand­lineconcernedreturnediwishthewindwouldtrytochime.

As if the world were round
he drifts
floats around
no ties
not attatched
even to his body
he's too high
up
above it all
in others' eyes
he seems
unaware that he's all alone
that he isn't cared for,
that the day he dies
will be a day
and nothing more
but he does know
is all too aware
that he isn't loved,
that he is a living ghost
of sorts
kind of an alien, really
it's shocking
to look into his eyes
and see
the tragedy
of one pretending
that they don't care.

there's a map beneath my skin
but the lines point in
all different directions
a slash for the boredom,
a couple for the chaos
follow it to where it splits
and tell me that it's okay
and i'm "just a little sick"
you won't lay in my bed
once you see what
it's like inside my head
so please just
don't wander in at all
cause i'm so *******
sick of helping you find
your way out