I am here.  You stand there.
we are two, and yet we're one.
our bodies separate, minds together.
We're growing close. Our voices
collide
enchanted breaths of hopefullness
throw your fears aside.

Ernest, *you  are the embodiment
of every melancholic song,
playing in the rooms of aching souls
with broken hearts.

You are the dark sky
that the sun has abandoned;
the wrinkled and weathered body
that youth forgot.

Despondently, you sit,
Day-after-day,
in that beige, aged lounge chair--
(which just like you, has seen better days)
rising from the dead,
only to scowl
about the ways in which your body has
failed you.

"Six months to live."
"Six months to live."
"Six months to live."

Six months to live*
but you're already gone
and I
can’t
bring
you
back.

Everyone I've only been home for about 4 weeks and already I feel myself failing.
I am trying everyday, I try and I try. But I feel my will slowly fading
It's different  being back here where I have no support meetings and daily check ups
It's different, and I ******* hate this all of it
I want to give up but I know, I know I just can't
Not for anyone else, but for myself.

I miss me.
I miss Emma, and I'm scared that she'll never come back. That she'll never be the same

Today I ate a slice of pizza, some granola, and filled up on water. Even then I wanted to *****. I wanted to let it all go, the pain, the suffering, the fear.
I don't want to be so negative but it's a ******* disease, bulimia is one hell of a sickness. One that I might just rot away in

*I want to be held and loved. I want to be happy and free. I want my life back everyone

And when we argue and fight, all I know is love
When I'm not your priority, all I know is love
When you're smiling and I'm dialing, all I know is love
When you're crying and I'm fuming, all I know is love

Please don't teach my heart to hate
Even when this strong feeling begins to abate
I'll just hope time is on my side and love won't be late
All alone in my somber coldness, I'll have to wait

And when I don't fit the description of a perfect lover, all I know is love
And when my inadequacies are all you see, all I know is love
When there's another heart filling you up in the dark, all I know is love
When you don't have time to see me, all I know is love

Please don't teach my heart to hate
Even when this strong feeling begins to abate
I'll just hope time is on my side and love won't be late
All alone in my somber coldness, I'll have to wait

When I cannot be there to share the care and long stares, all I feel is love
When I cannot kiss you, other lips should bruise you and if that kiss does confuse you, all I still feel is love
Even when your youth leads you to selfishness and contains you in your pride, I'm proud to still love you
And when I cannot afford to purchase threads to keep you warm or jewels to decorate your glamour, My heart is still yours as a treasure...

Please don't teach my heart to hate
Even when this strong feeling begins to abate
I'll just hope time is on my side and love won't be late
All alone in my somber coldness, I'll have to wait

And when there's nothing left to give, I'll wish you happiness I cannot seed
And when my actions of affection are forgotten, may the fading picture fly to the stars, where the moon will manufacture a new chance
And when I am not the lover you dreamed of, I hope leaving you will pave the way for your true King's kingdom.

a searching universe
continued cries
evil kisses upon lies

worried people
missing secrets
the town is suddenly screaming

admist the chaos
wrapped in longing
a boy and his repeated demons
faded and stained
all but the same
darling bleed and release

She doesn't know you but she could tell you your favorite song because she says it reminds her of the backs of your hands, younger than how they would seem and are much wiser than her. You've never spoke but your voice is her favorite song. Continuously playing in the back of her mind like a broken record you don’t want to turn off. She too is a broken record of your name, yet she cannot remember what it is. Like its resting on the tip of her lips, I imagine her, resting on the edge of yours. She tries to write poems, about how you make her feel weak at the knees. Frustrated, she tells me that she can’t write your perfection. It is endless and effortless and compares to nothing, after this she often contradicts herself by comparing you to the brightest stars and the vastness of space. He is all of me, she says. She knows you better in her dreams than she knows her own mother who doesn't know of the love she has given. She knows you’ll love her because she’s the sort of person who steps on every crack and reads obscure books with strange names. You’ll love her because she’s pretty and ambitious and astute and charming. She is endless and effortless and compares to nothing, you will often contradict this by comparing her to the brightest stars and the vastness of space. She will be all of you. She will rest on the edge of your lips and you will love her as she does you. As I love her.

I have spent most of my twenties,
living out of suitcases and shacking up with
madmen.

A gypsy, on an eternal search
for four walls,
that smell of
fresh paint.
And a warm body--- to press against mine,
if only (and usually)
temporarily.

As the months pass by in my
fancy, new cage---
I become restless, stifled and stagnant.

I’m a like a leaf on a branch,
waiting to blow
aimlessly in the wind
and a footprint,
waiting to embed itself into the soil
of places
I haven’t yet walked.

I am a pair of eyes
waiting to penetrate their gaze,
onto the symmetrical features,
of foreign faces,
I haven’t yet seen.

I am a nomad,
who cannot grasp,
the conception of home.
All I know how to do
is pack my bags
and
          keep
                         moving.