Parallel lines tell the story of how you and I never met.

Weeping man
All alone
Reading text
Upon his phone

No eye contact
No face to face
Her distant words
Lacking grace

Flowers dumped
In public vase
Intended ring
Reflects his face

He walks away
To numb the pain
Mixing bourbon
And weak *******

To lap of love
By means of gold
A strangers flesh
He needs to hold

Broken dreams
An empty bed
Missing wallet
Pounding head

Drunken walk
Lacking grace
Finding flowers
In public vase

Weeping man
All alone
Walks the street
Miles from home

To my unfinished poems,
the ones that will never see the light of day.
The ones that sit and pray
To be more than just a fantasy.

I need you to know that I’m sorry.
Sorry for not being brave enough to show you off to the world,
Sorry for not having enough strength to sew you up and make you perfect,
Sorry for not being able to give you enough so you could be just right,
Sorry that I didn’t have the strength to write.

To my unfinished poems,
The smell of coffee and stains of tears
Will always remain on your tattered pages.
The wails in the middle of the night
Of all the strife and plight
That I had to witness with my innocent little eyes.

To my unfinished poems,
Dry up your little eyes,
I know it’s hard to only see the night sky,
To never know the glimmer of light,
To be an incomplete work of art,
But darlings,
Don’t you see,
How even when you’re incomplete,
You’re still so very special to me.

I fell in love with words.
Yours, especially,
imagining them like penciled fonts
with the black tipped crown of an i,
the curves of your tongue as
you uttered blossoms of a promise.

You letters would curl through my mind,
stronger even than the lips
pressed against my forehead
sending me off to sleep,
where I dreamt of the
intricacies hidden behind
the words you'd say.

Pencil fades,
and over time,
so did you.
So instead I was left with
blotted, ****** sheets
as you erased your words
from me.

she is a hostage to her own emotions she is a trainwreck that
causes traffic she is missing in action she is relentless she is insomnia
she is depression she is a 10 paged project that you wait
last minute to start her skin spells out different words that no
one can pronounce, but they ryhme with insecurity and
anorexia her favorite color is a mix between lilac and gray
her favorite flowers are nonexistent because she is the
type of girl to grow flowers where only weeds grow
she is unknown to everyone she meets she is a whisper
among violent storms she is a catastrophe among smiling faces
she is not a metaphor she is not a simile she cannot
be put into words she cannot be broken down into language
if you cut her she will not bleed instead she will cover it up
with a sad smile and the same phrase she always uses: I'm fine
(h.l.)