he said closing his eyes,
         i feel like a tree clutching the rocks on some high place,
        weary of wind and winter
        and grey of wood.
        my tired fingers in the tired ground.
        heavy of lid and brow,
        remembering too many passings and partings in the dim of
        mornings.  
        and you will think if foolish but for the shrubbery fading
        and the bees not returning in the summer

I tried to draw you but i could never do it justice.
I just couldn't record your perfect sadness.
Nor the smile that wouldn't crack through that day
I couldn't etch this paper with the outlines of your face.
Those outlines i traced a thousand times that night.
with my eyes.
trying to make sense of them.
You told me i couldn't change them.
And somehow i knew it before you spoke.
It weren't that the edges of your face were broken.
They could never be.
Not ones so beautiful as those.
Sure, you have your little imperfections -
your hair falls oddly, sometimes,
the small dot on your nose,
divots around your mouth when you frown-
but i love you with them.
And even think most of them are beautiful.
Though i never could bring myself to like those divots.  . .
I guess because i never liked it when you frowned.
You'd tell me i needed  more than luck to cheer you up,
but that didn't change the way my heart wanted to make you smile.
I can recall only rare occasions when i did not have that desire,
even those were just occasions it was underneath another emotion,
a darker one, a heavier one i'd trade away any day to make you happy.
I knew i loved you that night.
It made me ask some hard questions.
Are we bad for each other?
Should i hate myself for this-
for what i do to her?
Not if you were worth it - but if i could stand it to stick around
but that answer didn't matter,
I'd do it even if i couldn't take it.

“Wow,” I said.

That snarky smile with her newly adorned thick glasses gazed up at me,

gingerly sipping on that grande caramel latte with soy milk and no whipped cream, obviously

“What?” she replied

Staring as her red cup graced the gentlest lips I’ve seen

I was speechless

Even after 17 short months I get like this

Like the first date oh-****-what-do-I-say speechless

How wow is that?

To share your Sunday mornings with

those glasses, that smile, and that **** latte without the slightest of cares

but to enjoy the upcoming breakfast and morning sunshine together

“Nothing,” I smiled

Watching as she returned to her menu deciding which sides to go with her toast

A daunting decision, indeed.

Darkness cannot drive out light
what then happens when i shut my eyes?
when i spin into my head with clouds become sight,
and the whispers in my head are the most convincing lies,
what happens when i say I'm all right
when that's the last thing i could manage to be tonight
what happens when i let the red spring up from my soul and  sheathe down my arm
what happens when i embrace all the things that keep leaving me scarred?
The darkness wins, the light is out of breath,
the shaking, breaking,
leaves eyes leaking,
raw lines raking
my heart deep in me
the darkness drives out the light

i need emptiness for light to fill
so empty me and shine i will

Tonight, and maybe again tomorrow,
i am going to pretend you're a memory
that somehow i could never touch or see you again
(and if i happen to, i'll overlay the sight with both a smile and a frown, maybe a grimace)
(turn quickly away and pretend that i can handle this)

I wonder if she knows how close i have become
to becoming just a memory
to never touching or seeing her again
(if she happens to, understand that I've nearly disappeared)
(laid a blade to my bare skin again a hundred times)
(if only in my mind)

I din't tell you to read my ****
never wanted to make you feel bad for it
split myself opened up blood and veins, transparent on pages
saw you quote song lyrics like they were designed to spit in peoples faces
maybe you meant me, and maybe ya didn't. i aint mad if it wasn't me
but it's ******* for me to fake it and this is where i'm freest to be me,
so if it's here that makes you say
"never underestimate a man's ability to make you feel guilty for his mistakes"
well look in a mirror and don't be like that man who forgets his own face
face it, i'm not the only one who's made mistakes.
I love you, now let's move on from this place,
together,
i hate the silence and the distance
and the slightest semblance, the bleakest resemblance
to what we might have had, or thought we did,
to what we swore to when we said we accepted all the **** that comes with each other
why are we acting  like this when we were almost, maybe, sort of, lovers?
when we're friends,
the rare kind,
that come once,
maybe twice if you're lucky three times
in a lifetime,  
(all different of course)

I am tired.
I am sore.
I miss you.
Let us rest together, if only a moment more. . .

When you ask me how I am doing, I might say I'm doing okay, or fine,
I might reply with an eh, or a meh,
But there's a lot of thought and question when you ask me
Because a lot of the time I don't know what okay means anymore
I might shrug and avoid your question because i don't want to lie
I might hide behind an "i'm making it" or an "i'm doing"
Those usually get me off the hook pretty easily.
What i will not do it tell you that I am fantastic when I am struggling each moment.
I will not lie to you.
So when you ask me how I'm doing, what I say will probably depend on how open i feel that day . It will probably depend on how much i can handle thinking about everything that's going on. How much i can share without breaking down in public. There is a lot that goes into keeping even a sort of smile on this face.
Don't ask unless you care, truly care, and don't judge me until you've been in my place.