She reminds him of his favorite novel; the way
her spine cracks under his fingers
erratic in the notion of love
He swears he has never been so deeply in love
and that the way her eyes light up when she
smiles reminds him of the parts of himself he loves
No more does he avoid the mirrors in his house
ominous of the future she one day tells him
there won’t be one
There isn’t any air for him to breathe
he swears she was the last molecule of
oxygen to pass through his lungs he is
unsure of whether he can
go through a day without writing about her
his fingers bleed all the reasons
there isn’t anything to bring back his smile
Ostracized from her palms, he
forgets the way he laughter could melt his heart
He swallows liquor in an effort to remind himself he isn’t
insane but simply lost amongst a
multitude of fishes in a vast sea
So deep he could never reach the bottom
intricately designed so he is never able to reach the surface
neurotic in his decisions he
curses to the moon , wondering if he will
ever forget about the writing he scrawled onto her body with his finger tips.

shes an alcoholic and I'm just another bottle

I am here alive flustering
in the aroma of abusive fathers
abused mothers
of one night stands with someone’s name
you can’t recall
With a cigarette between my teeth
i remind myself
its to kick a bad habit
you are a bad habit
i’ve felt my skin cells relapse
underneath your touch
I’ve felt them sob in sobriety
often found with a glass in
my grasp i continue to
drink my liver
lucid of any transparency
because there are no
stutters in your stride
and no stammers in your sentences
for christs sake
i hear your laughter echoing in the hallways
my ears are bleeding
and my cup has gone dry darling
i can’t seem to stand
because your goodbye knocked out my knee caps
and this sobriety will **** me if I come back.

I awoke on the brink of love
clinging onto the edge by my fingertips
shouting everything written in the cave that is my mouth
I wonder if she realizes my lungs sometimes forget to operate
when she’s around me
and if she’d give me mouth to mouth
I swear I could die with a smile
she’s a piece of tape you can’t remove
a painting you’ve seen too many times
a incessant humming of availability
but I will not lose my love for the way her spine crack like my favorite novel
or the way she smiles when thinking of things
and I don’t know if she realizes that sometimes
love feels a lot like getting struck like lightning and
this rumbling in my stomach is the uproar
of the heavens
She is my cup of coffee in the morning
and my glass of wine in the evening
I swallow her words
and find myself intoxicated by her affection
she swears that love is only found in books
so I shall fill our stories into composition books to convince her of it later
she doesn’t realize that the way she laughs can be crippling
and my heart is found in a wheelchair when I see someone else make her laugh
she doesn’t realize her beauty
and i wish i could bring her to the edges of the world
captivated by art galleries
swept away by ocean tides
breath taken by the most exhilarating sights
and show her just how much better she is
she is the scotch in my glass
the cigarette in between my fingers
she is the arrow through my chest
and I don’t find smiling as satisfying unless it’s in her company.

The last time I saw her smile
I smelt the turmoil
burdening her shoulders
I tasted the stiff sense of self reliance
and swore the moon swooned at the way her lips curved
Freckles aligning in such a fashion
synonymous with the stars
and I wouldn’t mind piecing together
the constellations on her face if given the chance
Jaw incredulous
surreptitious of individuality
and full of ****
she is archaic for a taste that
won’t leave my mouth
i wouldn’t want her too anyways
if her palms were magnetic
i wouldn’t mind being the tin man
i’d like to record her heart beat
even though I know God is playing it on repeat
I haven’t seen her smile in a while
and I swear the moon sips scotch thinking of it
as if a post card from a time
when the sun would come around for a kiss
or two
she refuses to swallow her pride
shouting obscenities
and she doesn’t realize how much of a different story her eyes will tell
but I will continue to scrawl them onto the walls of my heart
like cave paintings that she will never see
but I can only hope that she
will smile that smile
that I haven’t had the pleasure of basking in for a while now.

With a smile like the oceans tides
she smirks like the seagulls are cawing for her
I don’t doubt they are
with salt in her hair
she shakes herself raws
knuckles tasting like a tsunami
her walls are drowning in her anger
When I tell you her smile is like the oceans tides
they’re practically identical
in the systematic way they seem to come and go
I am constantly in search for her under the bright sun
but she is still trying to find herself at the bottom of a bottle
that she can’t seem to finish
she is convinced the tide refuses her approaches
well what do you say when a person's fingers
reek of millions of years of depth and loneliness
she refuses to stay in my palms for longer than a few moments
and my hands haven’t stopped reeking of salt water and regret
since she slipped between the cracks of my fingers
I wonder if I slipped between the cracks of her heart
or I was never drowning there to begin with
she’s drowning in cigarette burns
she tells me I taste like cigarettes
someone else has been smoking
and I don’t blame her because there is a certain backwash
to saying you’re in love with me
and she’s stuck in the moment of time
where the ocean has swallowed you
and you aren't able to break the surface
her smile is that moment of panic
she is my moment of panic
that refuses to cease
and whether or not I breathe again
it wouldn't be worth it unless it is her oxygen I am inhaling
she clings onto my skin days after seeing her
I can still hear my bedsheets muttering about how
her smile is like the oceans tide
and I am still yet to be found from her shores.

I am stuck in the moment of time when
air refuses to fill my lungs
it feels a lot like drowning
above water
you see these conundrums
fill my palms like loose change
and I can’t seem to drop enough quarters into
the slot machine that is an attempt
at happiness
my smile put in his 2 weeks
8 years ago
and I’m still stuck waiting by the front door for him to come back
I’m still waiting for you to come back
like a postcard from a place I’ve visited too often
but never had the courage to visit a gift shop
I’ve been screaming at the man in the mirror
telling him to put on a ******* smile
like it’s a halloween costume
he is forced to wear everyday of the year
he can’t stand the arthritis on the clock
much too synonymous with his courage
he hasn’t had the ability to stand up to himself
since the day he fell of his bike
and tasted the burnt rubber on the asphalt
he can hear the earth sobbing to him off how the moon
continues to send him mixed signals
I can’t seem to swallow my pride
so I’ll fill up a bottle and sell it to the highest bidder
as if I am a ******* monument
of ‘ ******* it I should have said something’
There are too many suicide notes stuck on my fingertips
and my piano sounds a lot like a stomach full of butterflies
I can’t seem to differentiate between
mourning and morning
since the day I woke up smelling like a graveyard
9 years ago
I am a funeral soliloquy on repeat
and I can’t stand the ******* roses
and the ******* piano playing the butterflies that should have been dead years ago.