adrenaline and alcohol coursing through my veins,
eyes lowered, breathing slowed,
staring at the stage.
fueled by self confidence, or lack thereof,
hands shaking, knees are weak,
tonight I'm in love.
you're here with her but I can't fight it,
lonely girl, attention *****,
habit I can't quit.
kissing her with your hands on me,
bodies sweaty, subtle touching,
risking that she'll see.

I used to be able to sit
And caress soft strings and sing
For hours
Letting my life slip away
by living through the bars and lines
On a page that I would write
And the notes would calm me like the hug from a father
Like a patch covering a gap
So I didn't hurt myself
Because, after all
The ends of the strings were torn and sharp
And I could have cut myself at any time
But these days
Something has changed
And I can't keep my head in the same place for more than
a few bars
Or a few notes
So I can't finish one song
Before another begins

Life is about experience, period.
To be anchored down or lifted up by the cards dealt to us,
Is merely a *choice.

Year one:
An exploration,
Neither of us understand,
Who are we?
Year two:
Drifting,
Apart from each other,
Yet still in sight,
Selfishness creates distance,
We both take flight,
Where are we?
Year three:
Rediscover,
We have no one.
You, you were there,
And I stood by you,
Waiting,
Impatiently waiting,
Furiously waiting,
This won't happen again.
No, it can't.
This time, three years,
Is just too long.
What are we?

I remember our first kiss.
I remember the way my lips moved, the way you made me feel as if I was more than I am,
And I remember the way you surrounded me, embracing me.
I knew you loved me since that day and I loved you back.
Your touches were caresses, you felt like home,
Like I belonged somewhere
And I wasn't alone anymore.
I finally mattered.
I could talk to someone who wanted to listen,
That meant the world to me.
I know I must be annoying my friends with how much I talk about you,
How much I praise you,
But I can't help it.
I've never felt so comfortable or safe with anything in my life.
You are an art, and I love you.
I love to write.

The art of the written word is everything.
Each letter is a tune,
A dance of the pen on paper,
The ink, the mark of a masterpiece.
Your brain connects to the pen
And they become one thing.
Thoughts are words not yet written,
Written words are those not yet spoken,
And whomever can harness both,
Is an artist