They say to
write what you know
but I'm just so
sick of
tragedies

you asked me why I smoke
as frequent as I do
but what do you do
to satisfy
a longing
that could never
be expressed?
there are many things
I wish I could tell you
but
I inhale
my
every
intention
to speak

why do most want a
love that is detrimental?
a love that shatters
your teeth
as you try to speak
a love that inflicts
a stream of butterflies
or makes you appear
as if you've had
too much caffeine
by the way your
delicate
being
shakes

I have shaken
and clamped
my tongue this time
to stop the promises
from leaking out
I decline to drink coffee
so you don't believe
I'm quivering with words
unspoken

I decline to mention
that I dream of your face
in the future looking worn
from every obstacle
we have hurdled through
in our years
I decline to mention
every morning that
you're softly breathing sleep
I hold your face
and softly mumble
"mine"
I decline to mention
my excess of
"I love you's"
is caused by an
unshakable longing
to promise a forever.
but why?
why does it seem so
unattainable
why do I reject the thought of
a promise to you
for
something
so
precious?

I am tired of shaking
I am tired of a placebo
I'm tired of over used
empty apologies
I'm tired of reminiscing
remembering
" I will always love you"
"forever"
I am tired of my lovers thoughts
being elsewhere
I am tired
I am worn
my butterflies have turned
into the
ash
I flick
off
my
cigarettes

I used to write novels
for the people in my life  
I've loved until I saw how
empty
others were
while doing the same
I used to whisper "I love you"
and sweet meanings.
I have experienced
the truly empty
of this world
I have loved
the damaged
the angry
the sad
and
the broken

they spoke a hollow shell
of the same words
i purred with meaning
Suddenly
I lost
my appetite
for

forever

I fill myself with people
and beds
and long conversations
and connection
there is a girl
the shallow shell
of who I once was
the half of me
filled with
melancholy
she's always trying
to liven up
and warm
her dull eyes

eating people whole
enjoying until it spoils
why do I always
make
          things
                      spoil
so quickly?  


I recall a story
of a nameless monster
he too
ate people whole
ending up always
needing
more
each person
could not fill
the hunger
of emptiness
but in the end
he ate
his other half

I have realized
you cannot fill your suffering
with people
for they rot
digest into grains of sand
and you end up empty
once again
maybe if I swallow
my sadness I
could be full

maybe sadness isn't cold
maybe it is the only heat
that would hold
these worn bones
maybe it is only cold
until you accept it

maybe then I would look
a little more warm
a little more lively

it's weird to be afraid of yourself,
to be afraid of who you are
i'm always trying to change myself,
make myself that much better

i'm always struggling to see,
who I am or attempting to be
i never seem to figure it out
i always fear, I always doubt
always regretting my regret
blaming others for what I forget
and that's not right
that I'm so god ****** doubtful of my decisions

was that the right thing to say
did I do that the right way
should I go or should I stay
should I throw it all away

these are the questions I'm afraid of
the fact I ask these
the fact I actually answer these
with some dumb decision
that I'm not really sure of
unless it's against me
separating I from we
making myself a victim of imagination
created a home full of confrontation
and the lies I told were the worst
all those bubbles I had to burst
and there is still so much left
i wish I just got up and left

and that's my fear day by day
asking me to throw it all away

w.j.w.k

Heart, please don't give up on me
i'm sorry about my current life style      
but please don't give up on me
i'm sorry about the meaningless girls
i'm sorry haven't been nice to you
but the abuse you take fills the void
that i ignore....

please don't give up on me
please don't give up
please don't
please

w.j.w.k

I use the universe’s etiquette,
our death is simply imminent.

I abuse the fact i’m fine with it,
no use crying about this ****.

but that’s not what I do
that’s not what I do
**** it its true
that’s not what I do

w.j.w.k

The bridge was there,
right in front of me.
I started across,
with out a thought.
Not realizing my fate,
as it changed with every step.

The chasm below was vast and dark,
the bottom never in sight.
I stood in the middle of that ****** bridge,
and saw my foot steps in the snow.
I felt alone as I had ever been,
though I was doing this for her.

The wooden planks creaked,
with obvious warning of my mistake.
I was not listening,
I continued on my way.

At the end of the bridge,
the chasm spoke.
Telling me I must go back,
that I wasn’t ready for what I faced.

She looked at me in reassurance,
promising me I could.
The chasm said I could never cross that bridge again.
I stupidly chuckled and spoke my mind,
though my words were not informed.

She and I did not survive the challenge,
and I was left alone.
I made an attempt to go back,
but all there was was empty space
between two ridges.
That’s when I learned of what the chasm spoke,
telling me not to burn my bridges.

w.j.w.k