To the girl I will never see again,

I didn't even get your name, but I feel so certain it was beautiful.
You were tiny and angelic, but in no way fragile.
You had a smile that lit up the entire concert even when the lights were dim.
I am grateful to have met you, if only for one evening.
You barely came up to my shoulder, and I am in no way tall,
But somehow, you still seemed stronger than anyone else there.
Your makeup was perfect, when I was entirely drenched in other people's sweat.
Every time you could tell I was scared, you pulled me out of the pit.
Whenever a guy was getting a little too close to me, you pulled me away instantaneously.
You made sure if anyone had water, that I got a sip.
You cared, but why?
Why in the world would you have picked me of all people to make sure I was safe all night?
This was both of our favorite bands,
But you made sure I did more than survive the night.
You made sure I was happy the whole way through.
The lights reflected on your bright red hair,
Reminding me why we associate red with love.
I don't believe in love at first sight.
But I believe that you cared about me.
And I don't know why.
But I surely care about you too.
I wish you hadn't have gotten lost in a sea of people during the encore.
I wish I had gotten your name.
I wish I had gotten to know you.
May we cross paths again, my "For One Night Only" friend.

I find joy in my sorrow
Just that I can feel
Anything
At all
At least
I find pleasure in pain

I laugh at my demons
I shout into silence
I cry for my angels
I drown into flames
I shine into darkness

I burn with emotion

I find peace in suffering
Just another test
Everything
At most
I find I overcome

I speak to my ghost
I lean into shadows
I touch without hands
I drown into air
I shine into darkness

I burn with emotion

There is a place
in you
that needs a name
but you're an absolute beginner
at naming things.
Centred in this pathos, I've never known

whether to create stillness or bitter passion.
In this, there is a sacrifice,
something to see through to the end.

The openness I sometimes extract
can break me down.
Is it better
to find a way to say it?
Would it be better to hang for it

or to forget
how the fig is fertilised?
In its sweetness,
to forget
the distaste of undermining friendship.
I have stretched myself into the past.

I have stretched my body
to see the places it could end.
Vein bubbles
from where it started,
wet bloodgasps;
sorry smear of a poem

they write your name next to.
History repeats, all that's left;
neutrality at the cost of
a better passion,
and the count of
how many ribs you have and how many you've lost.

I abuse my fingers
and still expect them to carry me through.
There's always a way
to see trauma as something to crawl into.