I can't think of titles to these mindless poems anymore because this stream of consciousness isn't poetic it's just ugly and I want to say that I'm not in love but boy would I be lying if I said that because when his hands longer on my waist for longer than they need to and his face gets close to mine I swear to god I can feel my heart pound faster than it ever has and rationality jumps out the window along with all the walls built and if I told you I didn't miss him I'd be lying again because all I want to do is see him and he's all I think about and I want it to stop but it's the best feeling I've ever known and I'm willing to risk it all for him because he makes me feel safer than I've ever felt before and the comfort I've been searching for I've finally seemed to find wrapped in his arms and near his heart

I don't want this to end and if the world can reset at exactly midnight and turn all the numbers and mistakes of the day to a fresh start of zero I can reset everyday and start it with him because it's only then I know it'll be okay

the way you say my name has become my favourite melody

my voice saying yours becomes the chorus

maybe that's the thing nobody taught me about love...it fades

i'm stuck between needing rest and never being able to sleep, and i scan the ceiling for some kind of answer from you but you aren't here and you can't help me and i hope that somewhere between the sips of beer or the air of cigarettes you ask yourself what you're doing and find an answer because i don't think i'll find one anytime soon

You wanna know what hurts me more than crying myself to sleep
because I think I'll never be good enough?

Knowing that when he talks he says no one loves him, when I
have told him repeatedly that I do.

But maybe he's right -- after all, I'd consider myself no one, too.

it's 1am and i don't know what to do with myself anymore
as i sit here on my couch listening to the same song on repeat that makes me think of you
and i'm desperately grasping the air in an attempt to reach out to you
but i keep forgetting that you aren't there and never will be.

it's 1am and all i want is you, and i want the butterflies you gave me to fill every lining
of my veins and stomach again like they used to, but they aren't coming back and i know
why.

it's 1am and that cage of a heart i have is no longer fluttering but instead hanging
dead still in my chest, and i just hope that i will not do anything stupid to provoke it
to swing in any which direction because right now no swinging is best of all.

when your heart stops swinging, when the bird stops singing, there is a sort of comfort.

it's 1 am and i have become comfortably numb.

I'm so in love it hurts

I'm in love like I've never been before and it's like I'm on top of the highest mountain and even though my breathing is scarce and oxygen almost ceases to flow the view is amazing and I want to stay up here forever

I'm so in love I wish I could be with him forever, with him and coffee and pancakes and Sunday mornings and rain and jokes and memories

I wish I could see him whenever I want to and I wish I could hold him and never let go because letting go means saying goodbye and goodbyes **** me every time

I'm so in love I'm no longer scared, I just want him and everything he has to offer and I want to have the best two months of my life because he needs it and I need it

I'm so in love I involuntarily say "we" because it is we now, and I don't want to change that anymore

It's 5 o'clock and my world seems bleak once again, surrounded by the same ecompassing shade of remorse that it was last year

It's five oclock and I think I've remembered the art of despising myself but most importantly someone else too because sometimes I forget good enough isn't possible

It's five o'clock and the shadows surrounding my room are that familiar kind of inviting - the kind that doesn't need make up and cheekbones and ediquette and good grades

It's five o'clock and I just want a ******* break for once in my life

I                                                                                                                        You



                                                     ­         want



her.                                                         ­                                                          you.

Искам да си тръгна от тука

i've been stuck staring at my computer for approximately ten minutes telling myself i need to write but the words aren't coming onto the keyboard as fast as my brain thought they could

i'm being pulled in ten directions, my brain never ceases to think, think think think about time about distance about love about hate about depression about being shattered about how he can glue me back together about how two broken things don't make a whole about how nothing is going to change and everything is going to change about fear about happiness about trust about hate about hate about love about fear

i can't stop thinking and hoping i'll see the **** message pop up on my screen that says i understand how you feel i feel it too i don't know what's going on but i think i'm okay with it

but the way my heart is beating as i write this indicates that the doubt in me is larger than the amount of thinking i've been doing and lately i've realized being a pessimist and being a realist is the same thing and i don't know how to break that to even myself

there are moments when i think i want you more than i want hot chocolate on a cold winters day or a nice book to read and warm tea when its raining out. moments i think i want you more than seeing my favourite band live, moments that seem so tangible i could almost grab them out of my mind and form them into something real. there are moments that i feel like i need you or your comfort more than i need the clothes on my back, more than i need the shelter on my head. there are moments when my chest begins to tighten and my lungs begin to close, moments where i think that i can't breath, moments where i wonder how i havent died yet. there are moments when i begin to fill my head with dreams higher in the clouds than the airplane we flew on goes, moments when i feel like i need him more than the soil needs water. there are moments where i realize how lonely i am and how sad i am because of it, moments where i realize that everything i want is too elaborate in my own mind, that the plot line of this fails every time because it is already written in my head and erased in yours.

there are moments where i sway from love to hate, from happiness to tears. but i read somewhere that means that you really love someone; someone who makes you experience that. and i think about that a lot.

At the beginning of every relationship and every new love or old love renewed, it's hard to accept that you'll never be their reality. It's hard to accept that life isn't like the movies and that the pretty girl can't get what she wants this time because she has love to compete with. It's hard to accept that sometimes memories rush through your head at the speed of water rushing down niagra falls but you have to learn how to either accept it or not give a **** about it anymore because those people aren't going to pick up the broken pieces of your own puzzle and put you back together again. They'll look at the picture on the box and decide that the pieces are already assembled, without opening the box itself. That's just the way it is.

my heart is an open wound that internally bleeds under the skin of my chest
and you are the acid poured into it

it burns knowing that i am not the one that makes you smile that way, not the one you get ready for, not the person you would drop every engagement you have with in order to be with

it burns through the muscle and into my veins, it makes them boil the way that you talk about her with a look in your eyes i know all too well

my veins melt away and seep through the atoms holding together a broken and pathetic excuse for a girl with too many emotions and too little rational, too much heart and such few brains, a girl who never understood mind over matter

maybe i don't understand it because your acid seems to work its way to my mind and cause it to explode in an array of emotions that spatter words across a computer screen

your acid makes me gasp for carbon dioxide, makes me crave self hatred, makes me vulnerable

it has created a beautiful intoxication of ignorance and denial, an extraordinary composition of atoms that seems to combine in the way we learn in science classes

and they **e x p l o d e

Are you okay? you ask with that sympathetic look in your eyes,
god the way you look up kills me.

You look so sincere, what am i supposed to say? i'm not okay?
i'm sorry, that's not the game i play.

I care about you to the moon and back, i'm your "best friend," remember? and
best friends don't talk to each other in any other way, they don't cause
pain and confusion. they should always be there, and i guess ill always be here
because i tried not being here and it doesn't work.

I like rolling the dice and feeling the exhilarating rush of whatever chance may
come, but i just can't roll the dice with your name on it anymore. god, did
you know i ******* look forward to you everyday?

I've realized today, under swollen eyes from more tears shed by you
than you should ever have to know,

                                   I've become the princess of pretending.

let me tell you something about regret

let me tell you something about being saturated with your thoughts, about being completely above your thresh hold of absorption and trying to desperately figure out how you can get out of it

it's a delicate game between i hope he gets it and he never does, a fine line between texting him at 1am trying to apologize for what you've been doing wrong and realizing he's just a boy and he can't handle that

we cling unflinchingly to the memories of our past until eventually we are tunnel visioned by them, unable to move forward because they are the quicksand in our mind forcing us to stay

and let me tell you about trying to do texts at midnight drunk on the absence of sleep telling them that they surely understand, trying to get closure to the fact that no you are not the only one who feels like this, he feels it too, but it will always be about someone else  

and i could give you countless essays on replaying images of their tears, on wishing that you were never in a ******* hotel corridor spilling your heart out to stain your dress with red memories, red red dark red memories that will always stay there

or the time, perhaps, when you were not freezing because he was there next to you to heat you, because the sound that escaped his speakers were melodies that comforted the both of you through the tidal waves of something larger than you and something able to engulf you with a single blow

but let me tell you how it all ends, how you think you can never go back to the feeling of mistakes when you aren't making any, when you're stuck alone in this big world without talking to anyone because it only causes trouble doesn't it? but it always swings back around and there isn't a cure for it

i could write a million and one essays explaining how i have felt the past two years of my life, how from the moment my thighs were frailer than my wrists to the moment i couldn't fit back into my favourite pair of pants, from the time i first saw all of their brown eyes to the time i last saw them, from the awkward moments in the hall that are filled with void and anger and tension to the moments when i would beg to see them again for just a little bit more, but i have realized that i can never make you get it

the only way to get it is to experience it, and for those of you who understand what i'm talking about, try to get some sleep tonight, try to keep the memories out of your dreams

It's almost 1am and all I want to do is continue talking to you and whatever you have planned in that confusing head of yours.

It's almost 1am and all I can think about is the prospect of you and being with you and understanding what I've been missing and what you've been missing.

It's almost 1am and all the engulfs me is excitement and fear that this is wrong but right and exhilarating and it takes me onto it's wings and soars me through infinite spaces of the sky with the wind hitting my face as a warm friend and not a cold stranger.

It's almost 1am and I know I should sleep and you should too and you're probably awake like me and it's so hard not to pick up my phone again.

Not to pick up and tell you how late it is and how stupid I'm being just to hear you admit you're being stupid too.

the look in your eyes is poetry enough because when I see them I don't see beauty or the galaxy but a lack of sleep and a constant desire

when your hands hold me I feel electrified, I feel like you're an open flame and I'm getting burned with every touch but if that's what burning alive feels like then I am no longer afraid to die

when you whisper in my ear you push away my hair and my neck already moved up, a constant muscle memory forming between your lips and the space rift under my right ear

when you roll your head back and drop the cigarette you make me feel like a queen because ****** nicotine cannot be better than this and your actions show it and I want to be the replacement for nicotine as long as we're together because that **** will **** you and I don't want you to die right now

**** baby I love you, but it's a new kind of love - it's a drop clothes stark naked kind of love, it's an animal love, it's a hand prints on body kind of love, it's a first we strip then we cuddle kind of love, it's a passionate kind of love, it's an I'll act like a child just so I can tease you kind of love, it's a I want to show the world you're mine kind of love,  it's the kind of love that is going to k i l l  m e

I don't think my heart can shatter anymore onto that cold ground you have left for it
to fall. Instead, I think my heart will melt into the fire of my soul that still burns for you
and every aspect of you.

When I think about everything that has happened my hands become numb and my heart
sinks inside my rib cage a little, and I have to hold back tears that I don't understand. I wish
that things were how they were a couple of months ago, when the leaves were red and
the sun was out, but the cold winter months have replaced any warmth that the world may
provide.

Now I am fueled by a fire within my heart to keep on going, but I do not understand why
this fire is not extinguished. Something keeps feeding hope into the pit and causing it
to burn still, but it cannot be me, for I see no hope. I see no hope yet I am not ready to
let go.

As the days go by and whatever it may be that is eating away at me continues, I stand here
and watch as my heart melts inside my chest. Your eyes, your words, your presence is
causing my vessels to boil. A hole is forming on my chest and I wish I could patch it but
haven't you been told? The store is fresh out of medicine.

Perhaps the worst part about making a decision is that you cannot anticipate how you're going to feel the next day.

And perhaps the worst way to feel is to feel remorse, to feel like you are mourning the death of sometbing you could have prevented.

This is an open apology to all of those people that do not know what to do anymore but have problems keep reoccurring in their lives.

This is an open apology to a boy who all I've ever done is hurt, because even though he's hurt me he's been here for me. I cannot say the same.

This is an open apology on behalf of my defence mechanism, I'm sorry my walls keep going up and I always want to end things with a bang. I'm sorry when I'm mad I ignore you. I'm not a perfect human being.

This is an open apology for the tears I have shed for you and in front of you. You shouldn't have to deal with that; no one should. I should've kept to myself and I didn't and I'm sorry.

I'm sorry for all the pain and confusion I've caused you. I'm sorry I ****** up. And I'm sorry that I can't control how I feel and I can't turn my heart off. Because it's times like these I really wish I could.

Dear you,

God, falling in love with him was a breeze wasn't it? At first it was a smile and a laugh, but soon it was hands and feet intertwined, and before you knew it you'd fallen harder for him than anyone before

At first the late night thoughts don't scare you - they are premature, eager thoughts about when he's going to call you and where your next day will be, when will he kiss you and does he even like you the same way

It seems like every cloud has a silver lining, but please don't forget about the rain, because it can make the silver melt under the weight of every drop

It'll sting and you have to keep away, wear that raincoat everyday and tell yourself you will make it out okay, grab onto his heart harder than ever before and hope that if you fight for it you will win

But here's the thing: nature is nature

If it's meant to rain, baby don't fight it / go with the flow, follow to ebb and tide to the edge of the world and jump off into a galaxy completely your own, forget about everytime he hurt you with another cancellation, another ignoring session, another ******* comment

Float above the stars in a world that is only built for you, without him and without her and without them, because it'll be the only thing that saves you from the nightmares you're having and the daydreams that are becoming worse and worse through every text

False promises and dark lies are his speciality...let the mysterious ways of the world be yours

Flip your hair, wear your cute dress, and catch another eye, because even if he doesn't notice it anymore, ****** you're still worth all of it

I think I have finally found the culprit, the reason why we cannot let go as easily as we would like, why we romanticize the past, why we look into the mirror and wish we could rewind time. It goes by the name of sentimentality.

A slip of the memory and you're back to where you started from, your thoughts. Granted, thinking the past is better than it was is something even your most esteemed writers are guilty of. But perhaps our problem lies in the fact that we put too much human in humanity, too much sentiment into sentimentality. If we take it drip by drip, instead of one full shot, maybe we can detach ourselves like we've always wanted. But...perhaps not. I cannot look at a single star in my dreams without thinking that it isn't real because I would remember those moments, wouldn't I? And he cannot go a day without looking into the bottom of his glass remembering it was the same one she drank from, the same mirror she looked in, the same bed she slept in.

We cling for words hoping they will be enough but really nothing can ever fill the excessive emotion we put into our hearts, no words, no lyrics, no poems, no Christmas trees, no lights in your room, no fuzzy socks, no cocoa, no snow, not even an airplane ticket. What can help us is love, but what destroys is love, and we get thrown into a backwards whirlpool of thoughts until eventually we become sentimental to either the past, the present, or even the future. We either loath it or we reminisce or we cry but we never, never march up to the things, even the people, that we miss and say "excuse me, you ruined my life." Or, "excuse me, I wish I could erase your memory" or "excuse me" or even "***** you."

If you take the square root of sentimentality, at least in my life, somewhere along the way you will get falling for him, winter storms, and perfume. You'll find me walking down the road thinking that things can not get any better, or can not get any worse. Something tells me I'll find someone else there too, and I'll find summer weather or the leaves in the fall or starbucks drinks or that bar where you two met or a glove that you gave back to her or a text message that began it all. But I think the most important thing I'll get is humanity. Because for everyone walking on that path to sentimentality, they are all human. And we can't change human nature, can we?

this is not a conventional poem, but it isn't meant for anyone's approval anyways.

this poem is what i'd like to call a soliloquy for one, one describing someone that means a lot to me.

first off, i would like to say that it's 11 and whatever i write from here on out will probably sound like gibberish. second off, this will probably be ****** compared to a five page essay of positive attributes she sees in me that i dont see in myself, but here goes nothing.

honestly, i dont know where to start. i'm terrible with words; terrible with writing how i feel when asked to do it directly. i have pushed back this task for a long time now because of exams, but the time has come and i can't think of any other time to do this. if you're reading this (yeah, you know who you are) sorry that i couldn't say this directly. a surprise is always nice

well, she's the sweetest person you'll ever meet. i don't mean sweet like symphony music on a summer's day; i mean sweet like bulgarian watermelons or cocoa, skim milk, and hazelnuts combined in a jar of nutella. i mean sweet like always has your back, always is there to smile with you and sometimes for you when you need it most.

she also reminds me of the sun. i know in her eyes she'll tell you, and tell you honestly from her own opinion, she reminds herself of the clouds that form on top of a town before it rains. she'll tell you she reminds you of someone who's broken. i'm not here to preach her being put into pieces again, because trust me she is broken. but, she's the beautiful kind of broken. she's that mirror that breaks, whose shards reflect in the sun and make a rainbow. she is the sun, shining every single day, if not to anyone else she is to me. her smile, her genuine smile and her "**** finger legs" are enough to make even the grouchiest man let out a relentless chuckle.

inevitable beauty comes from the sun. so it only makes sense that she's beautiful. i already mentioned her smile, but then there's her personality, her stamina, her charisma, her diligence, her kindness, everything. it's a package of perfect atoms combined to form the perfectly imperfect human. she is always there for me; i dont think theres a time she wasnt. and she will always be there for me, and i dont even need reassurance on that. and that's beautiful -- it's a beautiful thing. she's beautiful with all the scars on her heart and her sarcastic and sassy humor when she's done with the world; she's beautiful with her empty eyes and her lack of sleep. just absolutely beautiful.

memories? oh god. where do i start. well, one time we walked outside and it started pouring rain. the weather gods normally hate us, but that day it was buckets of water thrown at these two in particular girls kind of hate. we've talked to six hours downstairs multiple times, gotten weird looks, smiled with a face full of lies a lot. a lot of people think we're sisters, and what i don't tell her is that i'm honored that people would ever think that. if you ask me, i feel unworthy. there were also the walks we had during the winter, that were completely therapeutic. it was snowing outside and we would casually walk out there braving the flakes that were warmer than what we felt. and when it was too cold outside, we would walk laps in the garage. really, it's like we were unstoppable. she waits for me every single day (who would do that; waste their time just to accompany a friend home?) she's listened to every single time ive complained about something -- and for that i can't ever repay her. she's one of the very few who havent left me, one of the only people that has picked me back up. and she is the only person that has kept me up after that.

when im with her and i cry when she does, i cry because she does. i cry because i cannot imagine someone could make her feel that way; cant imagine someone would ever contemplate making her feel that way (*******.) she is so incredibly creative, the metaphors she writes are so strong i feel them pop out of the page and grab my chest to pull me inward more emotionally. my heart beats the rhythm her stories flow. her words are so well chosen with her eyes looking up in her imagination and not the screen that sometimes i wonder how a human can come up with a summary of the human condition in three pages. and she's empathetic -- she does not just get it...she gets it. she understands everything i go through, and i likewise her.

sister. do you just let go of your sister? do people just let their sisters stop being their sisters after a while? no. and i will never do that either. why? because she means more than the world to me. she means the galaxy, city lights, memories of songs, memories of garages and rain and nutella and records and knowing its over and latching on to people and 19th nervous breakdowns. she is literally a part of me; a part i cant let go. and i will never let her go.

never seems like an awfully long time -- it seems like forever. forever seems scary but not for me and not for this. i will forever cherish you. i don't even know if you're reading this and i'm near you or not, but that doesnt matter to me. i just wanted you to know, no matter when in the day you do.

i love you, girl. more than so many things in my life. i wont let you fade into the background of my mind or memories. i wont let you gather dust and draw pictures in the dirt in the back of my mind. you're front and center, chief of staff of my sanity, and i wont do that.

thanks for putting up with my ****.

love, sos

never did i believe that the biggest compliment
that would ever leave my lips for you
was the image that i created of you and who i thought
you were

and honestly, i think that might be the biggest compliment
anyone's ever given you

i painted you as someone who could cure every broken part of me
but in reality you are ignorant of this broken side, and ignorant of the
true pain of sadness - of complete loneliness

and in your ignorance you found a way to get under
my skin and remind me that i am a human and i have
emotions

you found a way to remind me of the flaws that i
cannot forget no matter how hard i try

and i dont know if i can forgive you for that.

Here's to those nights that feel too off to be apart of you, but too you to be somebody else's
Here's to the broken dreams and the tears and the "I'll get over him this time"'s
Here's to the silent reminiscing of a mind we cannot control
Here's to all those things they didn't tell you just so you would enjoy growing up
Here's to the times you sprayed on perfume just for him
And here's to the times you would come home and want to scrub every smell that reminded you of him off
Here's a toast to the good times and the bad, to the wasted nights full of wonder, and to the cabinets full of fortunes that never come true

we tell each other the things we want to hear because we're too afraid to hear the things we want to tell

You may think I'm crazy,
but I find it one of my only talents to look at something mangled and torn
and to find a sort of beauty in it.

You look at a corpse and say what vulgarity, but I say what peace.
They have finally escaped this game of a thing we call life, and are
free to have a silent mind.

Insanity is darkness's best friend.

You see, when you die you go back into the earth
unless you are preserved in a room full of cold tools designed
to dissect you - cells trying to understand cells:
competition exists even in the most minuscule forms.

There is no beauty to that. There is scarcely beauty in the human race
except in the faces that are forced to smile everyday against their will
and in the hard determination of hearts that want to give up.

I find beauty in the broken ones. I find beauty in the soil covering
back the flesh that it has created in contagion with the stars above
and the universe held together by the small particles that make up
who I am.

Don't tell me that a girl crying herself to sleep is not beautiful,
don't tell me that a boy crying in a hall is not beautiful, do not tell me
that these are ugly people and that bags under their eyes are just another
sign of weakness; because really, the bags under their eyes are large
spheres of purple designed to tell the story of late night thoughts and
struggles -- the bags, the stretch marks, the scars, the tears, the dripping
mascara, the screams, the gasping for air

They are there to remind us of the effects of sadness -- and in that way,
of beauty. Don't you see? They form the masterpiece which some of us
call ourselves. They each tell a story, and when we die, they die too. They
follow us unwillingly to remind ourselves of the past because who are we
without masks and secrets, lies and hateful treacherous thoughts?

We are nothing, that's what.

And that is not beautiful. That is hell.

A little girl looked at me today and said
"Being in love is magical."

How can I tell her the two sides of love?
How there's a high and a low,
an up and a down?

One day you feel happy
and want to rejoice
and smile and sing
to the sky and dance in the rain and
jump in the puddles and make
snow angels in your jeans and thin
coat because you know you won't
care how cold you get!

But another day you'll want to
stay in bed all day and eat that box
of chocolates you know isn't good for you
because it all doesn't matter. You'll want
to sleep and cry, sleep and cry, not smile at
the terrible jokes your friends make and not be
comforted by the gestures people give to you.

You'll feel your heart elevated, your pulse soar
higher than an eagle, your face turn crimson and your
palms get saturated with every bit of nervousness in you
when you see the person you like and you'll stare and
smile and chuckle nervously...

But you'll also feel your heart break in your chest, your
lungs fall somehow to the pit of your throat as it clogs
up and you don't know how to talk but just that you feel
your eyes sting from the strain you're putting on them not to
tear up and you have to say a long line of "I'm fine" ' s over and
over to them to let them know that you need them to get away
and you need to go away yourself, in a state of decay in your
bedroom where no one can see you for a while, stone-faced
and no longer in love, but in pain.

So how can I tell her all of this truth?
A universal truth felt by all?
I can't break her heart,
for all is felt by experience.

I just look at her and say,
"Yes. Yes it is."

it was simple with you

it was simple with you at the beginning but the further we got into this the more my poems included maybe's in them

I told you im afraid of thunderstorms but the worst are when you're not here and I'm alone staring at a screen that causes what feels like a bucket of bitter salt water to come pouring down my cheeks only to remind me how human I am and how impossible to save from the things I fear most

Maybe you're here to teach me a lesson on love even when I thought I had learned them all but if that's the case I want to be left alone now because I don't have a warning alarm and I feel like I'll drown soon

Lifeboats are unnecessary but maybe next time you could bring something other than a rope that I keep cutting my hands on because all I do is hold on and on and on and on until eventually my skin cracks and no lotions can help it anymore

You can't keep giving me mountains of ambiguity because my rivers don't work well with them and eventually you'll cause a drought that perpetuates long past the end of this relationship and long past the end of maybe's

she’s a flower, tall beaming and bold ready to take on the winter and summer as easily as she flicks her wrists to get ready to write that next stanza, a force to be reckoned with, kaleidoscope of emotions delving into personality traits you didn’t know existed but wish you had so you could understand that flick of the wrist that much better, secrets screaming through quiet whispers down the channels of her ears when she swallows truth like a multivitamin, filling her body up with things like horoscopes and music and the constant thought of an inevitable end

you like her sort of mystery, like her dark eyes because they remind you of the peaceful nights you had back home, her dark hair because it reminds you of the way nature somehow decided to bless her with those Balkan genes once again, hollowed out vegetables becoming instruments and cold soups becoming delicacies, you’ve never had it so good

dance to melodies only the winds of the mountains know, sing to songs only the shepherds might hear, grab her by the hips and sing and dance and take that hand of hers and kiss that tired wrist just so she can lift it again and hug you so as if to say thank you, thank you for staying whole up until now, thank you for finding me

midnight, one, two, three am things always turn downhill and you don't know what to listen to anymore because your brain says move on but your heart says she's in there somewhere waiting to take me back to old memories and broken dreams. you take a sip of your wine thinking about the intricate details of the universe and how every single constellation in the sky cannot begin to describe all of the beauties of the mysteries outside of your town, and meanwhile you talk to her hoping that maybe you'll see that light shine as bright as it once did for you. you told her once that no one is okay and everyone has their own problems, but you try to hide yours in times when you cannot afford to, and you don't know she's behind the screen crying because she knows when you talk to her it isn't you speaking to her, it's hormones speaking to her, it's you speaking to a body, it's you speaking to a mind that is not the same as the one before her. when you tell her your problems you rarely mention more than a sentence because distancing yourself is something you've learned how to do through repeated mistakes but what you think you know is that she's being honest when really there are walls and pain behind her heart. oh she can tell you lullabies and make it seem like she's another snow white fresh out of the woods, but life has taught her that there will be no prince in the end, and with every other time you reaffirm that statement her mask breaks once more - she's one step closer to cracking.

she walks out to her normal spot every morning waiting for the four wheeled vehicle that is supposed to take her to seven hours of hell and she looks at the stars and thinks how beautiful it is that humans are nothing. she does not think about the mysteries like you do, she thinks about how everyone is insignificant, how her life actions will not be remembered, how she as a human being will leave the world virtually un-impacted. to her, that is beauty. but to you, that is terrible. that is why you two will never truly work out.

it feels like it’s been forever
but then on days like this I’m reminded
of the inevitable colour of depression
of the way summer’s stormy clouds form over the mountain
in an all-too-familiar grey
of the way the leaves,
tired from the heaviness of hanging on to branches all summer
finally let go
isn’t there something so beautiful though
about how each dying leaf
tries to make the grey of fall
all the more colourful?
how falling isn’t the failure
but the most beautiful part of the cycle?

I trudge forward bearing the heavy weight of all that fall brings
and knowing the inevitable grip winter holds onto my emotions
stepping on each of the leaves
one
by
one

I'm slowly changing, engulfed in my mind.

I can see myself shriveling, the bags under my eyes hold the weight of the nights where I've
thought about you instead of sleeping.

I can't concentrate on things, my grades
are slowly dropping, I want to stay at home
everyday and not even contemplate seeing you.

I think more than I need to now about things
that really don't matter.

I'm changing and I wish I could stop it. Old habits die hard and you're no exception. But this time,
you're an old habit that'll take me with you to the grave.

I haven't been able to eat today when I think about the situation I'm in and how everything is playing out.

Life is just a stack of cards now; people play it off while I get turned and flipped over. It's like go fish with my similar experiences occurring differently yet eerily the same every time.

I feel like I'm clawing myself from the inside out, starting from the lining of my stomach and slowly ripping apart through the cells that line the tissue; and maybe I want to claw myself until I can no longer feel anything, if feeling anything is this dangerous.

I'm not mad and I'm not sad; I've ripped though every emotion I could face. I'm not weak and I'm not strong; I'm just here, body and flesh but no soul. I empathise but rarely take sympathy in return. I don't need people's pity remarks; they can't change it.

I guess I just have to keep on clawing until I become so weak I can't even do that. Maybe then I will be at peace.

It's comforting staying awake in the dead silence of your house at midnight and it's comforting to look at the moon and realize you are not alone but are made of the galaxy and each of the stars above and the great big world of outer space makes up who you are in a romanticised eye

I like knowing that I may be the only one awake in the neighbourhood sometimes and I like daydreaming in complete darkness sometimes and thinking about my future and how life will spill out of the bag whilst all the marbles of possibilities roll everywhere on the tilting table

I like pretending sometimes when the early hours of the day begin that things are different and so are circumstances and the past never happened and it's only the present because it's comforting

Sometimes all we need is comfort.

01:39 on a Wednesday and I realised no, it's not like the way water effortlessly flows down the window shield just to get swept away by the wiper

my love isn't elegant, and there's no point in me pretending to reshape it; think a hurricane, a tsunami, a natural disaster; think beds collapsed under the weight of too much love, think lips so raw blistex wouldn't stand a chance to heal them, think new memories being made everyday so that eventually you stop living in the past because your brain tells you this is it - this is what it was and what it will be [even if just for an hour]

put into context a shade of red somewhere between maroon and magenta and then throw it on a white canvas, see how beautiful it becomes only when it encompasses everything, when it becomes one with that paper holding it up; do not fear my love, please; let me spread around and let me be the one to give you colour, let the bleak melt away

don't let your mind wander to tape because i won't tape any holes I see or scars I run across; I'm not a doctor and never learned to be one

BUT, I will help: I'll be there with your favourite beer, there with neosporin in handy just because I've learned a little sting in the beginning is worth a lifetime of infection, standing there in your favourite shirt and purposefully letting you see that height is just a number and bruises are just colours of memories once lived

01:40 and I think I realised that somewhere in between being a hopeless romantic and being numb I've lost myself, bits scattered in blankets and sheets long laundered after me; I've realised that I don't know what I can and can't give, and I've realised neither does he

here it is: think. think the earth and the moon. think gravitational pull and how the moon is pulled back to the earth if for nothing else because there's some kind of connection it can't control. now think us, and tell me: is it not we're the Galaxy?

I'm sitting alone in a crowded room,
people talking all around, sharing smiles
laughter and joy. Yet all I can think about
is you.

You, you, you, you, you.

You're like a poison that doesn't want to leave my mind,
it contaminates me, one bite and your venom seeps into
my open wounds and makes me suffer
the agony of thought.

Thoughts.

They never end, the what if's never decease,
and every morning I don't want to awake
into another world where I know I shouldn't have
anymore hope.

Hope.

It's lacking in my life, like a balloon flying upwards
toward the sun, your eyes make me change what I think
over and over your words don't seem consistent
with that look.

That look.

That look that tells me you have so much more to say
more to give, more to offer, more to propel,
yet your words speak cowardice, over and over get
out of that little bubble because I've jumped out of mine
because you forced me to pop it and now I'm
a fish without water.

Without water, without hope, without dreams
but I can't stop my dreams and my hope
that my subconscious gives me every night
over and over and over again with you and I
don't know what I dream but that when I wake up
I see your face and when I go to sleep you're the last
thing I think about.

You're the only thing I can think about.
Concentration lost.