They Call This Drowning.We fell in love;A deep and surgingwatercolor seawith lilac waves thatwrestled with our ailingbodies,and azure air that choked ourlungs.We were in over our heads.
How Love Works.I neverfell in love withyou,you neverfell in love withme.Your demonsfell in love withmine,my demonsfell in love withyours.
Horology.Like a clock,you said you'd waitforever,but I forgotto replace the battery,now you'rebroken.
One Day His Life Will Be a Classic.There's sorrowon his lips,and sonnetsin his eyes.Each scar on his wrist,speaks in fatal monologue.He lives a tragedynot evenShakespeare could write.
Roses Can Change.White roses make youcrybecause they remind youof him.To see you smileand take the painfrom your eyes,I'd prick each of myfingertipsand drip my bloodonto each velvet petalthat adorns the snaking vineso that the red roseswill make you thinkof me.
Insomnia.I’d stay awakeAll nightIf it meant you’d still be breathingIn the morning.
Give Me a Portrait.Paint me without aface,because I'm sure youdon't remember mineanyway.
Everyone Knows Boys Can't Fly.They told him liesdid not existwhere evil dared not roam,and that if he only spreadhis wings,the wind would hold himup,and make him fly.He stood on theedge,his toes balancedin the skyand with a breath he closedhis eyes,and fell back down toEarth.
I Am Lost.I am lost,I cannot feel.Is this sleep,When I close my eyes?Or is it death,When I rest my head?I am lost,I cannot see.Is this real,When I hear your voice?Or is it an illusion,When I see your face?I am lost,I do not knowWhere I am,When I look ahead.Or where I've been,When I look back.I am lost,I have forgottenHow to speak,When words weigh on my lips.Or how to scream,When terror fills my lungs.I am lost,I’ll never be found.No one noticed,When I went away.They can see me,But I am gone.
RawThese fingers never thoughtThey could write poetry,Just like this mouth neverThought it could eat heartsAnd swallow regrets.Your secrets still paintThe inside of my throat,Hieroglyphics of a loveThat left me raw.I can still feel you inMy bones, and I'll keepYou there till the sunTurns to dust and theMoon stops singing herSorrow to the stars.
The DeadI have chemical wakefulness,10 dollars and 27 cents hidden last night,somewhere around the apartment, maybe in the couchor behind the drywall. The red stiff pillows are on the carpet,my chest was stuffed with vibrations and tapered:It's not in the kitchen. Not in our bedroom,but you have forty dollars in your wallet.Your body's in airspace. Maybe you had dinner,your parents' favorite restaurant,or called Richard while you smoked in the parking lot,talking:feather hymns, exosongs, traffic tones,a late ride home, long straight roads, flaking paint,creaking sway, bitter drip, dragging lights,dark skin,a choking fit,his nihilistic faith, a repetitive twitch,how he appreciated with his fists,and you were 23,thought everything was plainor symbolic:"I'll pick up something for dinner,"but I only spend 18.60 at the supermarket.
In grief, you blossomed.When a wind tousled the hairspilling from your hat,though the sun was hotand radiant in your eyelashes,gleaming on your copper cheekbones,shading the angles of your neckwith sharp virtue,we walked two milesto the bus stop."Do you ever think about how people like Ericcan turn out okay? But I don't really know what's differentbetween someone like that and someone whosees shit and repeats every stupid fucking mistake,because I don't think it has anything to do with strengthor willpower or opportunity or fate or God or whoever's been peddlingthe newest life-affirming snake oil.""What do you think it is?""I don't know.""You've been thinking about it.""Maybe. I guess. But I think it might just behow close death seems to you."It was darkbefore the bus arrivedand you asked me for a cigarette,which you smoked with sweetuncertainty.
ChangesHe turned her blizzards into breezes.
Speechless.I wanted to writea poem foryou,but when you leftyou took everything,even the wordsI never spoke.
You Had to AskMe, a monster?Let's find out
as if asleepIShe lies, all aflush with color;her wide eyes half open,and a willow branch caressingher gently curved cheekbone.IIAs the sun drifts offher face, thrown into darkness,is made wild by shadowsand no amount of catharsisin this setting idylliccan bring back the light.
DissociationThe mirror showed her a stranger.
whispers.i was so hesitantto take your hand,because when you said you loved mei knew you meant itand that scared the hell out of me.
overflowI tried to show you all the broken bones in the cupboard,the cobwebs beneath the staircase;all the schisms, and chasms,and chinks in my a(r)mourbut your finger touched my lipsin a curious sort of way, and you saidhush, darling, don't say a wordnone of that matters anymoreso I tried to shut away the ghostsbut now they're out and aboutand coming for meand I have no hope of escapingwith my heart so chipped and faded.
EntwinedSurrounded by warmthWrapped tightly in his strong armsIs this what love is?
Inordinate-she's petrifiedof being fixedbecause being brokenis all she's ever known-
Beautiful.They say I’m beautifulBecause of the way my crystalline heart reflects light off its fractured surfaceWell, that isn't a reflectionIt’s rejection of the light because it’s all too much to handleThrow myself away into the dark without even a candle‘Cause I don’t want to recognize all the pain I’m inOr realize the truth behind what I am or who I've beenAnd I tried to make things right but I just keep on making wrongI never listened to the angel on my shoulder when she calledI count my tears like they’re experienceAnd my scars like they’re mysteriousAnd that’s a feeling I’ll remember –Watching as you leftWatching as you ended what was meant to be foreverAnd I can see it in their eyes; everyone can empathizeSo they say that I’m beautiful because they don’t know what else to say.But if being broken is beautiful, then it’s the ugliest way...
Who are you?"Who are you?""I don't know."
We All Have A Story"Their scars... similar...""...but different stories."
post-conflagrationoh, darling, look at us;a crooked collection ofashen-faced chaotic nobodies,struggling to stand straight.we used to burn so bright,but we're just now learningwhy no-one loves fireworksafter they've gone out.
HopeThere are so many dayswhen humanity frightensthe most compassionateperson awayit takes only a knifeor a word or a gun, andoh god,we scare so easy.I'm tired of livingwithout faith,without promise,I'm tired of not believingin tomorrow.There may not be a god abovebut believer or not,there are so manyreasons to loveI'm not giving upI'm not letting go;I'm going to dreamand one dayperhaps I will flyand I will believethe best of peopleuntil it kills me,because the momentthat you give upis the momentyou become the problem.
A Hero's NightmareThe souls that I could not save
Content.I went searchingfor myself,I ended up finding youinstead.