I stood beside a boy today that
smelled the same way that you do.
It brought me back to the
summer and how we had
our faces so close. Everything
so close.

They say that scent is the strongest
trigger for memories that we have.

Well I remember your arms and
my fingers in your hair
and the way that you told me
I was beautiful, but you're
so beautiful.

I remember your face when
you were sleeping and the way
that we met. Both a little
broken and both a little too
over our heads.

my breath* .....

1.
the powerful, yet gentle wind beneath this dismal, broken flight
the crazy, brilliant ship on stormy seas;
can’t fly over to you ... on wounded wings
can’t sail the wide oceans .... without its captain.


2.
should grow up, by now....
but just can’t, ok.
why so afraid of what longs to be, what's meant?
let me tell you, this is real!


3.
how failure sits smug, an endless smirk
hopelessly try to put it all together again.



you are ....my very breath.... and yet,
you are ....still unable to see ....


S T, 30 May 2013

My skin is a canvas
There for me to draw
When the voice consumes my mind
And the blade begins to call.

I’ve tried to stop myself
From doing what it says
But my hand acts of its own accord
Drawing out the red.

I say that I am better
That I won’t do it again
But there’s a demon that lurks inside
Hidden behind my grin.

It tells me I’m not good enough
That I will never succeed
And it makes me draw the ugly lines
From my hips down to my knees.

I’m sorry I’m not perfect
Or who you want me to be
But in truth the person you’re looking at
Isn’t the real me.

So many nights I stayed up late with him
smothered by smoke and darkness,
talking about freedom, listing all the reasons
I couldn't wait to leave this place
but it was never the small town I minded so much
as the ever present loneliness.

I remember my art teacher
pointing out that all my ****** artwork
held symbols of evasion
-an open window with views of mountains
shadows fleeing from a slit photograph
an elevator open to reveal an aquarium
Always things opening
to reveal something better

My thoughts are not chiseled in stone
my eyes are not cold marble,
they do not remain still enough
to know permanence—
They only speak escapism

My dreams and fears
are not geometric and carefully calculated.
They are horribly bohemian, fluttering and
echoing the uncertainty
of a bird's   f l  i  g
                                   h    
                                         t

I am always planning evacuation routes,
building gypsy caravans in the basements of my mind
I will always be hightailing
through the hedges and fences
put up by friends and family
I have been working on my vanishing act
for the past 16 years and
none of you will see it coming.

And I do not like to show people
the ways I have been broken, so I hide the evidence
In that sense I am a perfect houdini
-a successful illusionist, a stunt performer
I've learned that many questions like handcuffs can be avoided and evaded
as I have become able to regurgitate small white lies like keys at will

There is one escape
that I have never granted myself
the release of a blade
the empty prevarication of pain
I never cut, never slit, never shed my blood
I guess I've always been smart enough to know
that a razor doesn't have the power
to stop the tempest in my head

I will forever remain a fugitive
and when you look at me and my eyes are glazed
it means I had snuck away to my world
I've packed up and run off
and you cannot follow me
nor bring me back
no matter how hard you try

I'm tired of your
Rolling eyes,
Sarcastic words,
And piercing glares.

Why can't you simply
Practice what you preach.
I don't know if you're
An angel
Or a devil.

Why can't you just
Listen a little more and
Talk a little less.
I know I'm not perfect
But neither are you.

Why can't you even
Think before you speak,
For you're way too quick.
I just wish to tell you:

Your words,
They hurt.