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To finish anything in entirety requires a full circle- and goodbye is a picky eater. Good is the pieces of pie fully enjoyed already- don't forget the fingertips good. The ones licked crisp and clean from the plasticware every time. While bye remains the uneaten slices spoiling silence in the kitchen. Crumbs too stubborn to move along, to move anywhere at all. Notice these slices never once greeted each other on a dinner plate- and there is no place for distance during dessert.

2. Goodbye is invisible ink scribbled too quickly for certainty. Proper sendoffs deserve the type of visibility that billboards form. So if you have the audacity to send seven letters my way disguised as our final embrace- I will unwrap your formality, like 5am Christmas morning, and pretend I'm on the naughty list. Hidden messages lack a sense of transparency that leaves only second guessing and farewells should need no crystal *****.
Goodbyes are as good as guesswork- and we are not fortune tellers.

3. Goodbye implies loss or rejection, but well wishes are meant for times
when loss is undeniably absent. Wishing wells bathe separation with good intentions- each copper coin anointed an underwater masterpiece.
While goodbye addresses detachment with partial reflections, splitting waves too strict for clarity. So all I see are the ripples of me spread too thin, the pieces of me scattered in every direction. Goodbye wishes no one well.

4. Goodbye is simply one word. Goodbye is not naturally destructive. Goodbye is no vocal cord villain.
Words are neither inherently good nor bad because we ascribe their significance, but evidence suggests a one word farewell serves innocent ears unjust death sentences.

5. The moment you allow I love you to skydive from your tongue, the word goodbye steals the parachutes mid-launch causing fatal free fall to artificial grass your hands never actually planted. This land is lunar rock rare- desolate when day breaks.
Goodbye is not fertilizer for greener pastures- rather an open invitation for wildfire to reduce the cosmos to ashes.

6. Endings are inevitable and sometimes quite necessary. And I'm not suggesting we prolong foregone conclusions. But our parting words need not necessarily be regrettable. Goodbyes are often stressed in tragic spectacles only designed for Broadway stages and sometimes all that's needed
is a genuine platform to stand on to say something like-- I'll miss you or I'm not ready for this or I can't do this anymore.


7. Goodbye is not a last resort.
Last resorts lead to final destinations you never come home from and you were never home, you were never home for me, you were always goodbye. Goodbye was your one way ticket to paradise, the kingdom your words worshiped and call me a traitor if you must, but the paradox you fundamentally found comfort in is tyranny trapped in one breath.
And that's never been comforting enough for me to believe in, never been real enough for me to hold.
Goodbye is sweet sorrow- one hollow word that makes your smile hurt.
It's solid rain on sunny days, stolen hearts on lay away. It's two syllables that were forced to hold hands that were never ever friends to begin with.
Goodbye is an oxymoron- and it will never justify your warm hello.
 Feb 2014 Daniel Vanatta
ottaross
Tomorrow I will need to go
To a place I'll never know
I'll go there again next week
And find some more of what I seek.

I look for silence, sharp and ringing
I look to leave the things I'm bringing
There among the nothingness
I'll stop, and drop, then quick egress

Tomorrow you will find me there
Within a space I know not where
You'll find me there again next week
In silence where we dare not speak
 Feb 2014 Daniel Vanatta
RC
There is nothing beautiful inside me, anticipating its chance to bloom.
There is no reality behind the person
no girl waiting to be saved.
All that's destitute is left:
this shell of human skin that refuses to shed
my collapsing, one-track mind, wasting in its skull
the untried rawness in my heart, and its impotent beat.
I've tried my hand at molding my thoughts
just to see them harden and fracture
just to watch parts of myself leak
seep through every tense pore
and boil back down to nothing.
Sooner or later
these worn hands will grow weak from so much sculpting
and I will grow tired of my trade.
 Feb 2014 Daniel Vanatta
RC
It's this inner craving to be different that hurts
this impulsive fire
so desirous
so ravenous
so disastrous
I feel I've no chance at not reducing myself to ash.

Then there are those times where my fire blazes wildly
blindly
and blissfully.
It radiates, spilling light on anyone near
embers encapsulating and holding them there
and a certain grace falls over me
over us.
 Feb 2014 Daniel Vanatta
RC
i want so bad to feel the burn of his love set fire to the edges of my life
i want to feel his lips meet mine without the angst i imagine
and i want the rawness of our impulse to dictate our love
i want to guide his ******
and sip his lust
i want to dive into the fascinating parts of him
and linger in the shallows
the unsecrets of his mind
i want to not miss him and for him to love me again
i want to feel his finger tips trail every curve
every imperfection
and accept it as honestly as he did
i want to be accepted into love once again.

i want to not feel so badly for the words that meet others
and i want to not live in a shrouded fire any longer
i want to break and rip apart the routine with fury
and love as much
and feel as much
and live as much as I can
without my brain being bent relentlessly to the influence of substances.
only edited word mishaps. just rantng while sipping and yeah
My days ago
are piled
with excess.

My days ahead,
clouded
with letting
go.

This day today,
empty
as the bottle
laying next
to me.

And there's
no way
to grow
young
again.
The light in your eyes is fading fast,
like the dramatic smoke
from a flame no longer
drifting up towards the ceiling.

I see it crashing down around you now.

You appear to approach the world with a dazzling smile
and with a caring touch.
Your eyes water as graceful words fall from your mouth
And your voice floats up and down
as the wind takes it by the hand and asks it to dance
a sad, slow waltz.

And yet you seem to carry on.
Head held high.
Feet seemingly firm on the shifting earth beneath you.

But you are not fooling me.

I see the cracks in your heavy armor.
The fissures where your shield has been broken
and super-glued back together quickly in shame and agony
time after time.

And it is sad, what you've become
You don’t see that many strive to live like you.
Think like you do
Be like you
Even you are striving to be something
that you already are.
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