my heart soars
everytime i hear your steps
fluttering weakly as you walk closer
and closer and closer
it dies as a meek little thing
as you passes me to another flower

Think of me as poetry
Sweetly succinct
In this meager
But beautiful reality

I still have the scars on my ankle
From the day we got drunk in school

I have a few nights burned in my brain
I have some type of mind
That returns to a mountain girl
I make peace with bodies thought otherwise to be dead
I make no apologies for laughter in churches
And my throat was raw on the first day of spring

I miss flying high in that aeroplane
Where guitar strings did anything but strangle our hearts
I left the state
Just to play our soundtrack to a room full of strangers

It came down
Like a tidal wave
Grasping towards the surface
I couldn't reach
Here I was
On the train
Hiding my face so patrons couldn't see

I was weak
I was alone
I was tired
I was bleak
I was me

He wanted to know what was wrong
Why the tears
I told him
"It's been like this, like this for years"
I say "I hate my life" at least twice a day
"I always hope it's jokingly" I say
But it isn't
I mean it, it's meant for every second

My family is aloof
My friends are in the past
Where I can't reach them
I wear their memories like a cast
"I gave my all" I exclaimed
All is what they took
They left what they gained

My life's heading nowhere
And it's getting there fast
21 years old
And all I can focus on is my past
Where am I going?
Why am I doing all of this?
I wish I knew
I wouldn't be ashamed to exist

One life to live
And this is how I'm living mine?
Time is all I've got
And I've got none at the same time

If it's all the same
I don't want to **** myself
I don't want to die
But what's the point of living
If you're dead inside?

Today is cloudy with a slight breeze, while it should be sunny
It seems to be cloudy because the sky is left without words to describe the gray

The air even tastes different today
And the feeling in the air brings apon a case of nostalgia
a feeling that becomes of sorrow
Just like memories

Memories
Why I cherish the love of memories, but they do not of me
Memories have a colorful and colorless beauty to them
Paradox some would say
The color is often found in the rececpicrol of good will, but eventually the nuance of them becomes hazey and dreadful to bare
Memories--
I could laugh--
the weather today is something like you.

the fog rolls in
a putrid headless thing
trailing its jaw on string

where is the edge of the forest?
mother’s grave