There was life before you.
There was
air
in my lungs.
...There was even love.

Can you even fathom it?
I knew love before you?
I knew the warmth of
firm
hands

and

the racing of a
happy
heart.

I was no neophyte romantic-

You just reshaped me-
restructured a
fraction
of my world.

You became my weakest foundation,
and when I fell...
so did your fidelity.

My,
we fell so hard.

But while you fall into empty arms,
I fall into hopeful futures.

I'm learning to
live again.
And someday...
I'll even re-learn to love.

There is life after you.
There is
air
in my lungs.

Why, there will even be love.

Being alone will be beautiful,
Although, so would have been being with you.
In life we must work to win,
But in the process, we still lose.

I'm afraid it's all about compromise,
And learning to live without.
In order for us to live happily,
We must look to another route.

We choose the best possible means,
To the best of all possible ends.
So that our hearts might not be broken,
But, rather, taught to bend.

A sky of collision,
Filled with smoke, colored black.
Not one given chance,
To stop; to look back.

Countless persons are crying,
Panicked; in haste.
Screams can be heard,
Amongst all the waste.

Buildings and Bodies,
Tinged by the tears.
Mere fractions of seconds,
Confirmed the world's fears.

The sirens are sounding,
Time; standing still.
It seems as though God,
And Fate made a deal.

But who is to blame,
When Truth, himself, lied?
The towers are falling,
When worlds collide.

Let's be young and beautiful for all our lives.
Eternal sunshines and heartstrings.

I know there is something to love in everything.

The world is a beautiful work of art,
With priceless paintings of Ocean and Sky,
And fragments of souls just drifting by,
All enjoying this brilliant expanse of life.

Which thrives in the hollows of the Human heart,
And drips from the Heavens to land on our tongues,
We exist in the flesh with the air in our lungs,
As displays, prepped, and ready to be hung.

(July 29th, 2008)

I trained myself to trip over my words.
To stutter and stumble along.
So that your lips might catch mine as I fell.

Fell into open arms and empty futures.
While the world knew my words could move mountains...
I practiced incoherency... and called it love.

(September 11, 2008)

I don't believe in pretty poems
(for) pretty verses lie
Love is more than the pretty words
The best of lovers write

I don't believe in pretty poems
They're merely works of art
Let poets spin their painless stories
I'd rather spill my heart

I don't believe in pretty poems
They're fiction- nothing more
In pretty poems, we'll never find
The love we're looking for.

(January 28, 2009)