I'm a candle
Which burn it self to light others life
I'm slowly melting away...
Can you see it?
Or you only see the light I give?

leaking

drops of water so lonely yet so full

leaking

it held love that I can't

leaking

a secret a once held

leaking

I used to have love

leaking

until it all leaked out

there was a short sweet wait before the worry.
why do i miss you when youre next to me?

i try to fight
you take me back:
warm plaster walls and obtrusive matter. a mirror made from bolts and metal sheets, the taste of ensure. bathroom wall etchings, comfortable silence and silence that isn't so safe. hiding your hurt in the hallway and bleeding it out after bedtime.

i deflate-
i combust.
why do you make me feel like this?
i try speaking to you, but im just pulling the string
on your back
that connects
to the voicebox,
you say sorry in the way you always do.
i memorized your automated response.
i'm thinking i can't do this anymore.

There is no home
With which I'm blessed or bothered
No tether; air
I'll fall back simple and cold

There's symbiology
Creeping along the curtain
The covers
Hiding my papercut soul

You are the abundance of stars only visible to the dreamer in the wake of night

The sun and its companions as they glow to shine a light on the surface of your skin

You are the mischief that forms the toothy grin on the face of a child’s curiosity

The everlasting glow on their faces as they question the world around them

And I am lost in translation, confused, amused and somewhat enchanted

To you I am the clouds that hide away your blue skies

But to me I am the ones that shield you from the glare of a jealous sun

And to each other we are foreign, bordered and misunderstood

Lost in translation I’m waiting for you to understand ,
That to you; you’re nothing, but to me; you’re my dreamland

Sittin' on a rooftop
Watching the world end
An apocalypse, of some kind
Right before my peaceful eyes
With a cig in my hand,
watching it end

Some poems seem to write
themselves;
I just move the pen.
Others, are like lumps
of clay;
they refuse to be molded;
they need moisture and time.
This one is like
a robin that just learned
to use its wings.
It heads west, on a
gentle breeze, into
a tangerine sky.