It seems like I have nothing to say

until I sit behind the keys
and listen to the patterns
in the silence around

watching the rise and fall
of people in their anger,
in their freedom and joy,
anything they might know

currently.

It seems like I have nothing to say

without reopening healed wounds
that no one wants to read
words without pain
or love so sweet it's sick.

And then I think too much,
I really don't think at all,
close my eyes and feel
the keys quivering so

intently

beneath my delicately
disastrous fingertips
unpolished and broken.

It seems like I have nothing to say

but nothing is something too
and thoughts don't have to
be worth much to be sold,

hence that overused quote
"A penny for your thoughts"
sell them because people
people don't know how
to think for themselves

without poetry,

pain,

love so sweet it's sick,

or inspiration.

It seems like I have nothing to say today,

then tell me,
what did you just read?

Dear You,

I am so sorry
that we cannot
keep this going.

Our midnight walks
and three a.m.
poetry readings
over the phone

dotted and dashed
with the sounds of
shattering hearts
and overly rational souls
wondering who else
they could be
in the light of day.

I am not
scared of holding
you or of what
others think
at all.

But we stole
your sister's
car keys and
drove to the
border before
we had any idea
what we were
really doing.

Let's not
and say
we did.

Let's put
up walls
when they
look our way

and dance
on stage
with new
costumes

and redesigned
faces like that
Miley Cyrus girl
and her
Hannah Montana
character used to.

Let's not
and say
we did.

Don't let me
lose you again
especially
this way.

I'm so sorry
but we cannot
keep this going.

We cannot be
friends, not
the way
we have
always been.

Last night I found the ring
you gave me last April
when you learned about my collection;
the growing obsession. . .

It feels like the kind
you find at flea markets
by mistake,
but you buy it
because no matter what else
you look at
it haunts you, the unknown story
is captivating.

I don't think it was
originally yours
and you're not someone
I can see at a flea market.

But of all the rings
in my collection,
the one from you
is my favorite.

So someday
when my collection goes off
to someone else
the piece from you
will go to a child
in my family,

maybe a niece
or a nephew,

and I will whisper,
"This belonged to someone
someone I love once knew,
I kept it safe for so long,
I saved it for you."

With a deep breath
I will add,

"I don't know
where all the scars
came from,
or if you will like it,
but I hope you
at least understand."

In a place to sing
with a little dancing room
I realized what desire is -

the need
to make someone else
to yourself known.

Then waking
like a ghost
hungover on your
pleasures to an empty
bed and a lonely
room with hope
that they'll return
soon

knowing full well
if they do you've
finally met your match
and if not

you're just
another ghost
rotten to the core
searching for a door
to pass through
to another world
a world that
doesn't exist.

And all of this
happened last night
in a place to sing
with a little dancing room

My definition is:

knowing
a person
and knowing
they can

make you laugh
when you dont want
to smile

or smile
when you dont want
to breathe.

Love to me is

when
you want the best
for someone
no matter
what the cost.

When heartbreak
becomes soulbreak
because they aren't around

or because
you know the pain
they encounter.

Its when
you are both
your own person

but can be
someone amazing
and extraordinary
as one

when you
are
together

I don't know who else to write this to
you seem to understand me
more than others try

so I am going to pour my heart out
to you

now.

I hope that's alright,
but you're the kind of person that will say yes
to anything

so long as someone's emotional well being
will benefit. And I promise
mine will

So dearest diary and closest friend,
I hope all is well in your world
because in mine the skies are grey
the clouds refuse to move away

I miss the sun
I don't remember what a smile is
I feel trapped in my own being

pencils with lead and pools of ink
just don't know how to convey
the things I feel right now

my thoughts eat themselves
before I get the chance to think them
and I am breathing enough to get by
but it's only just enough with no extra space
to breathe.

I don't understand it either,
there's nothing at all wrong
everything around me is fine,

but I need to say something
in hopes you will have the cure
I need more than ever before

being alone is a choice
but
loneliness is a disease

and lately:

I am more alone than ever before. . .

While I don't expect you
as a book with uneven lines
and coffee stains or a person
with a life to live and your own fears to face
to understand this or to help me at all

I don't know who else to write this to
you seem to understand me
more than others try

so I am just here on your door step pouring my heart out
to you.

You disappeared a while back
no sign of you in months
but you slipped out the door,
left it unlocked and turned the
porch light on,

but you didn't show up again
the sun rose and you still weren't back,
I made the coffee and drank every drop
all by myself on the blanket
in the back yard

the way we did last summer.
Birds sang and crickets chirped
it's been a year since you left
the door is still unlocked and the
porch light is on

but this place doesn't feel like home
without you anymore.
At least there's space to breathe
and some blank walls to paint,
a table or two to write ideas on
and some ghosts

for inspiration. Wherever you are
I hope you're happy and the sun
shines brightly day after day
I could have sworn I meant it
when I said I didn't miss you anymore
but it's not that simple.

I know you will forgive me for
not writing in a while. It's just that
life got in the way of living again.

Then they needed me at home,
to clean up all of my messes.

Later I was out of ink and my quills
flew back to the birds they came from
(and I didn't have enough spare money
for new ones.) And now I know you will
forgive me for not writing you in a while.

I was caught in the tide and pulled down
lower for longer than I ever have before.

I know you will forgive me
but I'm still so sorry. . .

You are so perfect

my innocent daemon

please be well

I love you

only ever always.

You always said you just wanted me to be happy...

I miss you. But you always said you
just wanted me to be happy and that
you left because it was better for me
and my feelings. So you went away
without anything close to goodbye.

You walked away in my darkest hour
saying it was right because I liked
someone else and you didn't want to
get in the way of anything good coming
my way, especially love.

When we met I made the mistake of
showing you the width of my pain
instead of the depths of my heart and
you decided that I deserved love to be
happy more than just one friend.

You always said you just wanted me to be happy...

I have never been more happy than
when you were close enough to hug
after my nightmares and yet far enough
to muse from without having to bleed
first. I don't understand this - you.

What is happiness in your eyes anyway,
***, you taught me every other
conceivable lesson about emotions,
human growth, and love so what lesson
was this if you only ever always said

you just wanted me to be happy. . .

You started learning a song
titled "Never forget" you began
this endeavor before we ever met.

You showed it to me when I
wasn't feeling well because
you thought the piano would
make my headache go away.

You always did a better job of
making me feel better from far
away than anyone near by ever
really could - thank you for that.

I swore to myself that I
would never forget
you because of that skill.

Because of that beautiful song
from such a horrifying game.

And so far, I haven't, but I think,
I think you have and that breaks
my heart every time you cross my mind.

Right now I am listening to that song,
the one with more beauty than words
can describe and more meaning
than the writers intended with the title

"Never Forget"

and I hope that you
have not forgotten
me just yet.

There once was a time that I created
a new language with everyone I met
that I wanted to keep around. Together
we'd make up new words to describe
the things we felt that we knew others
would never understand and we used
inside jokes and silly things that happened
to make sense of other things or to forget
things that hurt more than we cared
to admit. For a while the people I met and I
would explore town and claim little hideouts
as our own and everyone got one
but no one ever shared the location

with anyone else.

We would meet at sunrise or sunset
depending on the day and talk about all the things
everyone else would think us bratty or stupid
or whatever for saying. Where we would write
and paint, laugh and cry, give birth and die
just a little more each time. But it was never
meant as a bad thing. When I was younger
I talked to people and I knew what happiness was

but when my teacher taught me
about the taste of ink and the feel of keys
beneath my fingers I traded reality for
what I could create myself. I longed for a story
better than dreams and kinder than the
real thing. But I quickly became addicted
to that feel. Now I'm sitting behind a
brightly lit screen opening healed wounds
and cutting into my veins as I search for

new ways to say the things poets have beat me to
by centuries and trying to convey the cruelty
of this world around me that really isn't
all that cruel. And I really don't think you
are able to comprehend this but I thought
if anyone would listen to me it would be you.

And I figured if I was going to bleed out tonight
this would be the best canvass.

Thank you for all of your kindness
and love. Thank you for only ever believing
in me and wishing me the best. Thank you
so much for everything. I will not let you down

this time.

The words may not sound quite right
it may not look like all that much,
but I just thought you deserved to know
that this heart belongs to you.

No matter what you think you hear
or where you see me go,
I've got no where else to be that's
as important as here - with you.

Sure my edges are a bit rough
and I don't smile all that bright,
but you make me more complete
than I've ever been - more alive.

The words may not sound quite right
it may not look like all that much,
but this heart of mine belongs to you
and only you, my love.

Forever yours,
M.R.K.

This morning you asked me something
and I really didn't want to answer you
because it made me feel like a horrible person.

You asked if I was trying to push you away
like I did to everyone else at school,
you know I do it because you've seen it happen
and my make up started to run down my face.

"I don't try to," I said, "It just happens."
which is true, but I think some people
I wanted to more than I should be proud to say.

You, you are not one of them though,
which is why I am here writing something else
just for you, trying to make up for my mistakes
and as always, it's just too little, too late.


I'm just so confused.



I'm so sorry..

I shall walk slowly there
with nothing left to fear
but Fear himself there is
no other thing to do
like such

however

light takes the tree over
by the fence singing beneath
the fullest moon ever seen

and Time screams
too softly to be heard
as Fear passes on to
a world completely
unlike this

yet

I shall walk slowly there
fearing only Fear ticking
seconds off one by one
listening to Time questioning
more than I
ever have

what shall become of us all
if moments continue
wasting away
like this

And now all the words I read,
the ones with new form and stories
too deep to comprehend;

all the ones I read have
traces of you left
between the lines.

They all sound so pretty
until ghosts start asking questions
and shadows begin quoting
all the best things you have
ever said.

And all these words,
they are so perfect -
like you

but they have multiple meanings
and the stories are too true
for me to ever read again.



P.S. i know i shouldnt say this, but i hope ive done the same to all your favorite songs

Usually I write when I miss you...

Today,
I bought albums from every band
you ever told me you liked. They are
all I have heard since I woke up
this morning and I am still not even
out of bed. I see why you liked them
so much. They are good for drowning
out the ******* and giving you something
to think about that you never expected.

Usually I write when I miss people. . .

It's only when I start feeling better
that I swim through their favorite melodies
and fish in the lyrics they once quoted
so dutifully and profoundly at every turn
in the road. Making every mountain
just a little easier to climb and the poison
a bit more subtle as it drips down
the back of your throat into your veins.

Usually I write when I am sad...

this time it's just because I am numb

Dear You,

As much as I like to believe
you will never see these words
life has a funny way of proving me wrong
at any given opportunity. This being said
you have brought me to a much more
joyful place in my life than I can remember
being in a while.

With you words just flow
so much easier than they can be written,
every love song ever written has some sort of relevance,
and stars shine brighter than ever before
just for us. Maybe that is just because
of the love I have for you, and maybe
it's the way the entire world lights up
when you smile or how everything laughs along
when you do.

Whatever the reason,
I am so very glad you are
part of my life. So many people
have spent countless hours telling me
that I deserve more than what I had
in the past and I finally see
what they meant by that.

So thank you
for finding your way
into my experiences.

I love you.

I wonder if the sun and the moon
go through this kind of torture
when they are together but always
so very, very alone. Is rain nothing
more than tears of the moon
trying so desperately not to disturb
that misunderstood, tormented darkness?

Are shooting stars just pirates
sailing away for good, so as not
to jeopardize that love they have?
If something is this beautiful
everyone will tell you it's not right
to disturb it, like a delicate rose
even gorgeous when it's long past dead.

Waves always wonder who their mystery
stalker is, but they never live long
enough to see that it's no one to be
afraid of, that the midnight angel just
wants the very best for them, night after
night, which is exactly why she raises
the bar between sea and sky higher with
every tide to come. Don't you understand?

I wonder if this is how the sun
and moon feel, they know they will
always have each other's love and
friendship but they won't ever get
the chance to quench their need to
end that struggle of wanting to
kiss and not being able to - like you
always used to say after getting me
to break my shell just a little more.

It's nice to know that we
are not alone, even in our

loneliness.

The shadow inside my shadow screams
a blood curling scream, breaking
the silence of a cheap hotel
somewhere big with walls paper thin

and still the old ways we shared
haunt me in ways you will never
understand. Because you have yet
to spend a single midnight in Rome
while mending a broken soul.

I often wonder if this is just
a single year summer love we have
going on between you and me,
that a short journey back to the
places we came from would be
enough to shatter both our hearts
and anything we think of each
other.

That you have to have the strings
still attached, like a warning
in the manual meant to be bolded
that reads: "tie to fly" because your
wings aren't strong enough to
hold you all the way across the finsh
line.

I often wonder if this is just
all in my head and there's really
nothing at all going on between
you and me; yet I continue searching
for ways to break the silence
creeping in around us as we lay with
my head on your heart and someone else
waiting

on you.

Give me my wings

there's nothing worse than eating
dirt when you've already tasted
the clouds. Feasting on the dreams
you fought to keep when everyone else
laughed and sipping every silver lining
you could find like warm ginger tea
after playing in fallen painted leaves.

Give me my wings

I'm someone far too enchanted
with the sky, with being able to touch
the stars that looked after me
for so many years. It's more than painful
to be here face down on the ground
with no strength to stand and no home
to go back to anymore.

Always been an angel in your eyes,

so why'd you take them back
this time? Take this ******* halo,
fallen down 'round my neck and give me
the wings I spent so long forging for myself
in the fires of Hades while he fished
for truth in its lava seas. Good or bad,
wrong or right, it doesn't matter much
when you can no longer see the light.

Angels on the sidelines
watch with weary eyes
at the horror that unfolds:

monkey killing monkey killing monkey killing me
they all believe living life is always gonna be free
killing each other over pieces of this ******* ground
chasing each other for the thrill of knocking another down.

Baffled and confused
they pick and choose
anger is their friend
and they meet their end

monkey killing monkey killing monkey killing me
never learned what it means to agree
want the same thing, want nothing at all
angels on the sideline quietly pray they fall.

Puzzled and amused
your God is more confused
misguided in mystery
what is this magic ability?

monkey killing monkey killing monkey killing me
cause mother never stopped them in infantry
chase each other round with an evil grin
plastered on as they fool each other for the win.

baffled and confused
right in two they choose
tired and so alone
this is all we've ever known

what have we become?

I know its eavesdropping to look
through the keyhole on two people
in love when one's a stranger and
the other lives in your heart. But love's
such a fickle thing and games like that
are far too complicated to play.

You see, it's just one thing when
they are talking while rearranging
furniture and something entirely
different when they are kissing by
the fire. Look again though, tell me
tomorrow and wish me luck when
I whisper through tears that I still dream
of yesterday.

I miss the way things were then.

Don't sing our song to her between
flickering flames and wondering hands,
don't give her my hot tea or read her
those hand me down poems you wrote
for me first. Even remembering all those
slamming doors and random fights over
nothing at all don't make me want
anything better or different.

I know it's eavesdropping to look
through the keyhole in most
situations, but is that still the case
when you're just a doll on a shelf
bought for a girl you no longer know?

A day meant to be special

the world was supposed to
be in the palm of her hand
today

yet here she is all alone again
sitting on the edge of her bed
fighting back tears as she
remembers

the last time she heard him
say those sweet little words
honestly.

she turned sixteen and learned
to drive anywhere she could
dream

mom gave her hugs and kisses,
trust and a fresh start, forgiving
everything.

a day meant to be special

the world was supposed to
be in the palm of her hand
today

that's the problem with
memories,

birthdays,

and

teenagers.

Heartbeats growing fast
hands intertwine, breaths linger
but it's just a dream.

Mom,

I borrowed your monkey sweatshirt
the one that smells like smoke,
with holes in the sleeve and
more memories than anything else.

Don't get mad,
it just reminds me of you

As I write this, there is a black rose
sitting on the dresser across the room
from me. Rain is lightly drizzling
from the rooftop. Words are just stringing
themselves along a bland page
that more than likely will never be
read again. But I want it to be read,
I want more people like you to find this
and realize just how perfect your life is -
even when things are not perfect.

I want it to be completely
understood. I want it to be

life changing.

As I write this, there is a black rose
sitting on the dresser across the room
from me. Rain is lightly drizzling
from the rooftop. Words are just stringing
themselves along a bland page
that more than likely will never be
read again. But I want it to be read,
I want more people like you to find this
and realize just how perfect your life is -
even when things are not perfect.

I want it to be completely
understood. I want it to be

life changing.

Eyes flutter shut
like butterfly wings
in the early sunrise

I know you're gone
but dreams of you
come so swiftly
that id rather live there

than to wake
another day.

Fingertips trace
the outline of what
was once your
silhouette

and somehow
even though it's all
over, you're still here

loving me

every step
of the way.

The sun rose early today,
birds sang freely, roses danced,
and asked about you

Fragile.

That's the only word I can think of
to describe the life I live and the kind
of person I am. There's only so much
to a lonely, old soul that anyone else
would ever even dream of

understanding.

But you, you know that already,
don't you? You come here daily
ready for your next does of my
thoughts bittersweet like the coffee
you sip as you read as much as you can
before the alarm for work goes off.

It's like you can't feel anything
for yourself unless you know what
I've been feeling lately, as though
you are only numb until I interfere
with your days. . .

Fragile.

That's more than who I am,
it's the life I live and the people
I love with every piece of my
shattered heart beating profusely
beneath this scarred chest of mine.

It's why these words sound so good
to you, why you think you understand,
even though, I know you don't. So don't
bother pretending, it doesn't make me
love you anymore than I do as is. But
don't worry, you weren't exactly meant to

understand.

"Your poetry is lonely," he said,
"Yet you write to feel less alone."

"I know," I answered the way wind answers
a hot afternoon jogger on the highway's edge.
There was a silence, the only noises were
the keys of his old typewriter

click clacking away at themselves,
"I'm sorry," I sobbed. He got up
and walked to the door, put his hand
on the doorknob, opened his heart

and faced me once more,
"It wasn't meant to hurt you, Love.
That's the last thing she said to me
and life is too precious to waste
thinking everyone's out to get you."

With that he left me to my thoughts,
replaying the scene again and again,
maybe I should get a typewriter myself
to write my story just as powerfully
as he wrote his. To be in some young person's
dream, inspiring them the way he does
for me. . .

She's old fashioned, writes letters
and mails postcards long before
sending an email. She'd rather
hear you say it than to read it

on a screen so much bigger than
it should be. Drinks tea all day long
only sips on coffee when everything's
not right. I'd tell you how beautiful

she is but you wouldn't believe me
cause she's not stick thin and her
eyes shine more than her hair does.

She's old fashioned, her heart
belongs to you and she can't take
another shattering break so
please be careful with this one.

She's just not

like the others.

The walls missed you so much that they
started talking last night. You left such
beautiful words behind that they are
almost enough to make me forget
you ever even left at all.

The shadows started asking where
you are and silence echoed back
as one of those half baked answers
when no one's sure if its better to lie
or tell the truth for the other's sake.

The radio voice makes me sick
and the songs he announces are
too much to take now, because he still
loves all of our favorite songs more than
we ever could. You really do leave an
impression everywhere you go,

and it's good I'm getting ready to
leave these memories and haunted
halls because this place will never be
the same again.

Let your rain fall down again
watch lighting crash against
blackness of everything that
simply cannot be described.

Tell me of your nightmares
so I can pull you close, share
with me your every dream
and I will chase it with you.

We talk and time melts away
you say good night but I only
wish you could stay. The stars
are beautiful but you are too,

Let your rain fall down again
watch lighting crash against
your pain, give me a second
to bring your smile back home.

There's a man who stands on the dock
every night staring at the water as he
runs his finger across the pendant she
used to wear. It's blue in a silver binding
he gave it to her not long after they met.

It was a cold day in town, he was getting
groceries and she was window shopping
with her daughter, just to pass some time.
He could feel the rain slipping down and
shattering between them. Now, he's all

alone. With nothing but a pendant and the
place they used to call a castle not a home.

Darkness enters slowly,
tears fall quietly, the hopelessness
is beginning to fade now.

Love is when
you can look at anything
and instantly think
of them.

It is when you
wake up next to them
even if it is only in
your mind.

And when they
make you smile even though
you barely want
to breathe.

This, this is
just loneliness.


Lust.


Infatuation.

Thank you for waltzing through my heart
while you could, I mean really,
thank you
for taking time out of your incredibly
busy schedule for me (no sarcasm,
I mean it in all honesty.) Thank you for
showing me what the definition of art really is
and the person I really want to be -

someone so much better than I was two years ago
when we met. Thank you for leaving without
saying goodbye and for teaching me what glass
feels like when it hits the wall, shatters, and
falls to the ground glistening beautifully like
new fallen snow in all it's painful perfection.

Thank you for broadening my horizons and
helping me realize that words are only ever words
and they won't change the world they,
won't always mean the same thing to everyone,
they won't always even be true. Thank you
for your stay.

I know you can't hear me -
no one ever can.

That's why I scatter my thoughts,
comments, and ideas all over my world
for the few people who actually care
to find at their own leisure. I know you -
you are genuinely curious, that's why you
have found my every physical hiding place
and mental cottages and libraries
holding the only known dictionaries of
my own special languages. I know you -
you have already realized that most of this
is meant for a specific little group of people
who don't even try to understand
what I am doing. Not the way you do at least.

I know you can't hear me -
no one ever can.

That's why this will wait here for years
and years, looked at by hundreds -
maybe even thousands of people none of whom
will quite get it and then you will go scrolling through
trying to catch up on what you missed
when you refused to care because it just hurt you -
I like to say I know you, but the sad truth is
I only ever knew you and that has long since ended.

I know you can't hear me -
no one ever can.

"Hey ***,
im in a place with basically no
internet connection.
just wanted to let you know
that im alright
and miss you.

ill keep in touch,"
you wrote to me not long
before you forgot
to come home again.

But you don't have to be here
to be the person you promised to be.

"If the world were ending tomorrow
I'd make it a point to come
and try to save you," I remember
you saying when I started that fight
and screamed, "NO! You don't!
You don't care! That's the problem!"

then threw my pen at the wall
and shut my computer so hard that
my brother could hear it
on the other end of the house.

But I didn't mean to fight you,
to push you away when I just wanted
you closer than you were.

"only 1087 painfully long days left
i would like to see you, really see you,
i would like to be with you somewhere,
anywhere... so it is true -
they are painfully long days," I once wrote
for you thinking you'd really be
my knight in shining armor

coming to save me from my own prison.
Little did I know you couldn't even
save yourself. I had no idea that you were
all talk and no walk. Now you're gone
and sometimes I forget that I'm supposed to
forget you. . .

You don't have to be here
to be the person you promised to be.

So please come home soon?

Being with you is like dancing on water
inside the darkened theatre of death
like playing the part of a college student
just trying to get through initiation
with some stupid frat or sorority
I know I don't belong in, but join anyway
just to shut my parents up again.

It's like playing with money in the middle
of the busy streets found in places like
London and New York, but of course you -
you wouldn't understand an analogy like that;
you've never been anywhere have you love?

'Cause you're just another caged songbird
singing for someone else's freedom
instead of your own cause that's what lovers do
when they're in love. But I have to say,

I love being with you - it's like dancing on water
and playing with money; watching strangers
turn their heads in awe and screaming
words they don't even agree with in some kind of
falsified disgust because that's what happens
in death's theatre and on the busy streets of
places way too big for their own good.

It's something so unique,
something completely different from everything else
I've ever known and I think it's time you knew that.

I know you've been through it all before,
too afraid to admit that you loved and lost
forgetting that only the brave survive.

Someone was here long before me,
they took your strengths and poked holes
in them while smelting your insecurities
into permanent scars and doubts. That's
when you put your heart in storage

before the beginning of the world's second end
in hope someone new (someone like me)
would come along and take you for a walk
in the clouds holding your hand the way
it's thought that angels will when Time comes
to pull you away from your last page.

I know you've been through it all before,
you know what it's like to shatter and fall
but not everyone is another pirate

taking advantage of the rare
golden hearted seraphim of the myth
(you and your kind). So please, Darling,

please, let me love you.

"Where would we be if I hadn't thrown my halo off the clouds
and given my wings away before I jumped down?

The ash won't wash away from my hands
nor will the dirt on my face and it feels like the cuts will never heal
because the previous scars still haven't begun to fade.
It's like the night we watched the sky fall down
and counted the stars as they began to die
when everything went black and the smoke continued to rise. "
you thought to yourself as you walked around exploring your new town.

"Oh angel, why was it always so hard to breathe whenever you were around?
Aren't you supposed to take my hand and hold my heart,
make everything okay as we watch the world around us fall apart?"
I wondered night after night from the safety of my room
dancing in the chaos of simple songs with newly weighted lyrics.

Then days passed and we got further and further away from each other.
You ran in one direction and I followed in the wrong one.
Until someone saw the pain in your eyes and asked,
"Where has your sinner gone? You need them to balance out your purity.
Even angel's should know that's the way 'God' has you play the game,"
which left you broken on the sidewalk asking why
the swallows dance above the sun and where we would be

without all the delirium.





Oh angel, I thought breathing was difficult when you were here,
only now do I understand how completely impossible it was

before.

Someday you are going to understand
what it's like to wake up to pure cream ghosts
and ebony shadows sleeping next to you
in your bed when you thought you were alone.

You'll get up and throw a T-shirt on,
stumble into the kitchen and start the coffee,
pull a mug from the shelf and rinse it out
notice that's got a plum tone to it -

refreshing from the scene of everything
and nothing with nothing on either side.

Someday you are going to understand
the pain of life surrounded by stark whites
and soulless blacks with your only joy
coming from the passionate purples dancing

across the stage every now and again
knowing they're all you have keeping you
from  j
...........u
. . . . . . m
...............p
. . . . . . . . . i
...................n
. . . . . . . . . . . g.

Dearest Anarchy, beloved soul that you are, teach me to fish in Hades. Remind me of the lie covered truths and broken-hearted songs that bite. Let me tell you that I crave your voice the way i long to hate the ones who know no other way than to hate. Oh Anarchy, you intrinsic soul, take me through the fire, show me what darkness really is and teach me to fish in Hades for it seems there is no other way.

He searched for enlightenment,
obsessing over the cosmic refreshment,
only to find a girl who cannot lie,
never sleeps, and always sighs.

I know I wasn't his goal at all,
so Anarchy dear, teach me how to fall -
for something, someone, anything, anyone
other than his love, to replace my dying sun.

I know you remember me still
by the way she cries and I know
you refuse to tell her why, afraid that
you might scare her away. You hold
her close at night and sing her the songs
you wrote for me pretending it's my smile
on her face and the chocolate in her eyes
has been replaced by my bluebells and
crashing waves.

I know you tried to move on
and haven't given up yet
because she is still there even though
we both know she's not your type and
this just isn't fair. You give her my names
and make up new reasons that just aren't there
but she believes you because it looks
like someone really loves her
and you are here forever.

I know you remember me by the way
she cries when you're not around
and we both know you still taste
my sour apple kisses in her tears.

I know you remember me by the way
she cries, and we all know you will still
even after Death dies.

The softest sound
reached for shape
and settled upon
drops of glass-like
rain falling from the
gardens of your
God forsaken bible
and whispered,

"Heaven
. . . is. . .
Falling."

You are the oceans
and the seas -

the tree branches and
their leaves.
You are the sunrise

in the morning and
starlight when I sleep -
you are colors after

a rainstorm, your
warmth thaws the
winter freeze.

You are the air
that I breathe -
you are the wind songs

on the breeze.
You are my entire world
you mean everything to me.