writing happy poems isn't my thing
i'm better at typing a poem
which is saddening

the mirror is a ghost
that reflects black eyes
brought by your own hands.
tiny pupils in an iris of badly mixed paint.
you are a ghost
without the desire to haunt.
no desire to *****.
or creep up to the boy in the dark hallway
and yell 'boo!'.

every breath, he takes as your own.
his every move could be your demise.
he gives you your flesh back when
he holds you and kisses you,
even when you know he doesn't like to kiss.
he is your pale skin,
your fat thighs and freckles.
he is everything about you,
from your strange secret habits,
to your most embarrassing
**** beach runs, that can
only be remembered
through the tales of others.
he is all of you now
and you know it's a terrible
                                                  terrib­le
                                                              ­  terrible thing.

but the mirror never lies and now you are dust.
ashes to ashes.
your tongue covered in residue from the 70mg
of ****** taken.

but through the calm you wish you had his hand
to brighten your eyes and flesh once more
with just that crooked smile and deep blue eyes
that will never, never, never cease to intoxicate you.

but every night as his soul leaves,
to adventure planes in dreams you could never imagine,
that even by his side, without him there,
forever will you remain but the dust form of an empty human.

next year, i'll have no valentine
i'll be all alone, again
i will have to witness
guys buying roses
for their girls
and ladies
buying gifts
for special guys

this poem will be here for just a moment
soon to be dust in the wind
in the shortest of time it will eventually find
it's way to the bottom of the bin

it might bring a touch of joy or sadness
but that depends on you
and at the time you read it
the frame of mind your mood

it won't take you to the mountain top
soaring to the very heights
or take you to the depths of despair
where it keeps you up at night

it won't bring peace to all the nations
it won't have us holding hands
it won't repair any of the damage
that's been done over the course of time by man

it won't open any minds
or close doors on the best forgotten
in the least amount of time
it'll come and go from every noggin

chances are it won't be remembered
five minutes after it's gone
and without a tune to carry it
it may not even last that long

some songs are unbearable to hear
they remind me of you
when you loved me
the previous year

some movies are hard to watch
they remind of the romance
we once used to have

some poems are hard to read
they remind me
of the one
i used to call mine
the one
who ultimately
left me to grieve
the loss of us

the few things that used to bring me happiness
they now seem to bring me pain
all i do is cry tears
again and again

people say your name
and it's like a bullet
through my brain

people call you my 'lover'
and it makes me want
to dig myself a grave
6ft under

it hurts thinking of you
it hurts dreaming of you
it kills me thinking of you
loving someone else
because that girl
or that guy
has no idea
just how blessed
their heart is
to be loved
by the one
i love the most
the one
who left me
hanging on
like a ghost
too afraid
to enter
the afterlife
because of the one
they didn't want to leave behind