You've been lurking
in my thoughts all week
(ever since that night
we spent in each other's arms)
which has been made worse by the knowledge
that you haven't given any thought to me.

I had given up
on loving you
except now
the imprint of your arm across my chest
and the smell of your breath in my hair
linger on,
each memory a tendril
attached to my body
dragging me deeper into
the waters of the past.

That night we spent
together
(as friends but bodies curled
against each other like lovers)
has been following me around,
a second shadow
goading me
a dull reminder that
what mattered so much to me
(that night together
your head against my back
your legs against mine)
(and all those other nights
flirtations conversations smiles whispered exchanges
promises)
meant so little to you.

Push it down, deep down beneath,
Let it boil, let it roll, let it seethe,
The careless eye shall miss it all,
One word to them, amidst the deafening scrawl,
Take this moment in, simply breathe.

I don't need to deal, don't need to cope,
I live each day, with a dream and hope,
I'm not broken, you'll see,
I can laugh, and be wild, and act free,
Does it look as if misery holds me tight in rope?

Breath fills my lungs, I live another day,
This world is mine, moldable as clay,
Loss touches the hearts of all World Chasers,
The Go-Getters, the Fastest-Pacers,
We see the light, shining through the grey.

So long as we do not contemplate our loss,
Clinging to our hearts as thick as the aging moss.

Another sleepless night you have taken from me.
Stolen. Along with my heart; I cannot be set free.
Why does it continue to happen - the thoughts, that flood my head.
As I lay awake and restless in my bed,
I remember the honeyed lies you fed me,
Sweet poison to my ears.
But now you have finished serving your bitter sweet lies
And the aftertaste is sour, as I lay here unable to close my eyes
Another sleepless night you have taken from me.

there are days when your name is the only sound echoing in my head
there are days when I can't remember whether your eyes were green or gray the last time I saw your face
there are days when it feels like I lost a piece of my heart and mind when you walked out the door
and there are those heartbreaking days when it feels like you're a stranger I've never met
there are days when I can't do anything but remember
there are days when I can't forget

I saw your fire red lips today,
Lighting up someone else's world
With a kiss, to the air, to their lips
I'm sure their heart was in flames.
I wanted to feel that burn
And I missed it, for a moment
And a lifetime.

Times like these are when hearts sink,
Like lame Titanic references, inserted here,
Because I'd like to think it sinks in deep.

Sometimes I feel like it's better to be alone for a long time before trying again.
Sometimes I'm wrong about these things and regret it in the end.
Sometimes I'm right.

This time I'm right.
And this didn't go the way I imagined.

Burn on.

I run to drown out fear
and to block out pain
no I do not run from them
I run for them

I run for heartbreaks
and nightmares
that cannot stop me
for I run

I run from love
and hate
because you cannot know one
without the other

didnt make it to
your wedding
but i sent your
anniversary gift
in mid-december
despite the
june event.

the circumstances
felt cold to me
anyway.

The body remembers, though it has been
four years since the summer you shattered your
knee but still limped out across the continent
to Boston to see him you idiot and
this is the fourth summer you've placed between
yourself and the last pin and the last *****
your body remembers, though in the
torturous lengthening of fused and toughened tissues
the bad leg is finally catching up,
and the scar with its ten numb inches of
puckered track has come to fade bone white
against your skin
but it’s still stored somewhere
in your sockets or cells and when you fall off your bike you still cry
Though you’re not really hurt your body remembers
So that when you’re confronted with their engagement photo
(you didn’t even know he was seeing anyone)
the darkened garden at the Plymouth Plantation
begins to bloom up around you before you can stop it
like a seizure or a vision, and you’re there again
trespassing after him through shadowy pines
and night-damp atlantic air
to where the white chairs encircle the altar.