Here I write
a wistful thought
about the past,
as if there's a different
thought one could have
about a previous life's desires.

Here I think
about the times
and the places we have been,
and how there's no going back
except in our memories.

Here I wonder
if you're sitting alone
or if you're next to her again
longing for something different
or sobering up at the fact
you'll never get it.

it's so hard to hold onto my sanity when i watch them lose control.
it's so easy to fall, even though i know it'll be hell.
i could be weak and do it again;
feel the bitterness and gagging,
the dizziness and hear my giggling.
or i could control myself and be bland. tasteless.
i don't want to be a bore,
i want to be a firefly that makes your eyes widen at the golden star i carry on my back.
but i don't want to get squashed by your fingers,
so what am i supposed to do?

i wish i knew if what you said was true
and i wish that you would fight for me
but you can't even fight for yourself
you tell me to stop when i'm drinking
that it's bad
and that i'll die young
but i think you're always forgetting that i don't care
i'll sleep forever one day,
with my muscles lax and my bones weightless,
and i'll evaporate into the soil
and nourish the worms and the weeds
i hope that when i'm gone
you won't mind too much
and hopefully i'll leave you a gift
because i don't want to disappear
worth nothing to you

They said If I took cough syrup that I could die
Slowly I gave the escape from reality a try
But I drank more than the recommended amount

After a while I lost count
The liquid tastes best mixed with sprite
Friends pushed away , and confusion in sight
The devil brought out my innocence one night

I layed crying on the bathroom floor
And the devil out the door
The purple liquid down the drain
And nothing to escape from the pain

Half way up the hills
and eclectic group gather
at a narrow bar.

Leather jackets
occupy seats
by the door.

We sit
for a cigarette length of time
(cigarette length of time =
   1 x 10 minutes
            + ≥ 10 minutes before
                   and/or after cigarette)
and walk
the dimly lit corridor
to the bar.

We sit
at a table for two
against a wall.

The band plays fiercely.
I've seen them before.

Their moxie
always brings
a rowdy crowd.

Behind them
apple crates
cling to the wall,
housing quirky decor.
Books, globes and vintage cameras.

A projector casts
lollipop swirls
and a singing silhouette.

Drink specials:
tequila mockingbird

I spoke to a Serbian girl I know.
She always wears glitter
and hazy eyes.
The more questions
I ask her
the longer I can listen
to her accent.

We spoke about the age old
nature vs nurture enigma,
and the life long impact
of a child's first six years.

She asked me
about my art.

It seems
that's all anyone
knows me for.

Outside, again, we sit.
For 5 x cigarette length of time.

Around me
people talk...
                 and talk.....
                               talk....
                                       ta...
                                             l...
                                                 k.

I'm sober.
Too **** sober.

My daydreams are broken
by a man.
He's bubbly and smiles a lot.
I like bubbly, smiley strangers.

We exchange stories
of our current lives.
He's a graphic designer,
and tells me
I should merge my art
and writing
into film,
and gifts me a flashlight.

I like quirky, bubbly, smiley strangers.

I'm left to retreat
back into my own thoughts.
It's less lonely in there.

I sort through memories,
recite lyrics,
observe the people around me
and watch them closely.
Their body language,
the way they bring
their glass to their mouth
and blow their smoke.

People interest me most
doing nothing in particular.

But I miss something,
and I can't quite pinpoint what.

I'm sober.
             Too.
                 ****.
                         Sober.

"You only miss me when you're ******"
Like i only breath when i sleep
Or how i'm only smart at school

I don't miss you cause i'm ******
I miss you because i love you
I'm not stupid enough to tell you sober

How many wish their days were different.
Just how far would one force the wheel back.
How many hours and seconds feel wasted.
On people.
Phone calls that last into the a.m.
Sleepless nights.
Wakeless days.
We call them day dreams.
Because when night falls.
Only nightmares await.
What is it called when the terror recedes due to repetition.
So many ache for a life less frightening.
Constantly swerving to avoid shadows.
Disregarding the dotted lines left by those that embrace an unknown.
That will never be traversed again.
Creating a fear of mistakes.
That only feed the ever growing mass which ironically will never know growth.  
It is too​ perpetual to be called stagnant.
And we have yet to see just how much will be consumed.
It's only when a distinction can be made.
That will cause such a drastic shift in paradigm.
Sending tremors of enlightenment and damnation alike back to the epicenter.
Just to shake down what meager sandcastle stand.
Can one breathe life.
When so many forget to inhale.
Then ****** themselves into an endless void.
which should never have been undertaken to begin with.
Like trying to start a car without first getting out of bed.
Then realize only a tire-less bicycle is all that sits in the drive way.
One Should fear.
For sometimes it is the only drive that can be counted on.

midnight thoughts and wasted eyes
waiting for the sun to rise
owls are howling, so depressed
the morning light will be our guest

dosen’t matter if we’re drunk or sober
wasted nights in late october
leaves are floating down to earth
feeling like we’re nothing worth

Twenty one is the
last age to be excited
about turning

Once you're past thirty
birthdays are just
lying and not getting
presents

This next year is the last
time I'll have to pretend
to enjoy getting older

but it's one day less
than a month away
from my twenty first birthday

and I don't drink

Seven shots with ****** knuckles,
four bottles of letting everyone down,
Eight hits from a disappointing life.

It only took me one trip to the rehab center called your touch. I used the medicine of your love to become sober.

now I am dependent on you, I need you every day and do not feel the same without you. I have an itch when I'm away and a warmth when I'm close. I became addicted to your love.

twelve tabs of compassion,
three pints of self-worth,
five pills of your warm embrace,
And one injection of beautiful passion.

I want you...

I need you...

I have you.

I love you.