I saw your eyes light up, back when we were five.

starlight and fireflies, big books, a long drive.

My my, how time has been cruel,

granting me the desires of my dreams.

and now I stand, watching like a fool,

as my fantasy tears at its seams.

I suppose the things we fought to do,

like sleepovers under summer stars,

become old and we yearn for something new,

rusted bikes left behind for shiny cars.

The cups that once held soda and juice,

now hold your way out of reality,

I think that's why it's easier to abuse,

becuase in the darkness lies obscurity.

He touched you, and you felt fire,

and you could only wish for more,

Then he morphed into a liar.

and left love behind a closed door.

Your eyes forgot to light up,

when you talked about the life you want.

one of touches and beer in an empty cup,

to quiet the bitter voices and thier taunt.

All my friends go out and get drunk,

and fall asleep with unknown men.

it's not even thier fault they sunk,

waiting for peace, but wondering when.

It's just... my cup still carries juice,

and I still pour over my books,

or maybe that just my excuse,

because I'm scared of how life looks.

I miss us wishing for more,

red lips and smokey eyes,

but our facade slowly tore,

and the spark quietly dies.

I still remember us in the backyard,

with scraped knees from an oak tree.

and god, I know this is hard,

but please don't grow up without me.

when i am left

to count rosary beads

instead of feeling

when i am left

to consider

why she left me

does the same god

who saved me

from terrible things

pray

to

redeem

me

We walked in the same direction, but we both got lost

we didn’t notice our hands slowly slipping away from each other

by the time we did it was too late

something about you changed

because when I reached for your hand

you pulled away

I was so shocked I didn’t know what to say

we went our separate ways that day

but I still stayed on that path retracing our steps

trying to find what went wrong

I hope you know I grew my hair out long

And your sister’s just fine

did you find what you were looking for?

Some escape from your skin

You know that place you were dreaming of

Where all light comes in?

They tell me, “grief is just love letting go”

They tell me they don’t know who I am anymore

I just have never shown my feelings before

but I’ll keep growing my hair out long

Just to cover my eyes

so that no one can see me cry.

It’s not fair. It’s not our fault.

We have no say in our own lives.

We’re living a fairy tale someone else wrote.

We dread it.

We run from it.

But destiny still arrives.

We are thinkers, not talkers.

We are problems, not solutions.

We are heroes of the dark, villains with a spark.

The heroes hate us.

Because that’s their story.

They hate us to fill the chapters of a hero’s life.

Because in the story hating a villain makes them feel like heroes.

How many villains suffer in silence?

’Cause real villains don’t cry.

It’s not enough to close our eyes.

Because our scripts are embedded into our minds.

And we follow them until we die.

think

just keep on thinking

your mind is a treasure,

no, my mind is the curse

the booby trap guarding the treasure.

i want to be special,

but i'm not even real.

i want to die,

but i'm not even alive.

i want to scream,

but my voice only works when they want it to.

the voices in my head

ask me what i'm doing here,

and i can't give them an answer.

i want to be special

i want so much to be special

but i'm just another speck of dust

floating in the nebula of the cosmos

i'm not special,

that's a lie they tell kindergarteners

to hide them from reality.

i'm as ordinary as they come,

and i'll live and die boring

just like my mother

and father

and grandparents

and everyone else.

because we're all boring,

a bunch of useless clumps of mold

eating away at the fruit of the universe

we are flies clustered on a dying star

sucking away at our food,

sipping our truth through a clogged straw

only bits and pieces get in.

think.

keep thinking, your thoughts mean something.

no they don't.

don't kid yourself.

eventually all we know will be gone,

our thoughts,

our inspirations,

our hopes, dreams, worlds.

what's the point in thinking

if it all goes down the drain?

what does it matter if i die now or later?

in the end,

we're all just specks of dust

in the universe.

and we'll never be anything more,

no matter how long we live or how much we do.

From when we were young, times that are now only remembered through memories and stories, and dusty photographs holding a memory in its hands, never to let go. It represents freedom, and an urge to disappear from what you know, to run away to a place that you can only dream of. The paint faded and peeling off of the old wood. My reflection not visible in the cracked and blurry mirror. Each shard of glass holding onto the faces it has seen and the stories it has witnessed. I have heard your adventure so many times, told in the dusty twilight of a summer day, or beside the fire while the wind and snow beat heavily upon our solitude. Given from hand to hand, and heart to heart; pulled from place to place. Showing up on our doorstep many years ago, to be passed on to our home, to our world; to be remembered when everyone else has forgotten.  Now sitting there, in unbroken silence,  you will wait for a time where we will remember. 

Roses are red

Roses are white

Roses are black

With absence of light

With every rose

A romance is born

But please don't forget

With roses come thorns

--- or ---

Roses are white

In town of mine

But they are red

'Cross the Pennines

And both are from

Rosaceae

A symbol of love

That led many to die

There’s this god awful smell

And it’s coming from inside

I think I’m rotten at the core

Rotten as can be

I slit a vein just to know

What’s living inside

Bubbling to the surface all I found

Was a wave of sewage pouring out of me

Rotten, broken, sick

There’s nothing I can do

Sitting with myself

In a cage of flesh and bone

There’s only one escape

I slit a vein and wait

I let all the garbage seep away

But all I am is this stink inside

If you drain it all away you’ll find

Nothing left behind

If I can find a way

A way out of this place

I’d find my home in hell

A rotting filthy putrid place

It’s the hole where I belong

So dying here so fucking slow

I know

There’s nothing left behind

a simple memory, so fragile & could be forgotten 

it seems so long ago that we were there,

riding bikes in the dusty air of summertime, 

along the empty streets, & once in a while

the dogs would bark as we passed,

angry to be awoken from their summertime slumber. 

lying on top of so much history, so many stories, 

buried forever in the tall grass & sunflowers

that waved in the breeze as we passed. 

you're still there, aren't you? 

waiting, watching for me to return, &

for me to remember who I am.

sunset, lighting up the whole world 

those sunflowers glowing crimson & gold, 

and in the last moments before the sun disappeared,

they hold on to a moment of time, 

a reminder of those summer days. 

in the middle of a town where people rush around day & night,

in the middle of all those modern buildings, modern people, modern world

you still wait for me to remember; in all the golden splendor,

in the simple fragility of your untouched world, 

you wait for us to remember those summer days

that are now only memories, faded and almost forgotten. 

Wait for me. I'll come back. 

Wet clay molded, pressed,

baked in fiery heat

Stress seeks release, splitting into

fractured lines across the surface

Footsteps unfounded, stumble,

sliding through,

like a Dali painting,

memory is slippery