Lights in a tunnel
Flicker
On Off
Off On
Lights in a tunnel
Flicker
and
Fade
Just as you reach them
Just as you meet them
To trick you
To tease you
To leave you
10.16.2007
Remember.
You remind me of what I love in people
communicate
express
explore
You remind me of the things I try to be
communicate
express
explore
That great medium in between exploration and expression
That trial and error
Trial and error
Exploration and Discovery
You remind me of what I love in people
Communicate
Express
Explore
communicate
express
explore
You remind me of the things I try to be
communicate
express
explore
That great medium in between exploration and expression
That trial and error
Trial and error
Exploration and Discovery
You remind me of what I love in people
Communicate
Express
Explore
Untitled 2. April 2004.
I never want to look at your past again.
Compassionate sentiments written upon an advance in our history.
Society loves lovers, I love you, lover.
I will never convey this breath again; I will never speak of shrinking stars or shining lights on wet pavement.
I will never speak of metallic blue smoke or metallic blue eyes.
Days and Nights where love seemed to find me.
I can never speak of things I never want to forget.
Things that made me happy, while your past makes you happy.
These scars that you left, I keep veiled from your frosty glances.
Perfection is nonexistent.
When lovers love out of pure sympathy, love is a myth.
When your hand finds mine in the most platonic manner, I never want to speak of being friends first.
When a piece of evidence haunts our psyche like a common memory, I never want to think of aching jaws or wide eyed grins.
When simple phrases spark adoring faces to look towards adoring friends, I never want to think of cloud playgrounds or white wine and cigarettes.
Photographs and novels are only petty dreams from an adolescent.
Philosophers and Artists never made sense, they only made stories.
I tug on these glasses, they’re hard to wear when they’re not your own.
Flipped up collars and dark lenses are my identity.
Hiding from the world is my specialty.
Within a world of lightless demons, that shroud themselves in capes and coffins, and never sleep till 2 hours after sunrise, I was smitten.
Within cold unadorned nights, where we became Deity and discovered thrice was not impossible, I arose an addiction.
Inscribing narcotic sentiments upon pallid, amorous skin.
We discovered our fear of mortality without a paramour.
You value this view, for the same reasons as I.
You valued the stories it lends to the ear.
I balk at the idea of sympathy.
Simply for the fact that it is as endearing to touch lips out of sheer pity as it is to love out of absolute loneliness.
I’m discovering that this is hard to articulate.
I feel as if the beauty of our romantic nostalgia has elapsed.
I seem to no longer be wanted as the heroin of your memories
Compassionate sentiments written upon an advance in our history.
Society loves lovers, I love you, lover.
I will never convey this breath again; I will never speak of shrinking stars or shining lights on wet pavement.
I will never speak of metallic blue smoke or metallic blue eyes.
Days and Nights where love seemed to find me.
I can never speak of things I never want to forget.
Things that made me happy, while your past makes you happy.
These scars that you left, I keep veiled from your frosty glances.
Perfection is nonexistent.
When lovers love out of pure sympathy, love is a myth.
When your hand finds mine in the most platonic manner, I never want to speak of being friends first.
When a piece of evidence haunts our psyche like a common memory, I never want to think of aching jaws or wide eyed grins.
When simple phrases spark adoring faces to look towards adoring friends, I never want to think of cloud playgrounds or white wine and cigarettes.
Photographs and novels are only petty dreams from an adolescent.
Philosophers and Artists never made sense, they only made stories.
I tug on these glasses, they’re hard to wear when they’re not your own.
Flipped up collars and dark lenses are my identity.
Hiding from the world is my specialty.
Within a world of lightless demons, that shroud themselves in capes and coffins, and never sleep till 2 hours after sunrise, I was smitten.
Within cold unadorned nights, where we became Deity and discovered thrice was not impossible, I arose an addiction.
Inscribing narcotic sentiments upon pallid, amorous skin.
We discovered our fear of mortality without a paramour.
You value this view, for the same reasons as I.
You valued the stories it lends to the ear.
I balk at the idea of sympathy.
Simply for the fact that it is as endearing to touch lips out of sheer pity as it is to love out of absolute loneliness.
I’m discovering that this is hard to articulate.
I feel as if the beauty of our romantic nostalgia has elapsed.
I seem to no longer be wanted as the heroin of your memories
My Inspiration. May 2005.
My Inspiration flows from these two hands
My Inspiration comes from these four walls
It is taken from life that I have yet to live
It is taken from those ten fingers and those ten toes
It is found in History
It is found in Hope
It is found in the smallest crack in every sidewalk face
My inspiration is ink
My inspiration is people
It is every person I have not yet had the honor to meet
It is every drug I have not yet had the honor to do
It is in this place – whatever it may be
It is found in every burned out bulb in this city
It is in fear of Death
It is in Life, in
Me
My Inspiration comes from these four walls
It is taken from life that I have yet to live
It is taken from those ten fingers and those ten toes
It is found in History
It is found in Hope
It is found in the smallest crack in every sidewalk face
My inspiration is ink
My inspiration is people
It is every person I have not yet had the honor to meet
It is every drug I have not yet had the honor to do
It is in this place – whatever it may be
It is found in every burned out bulb in this city
It is in fear of Death
It is in Life, in
Me
Poetically On Your Leash. November 2005.
Traveling abroad
With weightless pockets
and
fulfilled chests.
I want to take it in.
I want to explode.
To carefully memorize
your gracious features
with my
fingertips.
In time.
To sing aloud
To songs we have yet
To call our own.
And spend sleepless nights
Breathing in zero degrees
of
separation.
To kiss your
neck and nose
and
To cuddle close
Comatose.
With weightless pockets
and
fulfilled chests.
I want to take it in.
I want to explode.
To carefully memorize
your gracious features
with my
fingertips.
In time.
To sing aloud
To songs we have yet
To call our own.
And spend sleepless nights
Breathing in zero degrees
of
separation.
To kiss your
neck and nose
and
To cuddle close
Comatose.
Inmate 11406. January 2006.
Dark Dance Halls.
and dim bathroom lines.
Say Anything.
Ill Hang on.
I laugh,
I flirt.
Hold Hands.
I'm drunk.
But i still know what i have to do.
I giggle,
"you're cute."
and, I've got you.
and dim bathroom lines.
Say Anything.
Ill Hang on.
I laugh,
I flirt.
Hold Hands.
I'm drunk.
But i still know what i have to do.
I giggle,
"you're cute."
and, I've got you.
idontcare. January 2006.
Ever again,
don't let him touch you.
you repeat.
I promise you.
for you, I will.
But when you leave
Im lonelier than before.
shallow,
kiss.
I miss you.
I'm sorry.
I'll wait.
I promise you.
don't let him touch you.
you repeat.
I promise you.
for you, I will.
But when you leave
Im lonelier than before.
shallow,
kiss.
I miss you.
I'm sorry.
I'll wait.
I promise you.
Untitled 3. Late 2005.
i don't have enough faces,
to keep you believing,
that i don't need you,
Love.
to keep you believing,
that i don't need you,
Love.
Weaker Than. February 2006.
Headlights,
Flickering.
Riding across a face.
Illuminating,
With every ounce
of their insatiable intensity.
Then
Dissipates.
In their mourning.
Flickering.
Riding across a face.
Illuminating,
With every ounce
of their insatiable intensity.
Then
Dissipates.
In their mourning.
Your Songs. February 2006.
Desire,
nothing
new
like an i love you letter,
this will keep me afloat.
this will keep me awake.
worse than caffine,
and
cloudy dreams.
nothing
new
like an i love you letter,
this will keep me afloat.
this will keep me awake.
worse than caffine,
and
cloudy dreams.
Inmate 32504. February 2006.
I want white wine and cigarettes,
again.
I want sleepovers every night
and
choosing warm arms to cold chairs.
I want 6pm on a Thursday, racing home.
I want to be fat and talk about,
"when we get famous."
I want my head on your lap
and a cool may morning at 2 am.
I want the smell of early June and July
when we had the birthdays across seas
we never quite got to share.
I want to fix that.
just like you told me
everything
and when it all came crashing down
you cried,
"i never want to be like him."
you are apart of me
that i cant let go
and just as hard as i deny it,
it buries itself deeper within me.
again.
I want sleepovers every night
and
choosing warm arms to cold chairs.
I want 6pm on a Thursday, racing home.
I want to be fat and talk about,
"when we get famous."
I want my head on your lap
and a cool may morning at 2 am.
I want the smell of early June and July
when we had the birthdays across seas
we never quite got to share.
I want to fix that.
just like you told me
everything
and when it all came crashing down
you cried,
"i never want to be like him."
you are apart of me
that i cant let go
and just as hard as i deny it,
it buries itself deeper within me.
So Silently. February 2006.
my heart will always race at night,
when i think i hear footsteps outsie my door.
i will always think,
its you.
when i think i hear footsteps outsie my door.
i will always think,
its you.
Air. 2005 sometime.
We were hopeless romantics
getting through life
on coattails of
imagination.
We dreamt of warmer nights
and sweeter days
of thunderstorms on the edges of the world.
of transatlanticism
and no money
we met by chance
but ever since the start I’ve been
falling for you
ever since my chariot lost its wheel
I’ve fallen asleep to find you
18 months
18 months feels like forever
on this page
it feels like first times
and broken good-byes
it feels like
"we can get through this"
and golden gate bridge
it feels like
slam poetry
and
all night dinners
best friends
and big mistakes
it feels like
no one understands
especially
ex's
it feels like
amazing
and
heartache
it feels like bloody hands
and
shards of glass
like
throwing up all night
and still being comfortable
18 months feels like
everything we both
kept hidden in out closets
and under out beds
18 months feels like
fucking eternity
getting through life
on coattails of
imagination.
We dreamt of warmer nights
and sweeter days
of thunderstorms on the edges of the world.
of transatlanticism
and no money
we met by chance
but ever since the start I’ve been
falling for you
ever since my chariot lost its wheel
I’ve fallen asleep to find you
18 months
18 months feels like forever
on this page
it feels like first times
and broken good-byes
it feels like
"we can get through this"
and golden gate bridge
it feels like
slam poetry
and
all night dinners
best friends
and big mistakes
it feels like
no one understands
especially
ex's
it feels like
amazing
and
heartache
it feels like bloody hands
and
shards of glass
like
throwing up all night
and still being comfortable
18 months feels like
everything we both
kept hidden in out closets
and under out beds
18 months feels like
fucking eternity
10.15.2007
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