The light dances across the old wooden boards,

And it whispers softly in a distant voice.

It speaks to be no more than who you are.

You have no reason to achieve more,

You only have to be.

Exist,

Nurture the softness of your spirit with the riches of the earth.

When you feel full of life’s fruit,

Do not choke on the rest.

Leave it for someone else,

And let them love it

And use it,

Better than yo...

What are we curing?

Tumors.

So of course,

Give them to the rat in the cage.

What are we fixing?

Chains.

Once again,

Break the links.

What are we putting out?

Fires.

And so,

Torch it all.

Things often have to be broken before you can fix them.

Maybe,

Fighting with those you love,

Isn’t so backwards after all....

The feeling,

That takes you from a well and able person,

To an ill and sickened body.

The horrors of regret

Of wishing you could change

What has happened before.

The burden of memory,

Of the past

Hangs heavy on a guilty man’s heart.

But just as a heavy,

On a girl who has stuttered in class....

In a world full of roses,

Be a thorn.

An unrelenting thorn

Festering in the side of the conformers of the world.

Stick immediately to those

Uniform and resistant to change.

Be impossible to ignore,

Splintering with passion,

With what you hold to be true.

Among the perfect and delicate roses,

Easy to love,

Be hard to love.

Be complex and ever changing.

See who sticks around,

Sticks around like...

Something will click.

And it will feel,

Different.

Not the obsession from before.

But more like you’ve never gotten along with someone like you are right now,

And you feel you never will.

Maybe I only really loved,

The thought of you.

Farewell, my almost lover....

When the stars fell,

We were walking gently.

And as they descended from the sky,

We simply lay.

Lay and felt the warmth fade from the sky.

The moonlit paleness of your skin

Left in quick descent.

And in the darkness we swam,

Waded in our fears

Awash in the infinite sea of quiet....

When I’m old and paper thin,

I’ll recognize the sweet lull of cold silence.

Excite from the dull, insipid crickets in the air

Or the numbing grass on the hard ground.

Feel and hold the melancholy ache

Of nothing, and nobody

Being around.

Like a relive of first discovery’s.

I’ll clutch the lacking old picture,

Framed by the books.

And run my fingers over it.

Finding peace in the mundane....

I think overthinking is carved deep in my skin.

It runs its roots up like veins to my heart,

Planting itself in my chest.

Outstretching it’s limbs it reaches

Reaches to the far corners of my skull,

Twists around my brain,

Tells me if I don’t have it I have nothing.

It’s leaves fall and settle in my stomach,

And hold me down like a cold rock.

Despite that,

I feel its blossoms in my chest,

I know I...

I’ve banned myself from writing,

For whatever I begin to write,

Spirals into a poem about you.

About,

A boy

A girl

A room.

Do I make things up in my head?

Someone tell me I have my mind.

That I haven’t lost it.

I had forgotten how it felt,

Maybe buried it.

Now that I’m back,

The feeling is pulling on my heart,

Weighing it down.

Making me unable to complete mundane tasks,

Because what could compa...

Maybe being alive isn’t,

What you do,

Or who you are.

Maybe being alive is the warm breath escaping from your lips.

The pump of blood you feel fill your body

The cold burn in your lungs,

The nerves in your stomach.

Falling and feeling,

The scrapes on your knee.

Icy rain on skin.

Maybe it’s really,

The aching of a want

The urge to lay in the grass,

Your hair blowing in your face from the warm br...