I Can Predict Your Future
I can see it in your eyes:
A blissful chaos,
A deep aura of confusion
Mystic cerulean, serenading serotonin,
surrounding you. claiming you as unsure,
as you lust and call it love,
kiss and call him yours,
what are now cherished memories, you will grow to
I can hear it in your voice:
A corroded quaking,
An emptiness in your words.
You don’t say what you mean, and don’t mean
anything you’re saying.
You lower your voice to a growl, attempting seduction,
but I can hear your fear,
I can hear and see it all,
8:44 pm • 20 March 2013
under my fingernails.
under my eyes.
under my muscles.
under my lies.
under my past.
under my choice.
under my smile.
under my voice.
under my love.
there’s a shadow
under my head.
under my feet.
there’s a monster
under my bed.
8:35 pm • 27 November 2012 • 7 notes
these are the seconds when instances of present become history.
these are the breaths we take without acknowledging the process of existing.
these are the tears we store for the moments of vulnerability we haven’t expected.
these are the ideas we vocalize through a limited spectrum of invented vocabulary.
these are the hands we grip to pretend for a lifetime that we will not leave the world alone.
these are the children we plant and water and feed only to have them grow in the opposite direction.
these are the stars we watch as the inventions of humankind distract humankind around us.
these are the blades of grass that cover us in the coldest part of the year.
these are the lives we live, and the experiences we take for granted.
these are now, there, here forever. these are always, yesterday, tomorrow, and today.
11:09 pm • 7 October 2012 • 6 notes
you can live in the sun
for all of your days
warm tanned skin
you can lay in the dirt
for several years
night after night
tears after tears
you can sit in the wind
for always and on
unsure of the future,
the present and gone.
you can be who you want
and stay where you choose
but with sun, dirt and wind
you’ve got much more to lose
6:17 pm • 4 September 2012 • 1 note
welcome to the ocean
we are the ocean,
carrying so many to shore,
flowing endlessly in patterns,
by the tides of the night,
circling, in currents, but we all lead back
to that same place.
an origin? an afterlife?
a birth. a death.
the beginning and the end.
so why depart in the first place?
why go our separate ways,
if only to fall back together again?
why live when we can exist?
why journey when we can stay?
why say goodbye so shortly after hello?
hello. goodbye. we will meet again,
follow the seas, for life is one big circle
that isn’t so big at all.
9:35 pm • 26 June 2012
i sat at the bedside
in your hospital room.
you were asleep,
and even though the room had a tv,
i was watching you.
i was taking in every minute,
every second, terrified
that you would leave me just as quickly
as february. i was nervous,
that if you woke up, you might not remember
me. and even if you did,
who would you remember me as?
for i’d been so many people to you,
and as many as i’d been, i’d never been myself.
and then the nurse made her rounds,
told me visiting hours were done,
i kissed your hand and your forehead,
hoping for a miracle right there.
but this was reality, and miracles aren’t so common.
so i walked from the hospital to the bar,
had a couple, glossed my eyes,
stumbled home, and dreamed that it’d been a dream.
dreamed that the accident had never happened.
dreamed for a second chance.
dreamed that we were sober, conscious and in love.
11:51 am • 26 April 2012 • 13 notes
I feel so close to the sky
But I’m so alone down here,
Wishing a cloud would carry me off
To a place where worries are far below.
I hope the ocean doesn’t swallow me
In a wave of melancholy,
Nostalgic dreams of yesterday
Dreamed before their night had come.
I wash my tongue upon the stars
I’m so high now, so alive
A place I’ve never been, never explored,
Is now my home. I wish you were here with me.
9:40 pm • 11 April 2012 • 2 notes
the emptiest room
this vodka tastes like glass
this room smells of dust
this echo sounds like emptiness
and this emptiness feels like the past.
sitting here, wasting time
killing time, time’s erased
time’s still here, it never ends
time has to end. oh please
let it all end.
along with time
vodka glass, trickles red
room dust, nostrils burn
echo sounds, i cringe.
the time eats at the emptiness,
eats at my past,
and leaves me hungrier
than i’ve ever been.
7:53 pm • 4 March 2012 • 3 notes
i can sleep with a dreamcatcher,
but it won’t help me much.
a dreamcatcher can only stop nightmares,
but not blocks that build nightmares.
a dreamcatcher, will not stop fear,
it will not stop hate, or heartbreak.
a dreamcatcher would rather break
than protect me from myself.
you would rather break
than protect me from myself.
break down and cry, on your own.
you’re strong enough.
you’re not strong enough.
it doesn’t really matter, the point is,
all you have is a dreamcatcher.
and it won’t help you much.
7:16 pm • 4 March 2012 • 3 notes
these floors are moving,
shifting, ever slightly,
chipping away at the reality we know.
change, inevitable as it may be
is not noticed until a day is reflected upon.
why is that, i wonder,
why must we reflect to notice a difference?
as i ponder, i change,
but nobody notices,
not even the people who know me best.
meant to post it here. oops.
2:43 am • 19 February 2012 • 2 notes