a house party at 11 pm

i’m sorry, my love,i don’t mean to pry
but have you ever been so lost that you,
in a room full of people and music,
can only seem to focus on the faint pounding
you feel in your ears (that have long stopped hearing)?


candles and closure

daisies reminded me of the forgotten and (commonly) flawed; they have become my favorite since you. i’m not sure if you realize, but
all i ever needed were the dimmed down flickers of flames in a dark room, the last of my cup of tea cooled by the hour of my thoughts.
dear, do you still remember when you told me that the only people in the world who have full closure are those who
don’t need it?
you never asked me why. i guess it meant you didn’t need to.

a eulogy

I once held on mere words to prove that I
was worth the fragments of your thoughts that once
fell from the depth I once saw on the pile
of forgotten list of lovers you liked
to keep away from the pens of poets.
Ink and paper were all I could keep from
the cold burning of life, death, heaven, you–
forever in the stones of yesterdays.

a cynic’s confessions

You were dressed in white.

And I swear, at that moment, I knew you were going to be the death of me.

Romanticism was dead, but I wanted to tell myself that I could believe in something more than the emptiness of our liberal lives.

You scared me because your light blinded the void.

Yet, I loved the contradiction in your very being– how you never claimed perfection despite the clearness that was in you. You never claimed a higher moral ground. I liked that. I think morality is an illusion. I loved how salvation didn’t mean anything to you.

I couldn’t save you if I wanted to.

I don’t know how to save myself.

The answer isn’t love, love.

cult (the end)

June 12, 2017

you counted
the wandering lost souls in the
dark while
i fed upon your tears like it was the only thing that
to think that i
would have lived an eternity with your
breath upon my shoulders,

the lights still shined on in
nights without

remind yourself that you matter,