The clouds hung low in the skies

dripping heavy with dew and swallowed dreams,

I sat down to write my hearts desires,

begging the silence in the breeze not to

bring me thoughts of you,

oh no, I won’t do this to myself. Not again.

But we know the night time is such a callous,

selfish soul, stealing sorrows from borrowed songs

calling those sweet words her own.

I felt the cancer between my fingers,

crushed the menthol, and behind closed lids

I quietly calmed the chaos swirling through my mind,

the clouds danced on with their heavy sway,

and the moon poured her milky embrace on

my delicate painted skin once again.

I turned on those soft melodies to drown out

the sounds of the city, but every tune brought

me the painful thoughts of you, and yet

I couldn’t bring myself to turn the radio off.

Somehow I liked the pain that these memories brought,

momentary glances into the past, like snapshots

of our life, times when I was so naive that I thought

love was all we needed, oh, how foolish I was.

But it was the pain that made me change,

the loss and suffering that turned my heart so cold,

and now I love only the silence and the sorrow left

in the darkest corners of the night.

I’m a man made monster, darling,

and it’s all because of you.

Some nights I lie awake

and dream about what it would

be like to never wake up again.

It sounds like a morbid daydream,

this I know to be true, but it’s not

the idea of romanticizing death,

no, but the mystery and bewilderment

that the concept of death brings me.

And perhaps it is just me, but I think

about death in the strangest way, as it

is all around us, and unfortuntely

it’s an inevitable conclusion we can’t escape.

The thought of life ending, the absence

of rhythmic heart beats, of fluttering eyes,

is almost too much to bear at times,

and at other times, it could sound

like the sweetest solution.

But I think about what awaits me,

the darkness that will consume my mind,

because I believe that this world is so

brilliantly beautiful, there just has to be

more waiting for me on the other side.

I wonder who will remember me, and how

they will retell stories of my existence,

have I made an impact on someone’s life

without ever knowing the pain or love I created?

Will my words surpass my breathing, will these

tattered pages survive my demise to change lives?

And you, I wonder mostly how you will remember

me and the nights we shared together, whispering

our secrets to the humid summer nights

wishing on airplanes we mistaken for stars,

and tangling ourselves in our spider web of sheets.

I sometimes dream of death in the most beautiful ways,

wondering, hoping there will be more beauty on the other side.

I have spent countless nights

wishing on stars, and have wasted so

many precous humid afternoons

staring up at the clouds in the sky,

daydreaming my sanity away.

I’ve sat with this pen sewn into

my dainty palm, pouring my heart

onto these tattered pages, and

I would pretend that my blood

had turned to ink, that the words

would simply flow from me.

And then something changed, I could

see it hidden between the hazel tint

of your eyes, but the silence hung heavy

on my parted lips as I searched for the man

I once knew, and the words to bring him back.

And that’s when the distance truly

began, it was like this strange force

was separating us at a rapid pace.

I remember nights where we would lie

face to face, with the tips of our noses

brushing together, whispering our secrets

to the darkest shades of the night, and

we would wake up tangled in the sheets

locked in a warm embrace.

I remember when I would smile just

at the sound of your name, and you,

oh, how you looked at me, it was as if

I was the only splash of color

in this gray washed town.

But something changed, and when

I wake up each morning, with your back

facing me, I wonder how we have

become strangers to each other.

Some nights I lie awake, thinking that

maybe if I could remember the exact

moment where things began to

unravel, when the spark in our eyes

first began to dwindle, the precise

string of moments when we slowly

started to drift away from each other,

that perhaps I could change things.

If only I could remember what created

the growing distance between our hearts,

if I could kiss you from this haze, if I could

just get you to remember me, and the way

you once loved me, maybe you would come back.

The weight of the day lay heavy
upon my fragile shoulders, bones
creaking, moaning whispers of pain
and agony to my weary mind, begging
for liquor to lull my body into a deep sleep.

It was a day that began as any other,
where I rose before the sun, and the
breeze brought frost and tears to my eyes.
And maybe it was the frost, but there was
something in the air that was different today,
and I knew what it was, except the words to
define it escaped my trembling, frigid lips.

It was one of those moments, where you walk
into a room and immediately forget why you
made the journey in the first place, so you
retrace your steps, only to be left with this
feeling of loss, struggling to remember
a purpose for walking, and you attempt to
trick your mind, telling yourself to forget it,
but it’s all you can focus on for hours.

It’s as if I’m trying to remember someone
that I have not met yet, creating this image
of perfection in my mind, anything to erase
any painful remaining thoughts of you.
A distant feeling of loss, where there is
nothing missing, and I try to reach out and
grab onto the memories that seem to dissipate
and turn into smoke, escaping my ears,
but they slip away through the cracks
in my hands, where your fingers once fit
oh so perfectly.

So here I am, with the weight of the day
and the growing emptiness inside of my
chest, searching for something I can not recall
as I trace the letters you wrote on these
tattered and old Valentines Day cards.

I watched him as he dreamt
with his head resting on my lap,
his dark locks, chestnut strands
of silk, spilling over my painted skin.
His eyelids twitched every few moments
and I wondered what wild images
danced across his mind, what
far off lands he escaped to behind
those heavy and tired lids.

I ran my fingers through his hair,
soft, yet greasy, and I tried to smile,
cross my heart, I tried.
But I couldn’t help but dwell on
the distance that was slowly
growing between us, at a rate
I couldn’t keep up with, or even
attempt to control.

How could I be so close to someone,
yet feel miles away?
And in a way, I knew this would happen,
that we would slowly drift away over time
and become strangers to each other,
miserably trapped within an imagined
love that had disappeared like the
smoke from our tar stained lungs.

It was this expanding void in my chest
these constant thoughts at night,
wondering, wishing, hoping that there
is more to this life.
I dreamt all of the time, even with my
eyes open, walking this concrete jungle,
creating a life of passion, adventure,
and love with my wild imagination,
but now, only nightmares plague
my thoughts, and now I forgot how
to dream, as if my imagination left me,
just as you have.

He sat there dreaming on my lap,
a stranger to my heart, and I sorted
through the nightmares, wishing that
the man so close to me, didn’t feel
so distant from the love we once shared,
and hadn’t grown so tragically out of reach.

Sometimes, I dream you will come back to me.

I have to keep my eyes closed
to act as barriers, or else
my sight will release a salty
stream to cascade down these
freckled cheeks and my
tears would confess my
deepest secret of sadness.

Days like today appear
more often than I’d like to admit,
those bright mornings when
I wake up feeling a sense of
emptiness, a strange and
distance sensation, as if
I had dreamt of love and lost
it as my body began to
return back to reality, only
to realize I had simply
conjured you up in my mind.

But you felt so real, with your
rough hands, tired and
weathered from working, and
those eyes, hazel with
mysterious speckles of green
sprinkled throughout, and
those lips, oh, how wonderful
they tasted when we kissed.

We were in love,
pouring out our most private
dreams to each other under the
bed of stars we had created.
We fought with conviction,
we screamed until we laughed and
made up between the sheets
for what seemed like days.

We planned out our future,
made promises for a lifetime,
but when I woke up,
you were nowhere to be found.
I could have sworn you were
here when my tired eyes
found shelter behind my lids.

But the truth is,
you were never real,
just a collection of my hopes and
dreams of love, and I’m not ready
to admit that the love we shared
never truly existed, you were just
part of my wild imagination.

There are so many wonderful
words, dreams, and thoughts
swimming through the turbulent
waters of my mind,
but sadly, the gripping fingers
of my depression are beginning
to take a tight hold on my life.

Sometimes I sleep for days,
tossing and turning, tangled
in the cold and lonely linens.
But most nights I stay awake
until the burning sun rises again,
bringing another empty day,
just one more strand of miserable
hours without you here.

I want to write,
I romanticize each day
where I can crawl out of bed,
escape these cotton monsters,
and feel the warmth of these
autumn days on my painted skin.
But to be honest, the furthest
I ever make it is the front porch, to
smoke the sadness from my lungs
with the cancer turning my fingers
a sickly shade of yellow.
Or maybe to the kitchen to pour
another glass of that Tennessee poison
to drown the empty void
from my tired and rotted heart.

I’ve become numb,
absent from my own body and soul.
I know you can see me,
but I’ve disappeared to the
darkest corner of my own tortured mind.

It’s too late,
you can’t save me now.

I’ve always had a sick
obsession with control,
constantly trying to manipulate
situations, people, emotions,
and guide them, protect, abandon,
even ignore them to get my way.
I liked the tangible concepts,
something I could hold in my palms,
feel against my skin,
maybe that’s why I had given up
on that strange thing called
love.

I couldn’t understand it,
this inconceivable, unattainable
ideal, I wasn’t able to find it
hiding somewhere, and trust me,
I searched. I was told I could feel it
lurking in the darkest corners of my mind,
if I only allowed the black shades of
mystery and wonder to take me over.

But I couldn’t give up control
that easily, it’s not as easy as
you make it sound.
Giving up my tight and strict
grip on this life I have molded
to call my own, would be opening
my heart and mind to strangers,
inviting them into my vulnerable soul.
I assume the act of loving is
giving up complete control, and
I wasn’t ready for that, no,
not until I met you.

Somehow you made me give up control,
abandon it so effortlessly, I wondered how
I had went so long with this empty, grey void
buried deep within my chest.
Oh, how you filled my life with such wild colors.
I can’t hold this feeling in my palms, nor can I
find the most beautiful words to describe it to you,
but I lost all control, I felt something strange then,

I felt beautiful,
I felt alive,
I felt loved.

I placed my hand on his
thick callused skin
I could feel the warmth of his
rough flesh radiating love.
We laid there nestled between
the wild blades of grass,
hidden in the hollow
of this velvet morning.

Cold, lonely trees
huddled together in the distance,
a skeletal memories of spring,
for some reason, they looked
so distraught there, that I felt a sense
of pity for those barren branches,
The frost lined breeze made them
shiver crinkled leaves, trembling
like pages to the brown
patches of earth.

I stood up and brushed the
rogue bits of soil from my dress,
I never turned around to say goodbye,
but you never stopped me either.
I can tell this have changed,
but it doesn’t mean they are better.

I’m searching for midnight
waiting for solace, and it’s
in this silence
I roam alone.

I sat in the shadows
and turned on those slow
songs we used to dance to,
the songs without words
so we could always create our
own lovers melody, and change
it whenever we saw fit.
I laid on the warm, oak paneled
floor, rested my head, let the
soft music fill the room, and
of course, I thought of you.

Our love had become something
fragile, so we handled it with care,
but over time we grew lazy, took risks
and the love between us slowly crumbled,
leaving us with an emptiness that in a way,
we had created without ever realizing.

And sure enough,
you left shortly after that,
the soft thud of the door closing
behind you, bumping your bags
hanging from your shoulders,
that deafening slam was the
last moment we shared together.
How tragically distant we had become
after all those years of kissing in the rain,
curling up together on the couch,
and falling asleep to the colors in your eyes.

And now I’m left only with
the darkness, a house that we had
once made into a home, and our
favorite songs that I can’t seem to turn off.

I sat outside while the
darkness swallowed the
air around me, and
silently thumbed the
cancer balancing between
my stained yellow fingers.
I watched the fiery ember
flicker while the grey wisps
of smoke danced towards
the thick, rolling clouds.

I sat there alone.
Alone.
What a strange
and frightening word.
I can feel this empty sense
of nothingness expanding
between my ribs, the way
I gasp for gusts of poisoned air,
and desperately gulp the bitter,
oaky liquids to quiet the noise
in my beautiful mind,
I want to feel numb.

I feel the rising sensation of tears,
but force my lids to act as barriers,
I close my eyes and whisper,
“I’m stronger than this.”
But the truth is, I wanted so much more,
I cracked open these ribs, exposed
my weak and rotting heart,
explained all the stories behind
my magnificently painted skin,
I whispered my secrets to you
and the rising sun after countless
nights of kissing whiskey bottles,
but it was never enough.

I admitted that I was scared,
hell, I was frightened, and you promised,
crossed your heart so many times,
that I would never be alone.

But here I sit, with only the
darkness, my cancer and the
Tennessee poisons left to keep
me company at night.

I hope you’re happy.

How can I put these feelings
into words that you would
understand?
There are no words that
will describe the warmth
of tears cascading down
my flushed cheeks,
no strand of letters that
you can read that will
make you feel the growing
sense of emptiness deep
between my chest.

There is nothing I can
say to bring you back,
even if I was the one
that left.
Do you remember that
humid summer morning?
Where my face turned
shades of blue, my throat
was dry and my voice
cracked between screams
and heavy sobs,
I slammed the door so hard
it almost shook right off
the hinges, and that crashing
end of our love still rattles
me deep within my dry bones.

You said she never meant
anything to you, that only
words connected you two,
but how can you tell that to me?

I’m a writer, darling, don’t you see
words mean everything to me.

You love to take,
just stripping me of
not only possessions,
but you insisted on my
love, on my dreams,
you were so selfish.

Sometimes I don’t even
know who I am anymore,
I stare into this mirror, and
this familiar face is someone
I know I’ve seen before, but
there’s something different,
something stripped and
molded by the greedy fingers
of another.
This isn’t me.

You wanted all of me,
and took it without my
permission, this town has
done the same, ripped at
my seams, feasted on my
insecurities until I felt the
weight of stares and whispers
behind my back become
too much to bare between
my gritted teeth and tears
that were held back.

My heart went cold,
I felt I had to change,
not for myself, but for you.
So I tore down all of these
mirrors, I didn’t like what
I had to see every day.
You replaced my fragile
frame with a painted, yet
estranged replica of a shell
of who I used to be.

And when I catch my
reflection on the silverware,
a window, the blank television
screen, I don’t even know
the girl staring back at me.

You took it all, you stole
the dreams I had at night,
peeled the heart I kept on
my shoulder right off, and
now, I’m a stranger even to
myself.

All you did was take, and
sadly, I’ve got nothing left to give.

The weather doesn’t match
the emotions stirring inside
of my chest, so I lay here
confined to this lonely bed,
these frigid sheets and I’m
left with only one pillow to
rest my weary mind.

The blinds are still
cracked and broken, the
same one’s you swore
you’d fix, but that was just
another empty promise
that escaped your filthy lips.

The weather doesn’t match
the stifling, choking sense
in my throat, so I lay here,
wishing that the clouds
would pour tears, begging
for a hurricane, a storm,
even a monsoon.
I want to wallow alone with
the dreary days, where the
sun doesn’t dare show her
bright, mocking face.

These beautiful days
will be the death of me.