Thursday, April 6, 2017


They tell you that love

is a hurricane.

That it looks beautiful from high above,

but when you're in the middle of it,

"hard to handle" is an understatement.

That the chaos is brings

cannot compare to the debris it washes ashore

when its said and done.

You'll hear that love

is a volcano.

That, whatever you do,

pressure will build and tension will rise,

and eventually, the whole thing will erupt.

And at first they'll be harmless false alarms,

but soon a magma of unfathomable heat

will ooze down its walls

and wreck everything it touches,

including you.

But you will not quite grasp its strength.

You'll think you know,

but nothing can prepare you

for the natural disaster that's headed your way.

Because you can hear a million cautionary tales

about how it feels to be swallowed by fire,

but you won't quite get it

until you're standing in the middle of the flames.

Then, all at once, you'll find love,

and you'll become one of them saying

"Love is a hurricane,

it's a tornado, it's an earthquake,

and it will chew you up and spit you the fuck out."

They won't understand.

But you know that they'll learn

just like you did.

Saturday, March 4, 2017


pull me apart.

the outermost layer is only a film,

a thin veil to mask what lies beneath

peel it away and find my bones.

they are weak, brittle and porous and yellowed,

holding me up like a the broken remains of a frame.

pull them out!

i will fall into a pile of weak mush,

the remnants of muscles, melting into a puddle.

rinse it away, hidden inside are my organs

or what’s left of them.

lungs damaged from smoke,

heart damaged from love,

stomach eroded from dozens of skipped meals,

brain falling apart into a long, decomposing coil.

throw it all away and what’s left?

a milky blue substance,

maybe a soul? maybe an aura?

maybe a physical manifestation of a personality?

in any case, if you tasted it, it would be sour.

it might burn through your skin if you try to contain it.

put me back together,

with these make-shift parts, reverse the procedure.

you might, if you’re crafty enough,

be able to make a whole human

from the products of this dissection.

Saturday, December 31, 2016

the millionth sad poem in a never ending saga.

i cannot imagine a world without you.
to picture a life
where you had never entered
seems almost sinful
for all that i would lose 
if i had never met you.
out of everyone i have ever lost,
you seem to be the most valuable.
out of everything i have ever given up,
you seem to be the last thing i thought i’d lose.
out of every moment i now regret,
no minute i spent with you will ever be one of them.

never again will i tell you not to move on.
because if there’s one thing of which i am sure,
it’s that i loved you,
and i never once deserved you.

my everything.

you are fireworks.
you are water, still and holy
you are murder, icy and thick and full of betrayal
you are everything.
everything i’ve ever needed.
you are a supernova
you will be the second to last thing on my mind
(the last being a bullet)
you are beauty embodied.
you are dust and magic and an awakening.
you are winter, cold and desolate and unforgiving
but you are summer, warm and teary eyed.
you are the sun to my earth
the earth to my moon, 
the saturn to my rings
you are poison.
you are sharp and sour and necessary.
you are the death i covet
and the life i never thought i’d lead
you are everything
and you fill up the nothing in my soul.
you are thousands of pounds of pressure and i am coal
you are starry eyed and a liar
your lips say one thing and your eyes say another
you are indescribable.
i could compare you to a million things
but i could never capture your essence.
you are the ever expanding universe.
you are every person on this planet and in this galaxy
you are a ghost, a spirit that runs my body
you are not only my mind but my legs, my arms, my beating heart
you are both the sharp edge of a knife
and the blood that runs from a wound
you are everything.
you can only be described
as the best and the worst
of everything that a mere human like myself
can even begin to picture.

Saturday, November 26, 2016


The skin on my fingers is bloody and raw from where I've been gnawing at it. You'd think, after how you nagged me for months, I'd have knocked the habit. But since you've been gone, it's only gotten worse.

There are no stars in the sky tonight. It's fitting; why would the stars be here when you're not? It seems like you're the one who puts them there.

I listen to songs that we used to sing together and wonder if you're listening to the exact same ones. I picture myself on your bed, our songs playing, your breathing slow and steady next to me. These are the thoughts that put me at peace when I am most anxious.

What if you were here? What if you were driving and I was in the passenger seat, and the windows were down and the music was loud? What if all that mattered to me was the wind on my skin and your hand in mine?

I miss the days when I didn't need drugs because you made me high. No drug can compare to your presence. Now, any pleasure I feel is a cheap substitute, like cigarettes to a heroin addict.

I love you.

I love you.

I love you.

Friday, October 14, 2016

Last Poem About Caleb

When they met,
she was a paper girl and he was a paper boy.
Fragile and easily blown away by the wind,
together, they drifted,
as if nothing mattered but the two of them.
She was just a paper girl
who meant nothing,
who was as shallow as paper is flat,
until one day she realized she had become something totally new.
He had brought something out in her,
a light, a color, a tangle of emotion,
and suddenly
she wasn't as two-dimensional as she had been.
Shocked and proud and amazed,
she said to him,
"You are everything I've ever needed.
Let's leave this paper town
and be happy together."

She had so much passion for him.
But passion creates a flame,
and everyone knows
that a boy made of paper
is no match
for a fire.

Thursday, October 6, 2016

oh, me

you were healthy.
your brain had an electric charge,
an edge that was hard to keep up with.
no one quite understood it,
but they were drawn to you because of it,
and you let it become your identity.
and you never did manage to lose that big heart.
it was built like a house,
with rooms for anyone who knocked on the door.
even if they just stayed
until they got to know you
and decided they hated you,
then left without paying the bill,
you still let that "vacancy" sign buzz bright.

because you were clingy, you were desperate,
dying for a soul to fly next to yours.
so in and out and in and out they stepped,
leaving muddy footprints and not much else.
fuck, you loved them with everything you had.
you were too open, it ruined you.
so you cut your hair and cut your thighs,
pierced your ear and started to smoke,
and pretended you had walls
but everyone knew they could kick them down.

what are you trying to prove?
that you're tough? because you're not.
that you're original? because you're not.
that you're cool? independent? a badass?
because you aren't,
you never have been.
what the fuck happened to you?
you could have had everything,
you had a light in your soul,
and people loved you.
but you wrecked it, you wrecked everything.
just like you always do.

fuck you.
fuck you for killing the girl you could have been,
for burning a thousand bridges
with the lighter you carry in your backpack.
for letting everyone walk all over you
and pushing away the people who matter.
for not having the courage
to do everyone a favor and swallow a pill bottle.

but, by all means,
keep getting high and cutting class,
keep company with people who put you last,
fuck up every opportunity you have at happiness.
because god knows
you were never going to matter anyway.