You weren’t there for the worst points

in my life.

Even blamed me before you knew the facts

And had to apologize later.

Weren’t even there for the ones you caused.

So why do I feel like I have to be there for yours?

The little masochist in me.

the end?

I think

I have to feel this salty, gritty

Unfeeling sort of feeling-

nothing feels right

And the pieces don’t line up

but I feel you slipping, slipping away

and it sort of feels good, like letting go

but it rubs against the skin like wool

Music that is incongruous to you

I find that I find myself not even

Missing you at all

Is this a letting go, love

Is this the end?

Can I wake up without you on my breath?

Will tomorrow be smooth at the edges?

I think I feel better.

I can leave you in that alley.

Leave you alone by the light of the moon.

Forget your name.

Think I’m finally coming home.



Bibliophobia: n.
The fear of books

I hear the fluttering pages

Of a turn being told
Of a princess being saved
Or old castles in the cold

I flinch as one opens
The fear of being deprived

Of my friends in reality
As I forget I am alive

Too lost in the story to tell
Which world is real or ink

As into the book itself
I slowly begin to sink.

I'm startled as I wake up
The fear being too much

The librarian tells me be quiet
'Quiet now, hush hush'.

-Gray (not original owner)

another moment.

in the blue
a photograph in my mind
another moment in the collection.
two subjects
perfectly poised-
you, blissful and unaware
me, frozen and confused
and in that state,
forever passed-
a second, a minute, an hour, a year
no hearts beating.
no breath visible.
i can't get over
can't get around
can't get through

Pseudonyms for sleep.

"I dream of you, to wake: would that I might 
Dream of you and not wake but slumber on; 
Nor find with dreams the dear companion gone, 
As, Summer ended, Summer birds take flight. 
In happy dreams I hold you full in night. 
I blush again who waking look so wan; 
Brighter than sunniest day that ever shone, 
In happy dreams your smile makes day of night. 
Thus only in a dream we are at one, 
Thus only in a dream we give and take 
The faith that maketh rich who take or give; 
If thus to sleep is sweeter than to wake, 
To die were surely sweeter than to live, 
Though there be nothing new beneath the sun." -Christina Rosetti

Though I chase the elusive idea of sleep, 
insomnia has been my constant friend for a month now.
I find myself online, buying melatonin.
I bought white sheets, because somewhere deep inside me, 
that soothes my tattered soul.
I bought gel pillows, like the kind hotels have, so I can
lay my head on them and make-believe I am somewhere else.
The new comforter comes tomorrow.
I'm trying to erase this sorrow.
I remember falling beside you at night, your arms around me for a bit,
then sleeping back to back, in a perfect cocoon of us. 
Waking up, making the bed, pulling everything military-tight, because
that is how you liked it. Placing the quilt in a diagonal to give
it life.
I remember the pillow you bought me because yours were too flat.
I fall into bed now. 
My pillows are fluffy.
My sheets are clean and white.
The air conditioner hums in the window.
All is quiet and dark.
A perfect summer scenario for sleeping.
So why then, does my brain illuminate those memories,
call forth your presence out of nothingness?
Sleep is elusive.
Oh, for a good dream of you, I would trade these sheets and pillows.
Turn back the clock.
Restore what once was mine.