We ignited each other
like pipe bombs.
Our harsh words
sailing into one another
like shrapnel…
And leaving nothing
but ragged scars
and bloodied flesh.
Category: My Poetry
Drunk
You can tell me
what you think
whenever you’re
drunken at night…
Yet you can never
find the right words
when you’re sober
in the daylight.
Pathway
And here I am…
Walking down
this familiar cement sidewalk.
Recognizing the
same forbidden pathway.
Following all
the same cracks in the pavement.
Hoping that
they still somehow lead me back to you…
Mementos
All those little things
you left behind
are now my
sullen trinkets.
The lost, lonely artifacts of us,
now only meaningful to me.
Fogged
Like steam to
my bathroom mirror
you are becoming
fogged over…
And even when I
try to clear your haze…
there’s only a
temporary exposure.
11:45pm
Pitch black
and quarter to twelve,
we walked on the beach
barefoot on shells.
Stars guided
our path to low tide,
the oncoming waves
slowing our strides.
We stood there together
in the frigid ocean breeze…
pausing to take in
all we couldn’t see.
Dust
Sometimes I feel like
I am as insignificant to you
as a dust particle
floating through the air.
Then for a brief second
I glimmer from the sun…
And you notice me as
abruptly as I am forgotten.
Erased
Sometimes I wish I could
wipe away my memories of you.
Like writings on a chalkboard.
Leaving nothing behind but
fine white dust
and faded broken outlines.
But I know that even if my mind
could somehow be erased…
I’d still remember
every part of your face.
Declared
How did it feel
when your mind left your body…
and you were declared dead.
Those stunning green eyes
once filled with life…
now hidden by those
black, fixed pupils.
Your every orifice
now holds tubes…
only to preserve
what’s left of you.
But not for you.
For someone deserving
of life…
or perhaps a second chance.
Now we sit here…
listening to these constant,
sharp, monitoring beeps…
my paperwork completed.
Soon the harvesters will take you
for your last salvageable parts…
like crops in a sterile field.
Brain-dead… yet still very much alive.
So was it worth it?
That one last fucking high?
Outnumbered
Over time
my flaws
and faults
seemed to overpower
any and all of
my strengths
and successes...
And I began to
feel hopelessly
outnumbered
by myself.
AO Poetry 
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