It's lonely inside my head,
Even when its busy with other things
There is always me, stationary in my own way
How horrible is the busy of a mind occupied,
 the loud rushing of attention distraught.

Defeat

I wait, prim and proper,
      Wearing layers of happiness
Caked on foundation of
Hoping with doe-eyed niaveness that it goes well...
It does not
I recoil, wonder why I cause myself...
This choking, sensation wrapping itself around my throat
I
Cant
Do this
anymore
I let the words slip down rivers and flow to oceans to lose them in the tumultous waves, until it twists among the wave mangling into I love you.

Goose bumps

I read your goose bumps
 in the dark
Like they are braille
Imagining that each section spells I love you
I make believe each exhale is a declaration, each inhale, a question mark.
The repeated sighs of I need you,
And come closer please?
  Our bodies blankets,
Our breathing pillows,
Coercing us into sleep.

There is something about death
That plays over in your head
Flashes when you close your eyes
All I remeber about that day was the end
What they don't tell you about the life leaving your mother is that where there were once soft hands, crafting yarns and fabrics into new things
There are now rigid plains
 and blue rushes in like a storm to take over her once pink lips.
What they don't tell you is there is no struggle, no grand finale,
 the light had left long ago
But in your mind you will play over and over again, what it would have been like for her to open her eyes and take a breath
           and
To hear her say hello one last time

Not sure if this is a poem or a justification

Grief is a funny thing.

It mixes memories into poison,

Morphs

Disingenuous people into coping mechanisms

Leaves you fighting the cold air for a warm breath

The house you live in liquifies in the silence

 and you are on a driftwood boat 

      Fighting against something nobody wants to see 

"Move on", replaces the "let me help you"

And I know that life is for the living but so is the mourning

When you have the chains of what people once were 

holding you in their wake where do you go, but down?

No title incomplete

She is a memorable character in her own story
The soul with so many quirks she could drown in them
                     And she does.
It is the kind of suicide one only hopes for
Neck deep in your own poetic death, and everything you had ever hoped for
The streets lined with praise of your name
The beautiful girl, so young, tortured in a way only they could understand

Rhyme of the forest with

The night began heavily,
 weighing down the sun
The moon rose steadily
The stars had just begun
The glow on the water reflected
Barren trees, without a leaf to cover their struggled branches
They reached towards the sky
and I,
Am kind of like that
All darkness and barren limbs
Reaching for a rhyme to explain how
Inside I am a Forest, covered in green and brilliant brown trunks teaming with animals as wild as my free soul
But beauty is not present in me of emptied hallows
Abandoned forts made of twigs and dry sticks build the shelter around me.
Easily burned, and turned to carbon.