Echoes.

You could trace the prints in the snow once.

And this time last year, I was laying in the snow, cold and alone with the darkness enveloping everything I could see and engulfing every last light. 

Nothing quite feels like the chilled veins, rushing the warm blood through your limbs. 

Nothing quite feels like the tension in your knuckles as the close to grasp your thin arms. 

Nothing quite feels like cold chewing on the small of your back, it was the most comfortable.

Warm breath eventually goes to ice. 

Canvas shoes can only retain so much heat as the fluid seeps through the seams. 

If I had a hood, I probably would have used it. 

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I like to think that the church bells would have wrung for me, the echo beckoning my frigid body back home. 

But in hindsight, I am fairly aware no one even knew I was gone. 

The red in my sweatshirt bled a bit into the snow, and the blue in my jeans seemed to stick to my skin. 

I stood up that night. 

But for at least a few hours, I thought that I was never going to move again. 

As the locked joints in my knees fixed themselves under the wait of my heavy heart, my feet connected with the cold pavement. 

And I ran. 

With each step, I could hear the symphonic orchestra scream out into the night, like an anthem that was written for that moment.

The strings played the chords I had longed to hear, and I for the first time in months, I felt alive. 

The snow claws at my ears now, and my eyes can't seem to forget the flakes that touched my clean shaven face. 

Please, don't let the fragile words cut your tongue.

Because for so long, they scraped their entire way down my throat. 

But baby, just let the shards of glass in the shape of 'why' slip through your teeth. 

Breathe easy knowing that the scars on your lips are just an emblem of your strength. 

Because sometimes, I wanna scream it out, and feel the inside of my cheek be struck with the words that didn't quite make it. 

Sometimes, I wanna go back to the snow, and maybe let it numb up my lips a bit. 

Let it numb up my tongue, and my enlarged tonsils. 

Because now, now I am ready to change. 

Nelson, just because we are sad doesn't mean we aren't strong. 

And Nelson, just because we talk about the dark things doesn't mean we can see the bright ones. 

But now, I think I can hear the church bells. 

Sundays don't seem the same anymore.
I'm to angry to internalize the lessons now.
My house is strikingly similar to  a war zone that claims my peace of mind as its greatest casualty.
Most of the time I'm just alone.

When I was little, playing yahtzee or watching the Jungle Book would pacify my emotions.
Frankly when I was little life wasn't quite real yet.
And back then I never felt so empty.

There is a gaping hole in my chest where my heart used to be.
Construction paper and tape don't quite do the job.
I haven't learned how to sew a heart out of the yarn yet.
Sometimes I think I feel it beat once or twice,
but I think it's really just the empty emotions dripping into the cavity.

what went wrong?

Did I use the wrong recipe?
Did I mix to much hate into an already worn heart?
Did I pour in to much love all at once?

Right now this life, this existence, it is so unbearably overwhelming.
The algorithms don't seem to find the solution either.
No one gave me the vocabulary list that explained how I feel.

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No one taught me what life is. 

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I feel like my dreams are just clawing away at the back of my ribs, occupying the place that my heart left. 

Inches away from seeing the beautiful hues of the sky, 

inches away from feeling the crisp winter air bite at their cheeks, 

inches away from exposing themselves to me. 

Is there a brain transplant surgery?

Too often have I felt that mine hasn't followed the correct direction. 

Is it possible to induce amnesia? 

There are to many things I wish I could forget.

Can I use the scars on my hands to draw the line?

Because too many of you have crossed it. 

Where is the place that me and her can just breathe the same clear oxygen and not feel so shackled?

I would definitely love to go there. 

One day, Sundays aren't going to hurt so bad. 

preaching to the choir.

how to stay strong.

If you looked into my heart, amongst the blood, you would see the tears.

These tears don't ever find their way to my eyes, and they can't seem to run down my cheeks like the rivers I skipped rocks in as a child. 

And like a practiced rhythm, my heart still beats. 

So please, be like every other 'elder' in my life, and tell me how I can be strong. 

By now, it must be true. 

So excuse me as I don't tell you how to be strong, 

I will just defer you to _________ and _________.

------------------

On Thursday, my beanie came apart, split at the top.

Friday, so did my mind. As the thread came apart one thread at a time, so did my sanity. 

Once my sanity hit the floor, so did my heart.

The rhythm stopped, the melody ceased.
And maybe I'm just preaching to the choir,
but y'all suck.

No, I'm sorry.
I have to see you all again tomorrow, so let me try again.
Nah y'all still suck.
And even though the leaves are changing hues, and even though my lawn is deceased, I'm losing it.
No matter how many songs I write trying to regain just a small portion of my consciousness, with every note I procure, I lose myself further.

-

I'm sorry, I'm supposed to tell you how to stay strong.
I just can't keep my eyes open, I just can't keep cutting away at the things that make me weak.

So save your scissors.

But here we go, here's what I've got:
If you wanna be strong,
you gotta cry a bit, just so that you know that you're actually alive still;
you gotta fall a few times, and scuff up your pale knees;
you gotta sit through the constant berating of your choices;
you gotta just spend one day laying exposed in the rain;
you gotta be cold, just once;
Now take all of that, and write it all down.
As the ink seeps into the paper,
                             .
(well that last part is up to you)

Invincible

Before I was strong, I was superman. 

But now, now that I've learned that superman has to have black hair, I've given up. 

And superman, doesn't he have to be tall?

Plus, isn't he invincible?

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I still have the cape.

-

But I'm here now. 

And I have brown hair. 

And I am 5 feet 8 inches.

And actually, I'm broken.

If I put the cape around my neck, I'm afraid that the velcro wouldn't meet, and the fabric would flutter to the ground. 

I had to grow up way to fast.

I had to wake up to a world that wasn't fit for supermen anymore.

So take me back. 

Because before I was strong, I was superman. 

And before I could fly, I would run as fast as my small legs could carry me. 

And before I could fight, I would just smile. 

And before I could feel my heart ripped from my chest as the ones I loved fell from all around me, 

I was learning how to say mom. 

Cling

Let me live in a world of black and white,
So that when I bleed my emotions the crimson will just fade to gray.
And the gray will fade to black.
And the black will forget.

Without color, maybe for a moment the dying leaves wouldn't be so ugly.
And maybe the dying hearts, too.
If the sky was gray, then maybe I wouldn't be able to see the clouds, and the soft sounds of rain would come as a surprise.
Then if everything was gray, black would be that much more scary.
And white would be that much more pure.

And your eyes would be the most beautiful shade of gray.

Perhaps I could be weightless, just like blackness.
Perhaps all opposites would become reality, and I would actually enjoy sunny days.
Or perhaps it will all stay the same, and I will just fade to gray.

All the flowers would be white, and the pines black.
And the canyon would all blend,
just like the rest of my colorless emotions.

And life wouldn't be as real.

But I would like that.
Because there is one hell I haven't been able to escape, and it's now.

-

Run baby, run as fast as you can.
Run until your shoes are just strips of canvas,
and run until you find the trees.

Run to that world,
of black and white.

Words.

And what if I die tonight?

The question is rendered to be unrealistic now, but seemed so real just a short time ago. 

Listening, listening, listening to the words of the people that I should trust. 

Hearing the same thing over and over, things like, "it's just a bad day" "it's just a bad week" "it's just a bad month" "its just a bad year". 

The words, they said all the wrong things. 

It didn't matter who said them, 

the words were just wrong. 

Too long have I been reading the words of people that are dead or dying, and not the words of someone that is alive. 

And to this point, I wonder if I was dying, or if I was alive. 

I wonder if my words spoke life into you. 

I wonder if the words that come from my finger tips say the things that the words just didn't say to me. 

I just wanna be caressed and hear the words say, "hey baby, it's gonna be ok."

Sometimes I wanna hear the words say, "sit down boy and take a listen. when are you gonna do it right?"

Sometimes I wanna hear the damn words say, "you fool."

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I wish the words could have just told me I was wrong. 

-

And as the tears slip off my cheeks and slam into the keyboard like atomic bombs, 

I wanna hear the words say "this life, it's real, and you're here"

But they haven't yet.

And sometimes I wanna hear the words say "you're alive"

But up to this point, the words haven't said a thing. 

All they've said is "you're dying"

And then it's all real again. 

"it's just a bad day"

on my Mind.

If love was a drug,

I would definitely be addicted to you. 

And on Wednesdays, I go through serious withdrawals. 

But regardless of the day, regardless of the symptoms, regardless of the rehab, you are always on my Mind. 

The songs that remind me of you, resonating like an anthem in my conscious,

bring me back to you. 

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I hope that when you are sitting on the other side of the screen, you realize that this is for you. 

I hope that as you read, every word sinks into your pores.

Because, I think about you like my pen thinks about poetry. 

Whether you are in my arms, or 3 miles away alone in your room listening to your parents condemn you, 

You are on my mind. 

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That red bridge on the edge of the park, that is on my mind as well. 

And the long grasses surrounded by the deep emerald pines, those are on my mind. 

The pristine crystal water flowing through our spot, it's on my mind too.
Soft melodies emitting from the strings of my guitar to the tune of the Come Home Song, those are on my mind.
The inch long sliver in my palm, unfortunately thats on my mind.
And ab workouts, those are on my mind.
Benjamin, he's on my mind too.
Descriptions of random trees only to be mercilessly teased by you, thats on my mind.
Warm Bodies, thats on my mind. Dreams of teleportation and fine-tuned abilities, those are on my mind.
Aspirations of running away from everything that we know, that is on my mind.

I think about you like my pen thinks about poetry.

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Pouring out my soul in the park and staining the grass with my emotion, only to recede into your warm grasp, thats on my mind.
When you walked out without much speech at all, thats on my mind too.
The time we cried together on the top of the hill behind your house, fearful of the world, disheartened by my mistakes, and overwhelmed by the cold, thats on my mind.
And the time we looked over the horizon, gazing into the lights while I tried to put my life together, thats on my mind.

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