i always imagined i would feel different
that i would feel a connection
something irrevocable
i thought i would feel something
but that's not how things turned out
while i felt comfortable
while i laughed
while i talked and made no sense
while i left early
so as to save my grace
i didn't feel different
in the end
i'm still me

I'm too young to feel so tired
so jaded
my eyes shouldn't strain to stay open
and I shouldn't already be addicted to caffeine.
I'm the age of sleepless nights
of staying out late
of having nights blend into mornings
into afternoons
into sunsets.
I'm too young to feel so old.

Silence is a noise and it's deafening when you weren't alone before.

i still listen to your mixes, the ones you made and sent to me from across the globe. the ones you made when we still made each other smile. it's been over a year now and the thought of you only brings the corners of my lips up just a little bit now. you came back, you're not on the other side of the world, but still, all i have left are old songs that you hand-picked because they reminded you of me: "it's a beautiful world," "you really got a hold on me," "dark come soon." dark came soon. dark flitted away. they're just songs to me now.

like a guardian angel
who tries to catch the falling
but is thin as air
they fall through the mist
an unwanted angel
can't catch the fallen
who don't want to be caught

everyone can be saved
not everyone wants to be
sometimes peace is found at the end
at the bottom
when it's over
to some, the hardest part
is what everyone else considers
everday
what everyone else thinks of as
typical

guardians can only protect
those who want to be guarded
otherwise, every map to safety
is colored over
and every save haven
is thwarted
guardian angels hold out their hands
but sometimes
some people
just don't want to reach out

the most important point in my life was when i realized there was no point. i didn't see an overarching goal for life, no end-all, be-all moment to work towards; but what i did see was that life was made up of a bunch of little moments strung together. one moment, one glorious moment, followed by another. and another, and another, until you hit a moment that makes you sick. a moment so rock bottom, you feel physically ill and never want to get out of bed. you just dream dreams of never stepping foot on solid ground again. you dream of just wasting away the rest of your days under the covers because you can't see a point. you live, you work, you die. the golden years passed you by when you weren't noticing and now all you see is a downward spiral. all your fun has been had, all the good has been exhausted. just to lay in bed forever would be better than going outside, better than getting old and forgetting everyone while you slowly fall apart. but to stay in bed forever is to never see another glorious moment.

the most important moment in my life was when i realized i had it all wrong, that i'm not trying to work towards one moment that will magically manifest itself years down the road. the end will come and i will be gone and what i should be working for is making sure i've smiled before then.

what happens when you look down, and your hands aren't your hands? look nothing like you remember they used to? is it an issue with my eyes? can they not see like they used to? so used to dilated pupils searching in the dark. or are my hands changing, my skin darkening without the sun. when i look down, i don't recognize myself. these hands i use everyday for everything, they're foreign. in a lineup, i wouldn't be able to pick them out, save the nail lacquer.

i don't want to write about it
because i don't want to remember it.
the red eyes and stuffy nose,
the excruciating thoughts
of ending it all
having you cry
you make me cry so much
i'm sure you never imagined it would turn out this way
that i would turn out this way
but i did and it's not your fault
i don't blame you for the things i've done
the things that have happened
but i blame you for making me feel pathetic
and worthless
because of it all
that you do have control over
that is your fault
i don't want to write about it.