Contracted Demolition

You are the words I split into stories to tell when the wind

asks me about my love for the rainbows and sunsets.


You are the commas and the hyphens I erase

when my alphabets don’t reflect the sink into your shore.


A lot of zodiacs and other signs

that we have constructed

explain how some things are never meant to happen.


The night sees new constellations forming every time I whisper your names,

but it still spills the caffeine from my drinks left at your feet.


Perhaps one day I will own the galaxies glittering from your eyes,

the pieces that you can really live without when my hands

are wandering for the leaves falling short of a vivarium I was still rearranging.


The less I speak to you, the more my words write for you.

The less I fake smiles, the more I love your every laughter like my six strings.


On my good best days, I am just a breath nudge away from you,

but some days, I just need a little help getting out of my head.

Days when I get out of my stoical scenes,

days when I am not so emotionless,

days when I feel like I am still alive.

Or some days, I just need to get off.


Even if you get mad at me,

could I speak my thoughts to you?

If you ever fell in love with me,

would you tell me?

If you ever wanted to let know something unusual,

you’ve got me.

I enjoy the odd questions.

The oddness of those questions sends us

on the quest to the truthful answers on midway.


I don’t like acronyms. Yes, I don’t.

Why? It’s because the shortness of letters

can never match the shortness of my breathing

when it comes to saying – Gosh! You’re amazing!


The less I smile, the more I find the need

for the atmosphere of you.

Some laughter dissuades my bleeding.

Some love controls the delusion.

Some nights, I need both.

Some nights I choke.

It’s never time to call it a night when

you’ve got so much inside the head.


We always start spacing out whenever

the commas start to show how many mistakes we have made.


When we wonder how many mistakes it took us to finally get it,

how many apologies it took to finally be forgiven,

how much expression is needed for someone to feel like you love them

and not just for the sake of not being alone,

how many moons you’ve seen living in the

dead queries of won’t you stay with me for another hour,

how many seas you have to cry before realizing

that people sink with you every time you damage them,

how many pills you have to take

just to feel a little air in your lungs,

how many volcanoes erupt inside of your bones,

how many nights you stayed up because shower brushed away mornings,

how many years you’ll  lose trying to get back up,

how many weeks it will take to rewire a tangled brain,

how many days it takes to undo everything,

how many hours it takes to demolish a feeling,

how many seconds it takes to get it right,

how many commas you’ll put not to lose yourself,

and how many times you literally leave yourself

in the palm of others instead of your own.


If I am ever found on my last breath,

if I am ever left to my last heartbeat,

if I am ever at the end of the line,

if I ever forget about you,

if I ever recreate myself,

if I ever feel it’s good enough for you,

if I ever stop to stare in the middle of nowhere

and if I never return to who

I used to be – remember that this life

will cut like a very thin blade into your ribs

searching for another comma,

for another run- on opinion sentence

that should never be allowed to happen

because you have always loved to let things be

without a proper ending or a period to your impressions.


You can have all of my illnesses,

you can have all my mistakes,

you can have all of my errors,

you can have all of this red ink

to scribble all over this poem,

you can have my call of death

to the last day.


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