There'll be a time
where we only speak on holidays.

Today, hearing about how you're doing
is like hearing birds chirping in the morning.
It's something that brings peace
to a world that is otherwise unpredictable.  

We take it for-granted our easy talks;
the randomness of thoughts, ideas, and play
that will wither with time.

Some people wish they could be a kid again,
and it's for the very reason of what we have right now -
a relationship that allows us to be who we are;
young adults not stuck being too serious.

You're so busy and I know I'll be busy one day too.
You'll meet more people, wonderful people.
I'll get a full-time job, with a regular sleep schedule.

Talks that used to be the most important
will settle to be thoughts of distant memories -
memories to be remembered on holidays.

There's a boy, or girl, or any living thing that you can relate to.

Maybe it's not even living
it's a stuff animal that you anthropomorphized
to become your best friend,
because everyday is spent glazing
the abstract of news articles.

What's special about a bestfriend
that doesn't rely on you for talking,
or even breathing.
You can actually be yourself,
instead of who they want you to be.

Man, if we were even more honest
I mean people...I mean subterraneans,
because let's be deep, only those
living underground, like me, are going to understand.

The ground is life
and I'm being buried beneath;
it's quite better than being on top.

I can't be anything;
relating to anyone isn't even worth reading
as the only language I've perfected
is the one communicated by my Rhino
and that's silence.

Some days, being me is a burden.
Not onto others, but onto myself.
Those around me do not respect me.
But when they seek memories of better times,
I will be the one they ask to speak.

Education was a tool intent on developing me,
instead it became the ropes that bind me to my family.
These ropes latch me to a home I have outgrown,
but no one allows me to leave.

Instead of vindication
I have found desperation.
Those who know me speak fondly
of my aspirations, but do not realize
that their praise weighs more than,
the stone god was unable to budge.

I lie to you -
true agony is not shelved upon by others,
it is the listless illusions I pander to myself.
The ambitiousness of decision making
and feeling that any course directed by my own hand
will end wastefully.

Merry Christmas Eve.
Merry Christmas Eve.

If I said holiday cheers one more time
it'd become redundant,
but to each of you
that chance upon this--
know that if I could
I would wish you a thousand splendid
Christmas Eves.

I would become the chain
children make in school
counting down the days till Christmas.

I'd become the warm smiles
with hands holding
even warmer coco
to keep you toasty; tis the season.

I'd bring fresh pine scent
and logs for the fire,
these will be here
to bring the aura of the holidays to your home.

I may not be a rich man,
more near to those you see
pitching for spare change;
this would never stop me
from finding you a gift to cherish.

I would give you all the time
you ever wanted and needed,
because I know that around the holidays
we all need a little bit more care.

Merry Christmas Eve.

If there was boat
with paddles
I would use them
to sail away from here.

There wouldn't even need
to be paddles.
I would use my hands
to gouge out the water
to create an open
wound between the two us.

I'd have something
to look at to know why
every time I'm near you
I can smell fresh blood in the air.

I'd find splinters in the wood
and push them into my chest,
because at least then.
I'd know why I'm suffering.  

I'd get an infection
and I'd finally be able to go see my doctor
for a diagnosis on what was ailing
our relationship.  

He wouldn't know,
but you'd be able to tell from his expression
that he wanted to lie to me--
to spill some philosophical rhetoric
into the sea around my boat,
so I might stop sinking.

She's been next door
since my birth
and you may wonder how that
is even possible
when I am four or five years older than her.

I met her at a time
in my life
where my world changed,
and in this change
I tried to live--
to live for anything.

In my futile attempts
to find purpose
to conquer the beasts
of mental illness,
she's been at my window
to see this eternal struggle of mine.

She's wonderful
completely and utterly--
of course this doesn't mean she's perfect
and even more of course she's far from it.

But maybe it's that imperfection
that has allowed
her and I
to have open windows,
open hearts,
and open conversations--
no matter the
Time zones, languages, or illnesses
we always come back
understanding each other
just a little bit more.

People on the internet
are like any others
and talking without reason
terrifies us.  

‘Everyone you meet
is the monster under the bed
the skeleton in your closet
the psyche of horror
haunts their dreams.’

Maybe
every fable
we’ve ever heard
is lingering behind
the veil we call
our lives.

Or maybe,
if we were
really honest
for one moment,
a single breath.

We’d all come to know
spooks and goblins
didn’t come from tales told–
it is our personal fears
hiding within the mind.

Our unwillingness to believe
that anyone could come to love us
and the doom that suffocates
is the feeling no one will ever know,
who we are.

If people ever caught sight
of our bones
sleeping underneath skin
they’d run
leaving us with scars
scratched so deeply
we’d never be able to recover.