we are me, and i'm sorry

she pulls his hand from his pocket and curls her palm around his, forcing a fist, as if begging a dead man to fight. his concentrated stare gives way to a good natured grin as his eyes dart toward the one who he could never disagree. the knowledge of another lingers as they exchange glances like crudely folded notes under the desks of a grammer school english class. the timid giggles still abound, but instead of holding hands behind the backstop, they retire to a haven more suitable for an affair at this age. the man farthest from her sight is the man farthest from her mind, yet the closest to her heart.

what then? what then are we to upset the heart. what then? we are me, and i'm sorry.

you

blades of grass crowd my vision as i lay, face down, in fields of memories almost forgotten. those who lay before tell me it's nothing more than distorted point of view of what really exists:

you.

everybody runs

my walk soon turns to a run as i glance behind me. i quickly sprint away from my past as i try desperately to avoid my future. my pathetic goals and failed attempts at love follow my ever changing pace, waiting for me to trip on an untied shoelace or a sidewalk crack that someone forgot to fill. i should, in the end, let them catch up, but i avoid the unavoidable for as long as possible until one day i fall and just forget to get back up. so hurry. bury them in your dust. who knows, you might meet some really cool people who are running from the same things you are. because everybody runs.

and my feet are getting tired

it's taking way too long to walk the distance between
who we are and who we wished we'd be.
it's such an amazing thing to listen and to see.
so i was thinking maybe we could watch the sunset silently.
i feel like i'm drowning and i'm missing you more than air.

i love you

i have a new love.
as soon as one dies, another is born,
and vica-versa, and versa-vica.
well, more often than not,
you die in the process of another love being born,
like in many cases with a mother and her new born.
so, is it worth giving life just to give yours in the process?
i ask you this requiring no pity,
but asking only that you never love again,
unless, of course,
a death wish is on the tip of your tongue in the form of
"i love you."

still here

i'm lying to myself.
i guess i'm hoping to recover from you,
but i don't think it's working.
at least, not yet.
when, then?
i can't believe you haven't realized what you had.
it wasn't too good.
you did deserve it.
and if you still need me like i need you,
i'm here.

stereotypes

i was thinking, like i sometimes do, and here's what i came up with:

stereotypes. you've probably never thought about why we have them. well, maybe you should start. it might make the world a better place. 'what are your thoughts, dallas,' you wonder. well, i'm glad you asked, because here they are: we're lazy. we've created stereotypes for every race, color, and appearance because we're too lazy to take the time to consider everyone we meet on an individual basis. i know we're all busy in this age of technology and starbucks, but if we would just think for one second that maybe we're not what we thought...well, we'll never know, will we?

will you

will you miss the day
when it turns into night
and will you miss the way
i always say goodnight

a question among lovers

walking deep through a forest of empty bottles and rusted cans, i trip over lines i used to cross without wondering what was beyond the moment. everything takes on the form of the ones we once loved and we hate the idea of ever loving again, at least until it's convenient to mistake fondness for love, in which case i am wrong and you were never right. before you can walk, you must learn to run away from those who take you seriously. a question among lovers is gossip among friends. if i said i'd do anything to make you happy, would you do everything to make me a liar? now, will our friends gossip about that question, or will you ask your lover before you gossip about it to me? another question or a confused statement of truth is merely the difference of opinion...what's yours?

3:33

she falls asleep with the tv on
over and over with the tv on
mute but far from silent pictures
running through her head
right before she goes to bed
shed some light on this disaster
wake her up faster
before the images influence
inference is only indifference
to the state in which you crash
fall into the sleep slash
coma category
i'm only what you show me,
but if only i was straight
off the magistrate
give me something to gestate
before i repress the hate
for these evil allegories
these verbal wars ignoring
the matter at hand
give me a mic and a band
and stage and i could rip
a whole list of reasons why
you're heroes are gonna die
in the debate