As he echoes.

Studying made enjoyable and the feeling that he could cover me if he wanted to. 

I could disappear under his skin if he asked. 

I’d build my self a little home beside his lungs and with every breath, I’d feel him. 

Right under his 

heart — that would be my 

metronome. 

His insides would 

be my New York, 

and his pulse
the passing train that shakes my crummy apartment. 

His brain, my Wall Street. 

And every capillary and nerve 

ending, each ligament and tendon, 
from muscle to 

muscle, an avenue to tiptoe across. 

His eyelashes 

my skyline, and his eyes 

my Liberty. 

Remember, I found you first. 

A Eulogy

Guilty

intolerant,

self-important, 
demanding --

and numb,

a clueless that was irritating,

tiring.

Pride and Vanity

inked into skin, sunken

into the bags under coffee-shop eyes

Entitlement

carved into collarbones

and the soft-sharp line of

his jaw

Arrogance, and the
cuts on his cheekbones
and the swelling on his right eye
and the scrapes on his knees;
the shoeprint on his face
and all the blood
he deserved to
lose

Let's not forget the Pretension;

and how could we

when we're all so guilty

of a judgement only society

could dictate. 

We blurred his lines, 

and built his walls,

while he sat there and took it.

He was our mistake

and no one's sorry. 

This is the part where his family cries and we set fire to the casket. 

Ending Ettiquette

It was mid-afternoon and they were going out for a swim, and they would have too, if she didn't die. The way I heard it, she stopped walking and fell right there, in the middle of the trail. That's what everyone's saying -- right down on the earth. And he, he had no idea what to do. At first he thought she was kidding, yeah, like people just liked to lie down and faint for fun. And then when it had been maybe a full five minutes, he ran back and screamed for help.

A lot of people think he wanted her to die, that's why he waited.

But I don't think so because the next winter, he walked right into the middle of this frozen lake, the lake they were supposed to go swim in I think, and slipped through the ice. When they found him, his eyes were still open like he was surprised or shot or something, and his skin was pale and raisiny. Such a shame his heart didn't just stop he was so pretty too.

Her family blamed the government for her death. I don't understand it but no one really does; I think they blame the government for everything, it's just what they do. Maybe they mean the hospital for not being able to bring her back. I think it was something about her blood, I don't really know.

And him, they said he killed himself because he'd gone crazy, but I don't think he was. Maybe he just got sick of pretending to be sane like the rest of us. Maybe he was completely honest with himself, finally, and so he did the only thing he thought he deserved. But that's just my theory, because underneath all of us, we're all pretty useless and we try to be useful and that's cool and everything but if you want to just be, well that's cool too.

He didn't get a funeral though because his family didn't want people to see him like that. But she had a really big funeral, a little like a party except everyone wore black and there were a lot of old ladies and their older husbands going about eating everything and taking up all the chairs. And he went to that, and I heard one of his friends say he nearly threw himself off a bridge afterwards because one of the old ladies asked him why he didn't marry her.

Watch 'im walk.

I'd look at him where I sat and wished, deep inside me at the very back of my head, that he'd look back at me that same way. I wanted him to wish for me too. It was shallow, and self-seeking, and wrong, I know. And to be disappointed over something as trivial as that -- it's shameful, really. But it was in the way he never gave me anything substantial, how I could never get it, and how I wished I truly could.

Maybe it was his virtue I wanted and how sure he was of who he was. It was how when he moved, he seemed endless, and flowing and present but elsewhere at the same time.

It was vanity, a constant feeding of needless vanity that caused me this and now I know I can never expect an ounce of feeling from anyone. I could try my very hardest, but I think a lack of effort is probably the best thing there is right now.

This isn't about needing someone more than they need me. We needn't each other. This is about pride and expectations and false protocol that needs to be dealt with; and now, I think it has. It's been made clear. We owe each other nothing but what is demanded of everyone: common courtesy. And that's tragic.

And now I look at him from where I sit, and I can physically feel little bits of my heart chipping off. Because I know that what he's saying is not for me, never for me. And his skin might brush mine, and his eyes might find mine for some reason, but it will never be for the reason I wish it to be.

This is so stupid. I'm writing it and I know it's stupid.