[x]

ever the optimistic enablerat this time of year i always think of you and i'm reminded of the trips we took, like when we camped on the beach and we talked about your father's nervous breakdown and how much of himself he sees in you

he always gave you warnings and you always heard them as something else, something more like being reprimanded

like when that girl you were in love with, who judged everyone by her own standards, assumed we'd been secretly fucking, which of course we hadn't, but you drank a whole bottle of vodka and you were angry so you tried to throw yourself out of the car while i was driving

then you punched the door and thought maybe your hand was b

we told our storiesand i fall headlong into that old cliche
of i wish i'd said...

regret flows easily

harder is to know
that we told our stories
and still, you're gone

cigarettes as a metaphor...i remembered
lying on my bed

your smile
your eyes
all those cliches

how amazing for someone who forgets most faces in an instant

you said you had felt this way, always (kind of)
but it wasn't appropriate (before)
chipping away at the part of me that once trusted people to just BE
without any subtext
(oh look, subtext)

standing with you, next to my car
the realisation that this was going nowhere
i leaned on the door and shuffled my feet as you said i wouldn't fit into your life
not really, beyond, you know
a cut-throat reminder that i was enough for only some things

i hope you enjoyed that little moment
that you took it home and wrapped y

to someone you eat pizza withlike when someone you haven't seen in months doesn't notice how much weight you've lost and emptiness tastes so much better than food for a few days after

when shoulders that can hold up the world seem somehow less than delicate wrists with a child's watch, hanging loose on bones that still bear the never-quite-healed cracks of too many fractures

and the memory of jeans that slid over narrow hips and the gap between waistband and concave stomach

when you laugh about how sweet you take your coffee cause you used to count it as food, the only calories you will allow yourself today, 16 in each spoonful of sugar, and the habit never totally le

as alike as we were my brotheras alike as we were
my brother
as well as you meant

an i love you for each empty bottle
an i'm sorry for each broken glass

on the night when the rain hung under the stars
and the firewood glowed in protest to the cold
and we sat arm-in-arm on the
bench that your grandfather built
next to the house with unbreakable walls

when i said
i don't think i could find the words to tell them
if you didn't come back
and you said
i never thought of it that way

you always sought solace in distance
i found it in time

as if you bleed miraclesand she sinks

because no-one really walks on water
even though she was stirred to rise by god
and her faith gives her breath to waste
all divinity, magic and blissful denial
as she dredges the sea-bed in dead jade green
for broken glass to tip a spear for your side

as if you bleed miracles

i never called it making lovestars fade and scars fade and
chemicals melt and i'm left with
the burn of the light in your eyes
and the curve of your lips
and the strength of your back
as it tightens and loosens
in rhythms of heartbeats

a transfer of heat
an osmosis of peace
the skin of your wrist
between my teeth

and life flows
and love flows
and truth settles in
and sleep lifts
like snow drifts
and wraps me in you

and my dreams are my own
but i'm yours
and you hold me
(untouchable cold me)

the grace of a whisper
a fall in the mirror
and in this reflection
i see what you see
and dissolve in your arms

today in case you didn't knowtoday
i woke up to the news about you
then i had two cups of coffee
the first was filter
and the second was instant

today
i stared blankly at a screen
which was anything but blank
i tried to form words and sentences
they melted and dripped over my hands

today
i was so aware of my heart beating
something i don't usually notice
i closed my eyes and
tried to find comfort in sound

today
i tried to will breath to you
across these empty miles
like we should have that connection
at least once, before you go

today
i fell silent, and cried
i tried so hard to think of
mundane things like coffee
to distract me from the knowledge that

today
you are

my best friend, upstairsi am not the sad girl at the party
lying crying in the bedroom
in the dark and wishing
someone would come in and
put their arms around me tell me
everything will be alright again
tomorrow so i wish that they would
stay and say they love me but i
watch them walk away like
everybody always does, even a
drunken slurred 'i love you' is worth
more than what i have, but

i am not the sad girl at the party
i'm the one inhaling powders and
i'm choking pills down
talking faster
smiling harder
life and soul
magician
witch
a wicked bitch
who dares to
keep a secret

and i'm waiting for the
tonne of bricks to fall.

sunday is breakingi ran through myself
through the glass
through your hands
through the night
to this morning
to this mourning
this requiem
requisite thundering
faltering memory
glasses half full
and the bottles half empty
i fell in love
fell against table tops
fell down the stairs
and fell into this
blackout and breathlessness
waking to silence
your coma my medicine
sunday is breaking
and something is broken
blood dries and eyes open
you sleep until 2pm

and i have time to dream

my lucky numberand you sleep with one eye open, still
(just as you should -
forgiveness rarely
finds its way to souls like yours)

everything i do is wrapped in you
(and soaked in you.
seven years later
and you are still in my head)

in silence, so graceful, flash-frozen
(you broke my heart
and punctured my lung
i still breathe, but not for you)

the first cut is the deepest, baby
(i know, i may
never heal from the
knife you slid between my ribs)

seven, always my lucky number
(hours i counted
while you slept alone
dreaming of how to break me)

sketches of wishes00:47

crying with my
face turned to the wall
and i want to say something like

my heart is breaking

my stomach lurches
and ties itself in knots
reminding me to do
normal things

like eating
drinking

(waiting for the phone to ring)

i would give you
half of my body
if i could
for all it's worth

i would rip it apart
with my bare hands
and carry it to you
in a heart shaped box
or a cut-glass coffin
or bleeding through my fingers

these thousands of miles
are nothing compared to
what i would trade with
the powers-that-be
if only...

i haven't finished a sentence in 8 days now

night finds it's way to us
and our waiting
onl

things we don't talk aboutcracking with cold
you, broken and beautiful
i remember the nights when i read you out loud

you, firing memories as missiles
dripping with honesty
these questions will never be still

you, lying awake in my arms
flickering eyelashes slicing my chest
your secrets, my sevens, our laundry and losses

blood-let and branded
you, chasing absolution at 4am
and me, drowning in my wishing well

what did you expect from drugs and holidays?i remember the first time, shooting speed at 5am
and driving to the docks for a ferry ride where
i couldn't drink a pint of beer for breakfast,
to a winding road where i swallowed some ephedrine
pills and had to keep pulling in to throw up on
the hard shoulder

we listened to a song called tourniquet and i cried
behind my dark glasses, wishing we were beyond our
burdens, imagining them trailing by a rope behind
the car and breaking into pieces on the road

and more tears for the forests and the bridges and
the mountains, and the white sand beach and the
turquoise waves and the endless sky that never got dark

nights and mornings dri

december's apologyDecember fades
she loosens her grip
and raises her hand
in a cold goodbye

and it falls
like blood pressure
white powder
a flurry, a blanket
to cling to her bones

December encircles his body
with pale brittle arms
with the weight of the weightless
the weight of his words

like a stone
or an arrow
December's apology
hangs in the air

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prosopagnosia is

by `RockstarVanity, Jan 7, 2011, 2:47:25 PM
Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

so i taught myself to memorise faces
d i a g r a m a t i c a l l y
like beautiful wireframe sculptures

the tilt of a chin
the meeting of lips
the curve of eyelashes sweeping a blink
the angles of hairline-browbone-cheekbone-jaw

my own reflection
a formula wrapped in dysmorphia
painted on canvas scrolls and carved into stone

the mirror is a biblical master
a vengeful god

but a photograph
is hearing my name whispered
in a language that was excised from my mind
by a quiet stranger who follows me

always arms-length behind

prosopagnosia isby `RockstarVanity

Literature / Poetry / Human Nature / Free Verse

_{Revoke my poetic license
For as long as I can remember, I've brain-spewed
vague suggestions of poetry and song. I am not a
writer. I am not a poet or a lyricist. I am not
looking for critique. I am simply sharing.}

prosopagnosia
pros·o·pag·no·sia (prŏs'ə-pāg-nō'zhə, -zē-ə)

An inability or difficulty in recognizing familiar
faces, it may be congenital or result from
injury or disease of the brain.

_{Resources . Twitter . Facebook . Blog
RockstarVanity.com . DecemberBliss.com}

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~ketene Sep 3, 2011 Student Photographer

I love this. I've always found it to be somewhat fascinating that you have this problem and I love that it gives you an interesting perspective as a photographer.

`RockstarVanity Sep 3, 2011 Professional Photographer

I find myself explaining it in detail to a lot of people cause I'm so worried that I appear rude when I don't recognise them. It really does give me an outlook on photography that I would never have had without it

~Royworx Jun 12, 2011 Hobbyist Photographer

thank you for sharing what your brain has spewed

, I enjoyed it very much. I wish I had the ability to capture what my brain spews but then I my come to the realization that what my brain spews is just lunacy.