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Fallen stars are all we are,

Alighting with a pitch black silence

Into this void we call a city—

A city filled with celestial things,

Things from the heavens,

Fallen stars gone astray—

They have fallen into hell.

Do they know? Do we know?

All we are is falling,

Falling with a heavenly grace

Into this extravagant underworld.



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From here, I can see the world.

The ocean blues of the sky and the sky blues of the ocean,

The milky dawn and the purple twilight acting as bookends

For the expanse of time in which the sun’s rays shine.

And then the stars—oh how the stars blink into existence

As the moon rises gracefully into its own perch—

But not as splendid a perch as mine.

From here, I watch the people.

They act as if they are alone, not watched by even God,

And it is endearing to see them—

To see them dancing when the rain drizzles,

The light of the street lamps making halos around them.

To hear them singing under their breath, whistling, humming,

Throwing their head back as they laugh.

I watch them as they fall in love and fall in despair

And hug their arms around them when it’s cold,

And in the heat, their faces turn shiny—they feel it all.

I feel it all.

But they don’t even think to look up.

I watch them in silence, always watching

From this magnificent, isolated perch I found.



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There is someone standing on the corner of

Upside-Down and


He is silhouetted against the backdrop of Night;

He is silhouetted by the light of Day.

He is lost to those who know him,

He has been found by those who don’t.

He is happy and sad

And pleased and mad and

Every feeling, every color in between.

His life is red and blue,

Wine and water

Spilled onto the floor

And seeping into the carpet.

Lights turned on again and off again,

Indecisive and certain of his purpose.


What purpose?

Would he,

Could he,

Should he,

Fit into the circle when he is a square?

The beginning has wound to an end;

The end is only beginning.

Waiting for nothing;

Waiting for absolutely

Without a doubt




At the corner of Right-Side-Up

And Upside-Down.


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The stars in your eyes—

Ne’er could such a humble sight

Be any more grand.



How could I be happy with someone who isn’t you?

How could I be happy when you’re not there to be happy too?

How could I want someone else now that we have met?

How could I go about using someone else to help me forget?

How could I be satisfied with stars now that I’ve seen the sun?

How could I want to reach the end when it’s only just begun?

How could I let you slip away when I’ve wanted you for years?

How could I ponder it all without being struck by tears?

How could I let my fate be so recklessly told?

How could I settle for steel after feasting my eyes upon gold?

How could I watch one of those fools try to steal my heart?

How could I let my dreams of you be suddenly torn apart?

How could I turn the page when I’m still stuck on your word?

How could I forget your voice—the prettiest thing I’ve heard?

How could I let myself be weak when I’ve sworn to be tough?

How could I admit that of you I haven’t had enough?

How could I submit to their smiles when they do not compare?

How could I let my eyes drift closed when I see you everywhere?

In all these questions, one word to me stands out—

If I can’t claim your love as mine, then “how?”



Four Days

I saw you on a Tuesday

Amidst a sea of bodies, a plethora of faces—

Faces lit up with liveliness yet holding no light for me—

An overcast sky, but the sun shone suddenly

When I saw you on a Tuesday.


Forget it, I thought,

But forgetting that face is like forgetting the stars—

Such an impossible and foolish feat;

On pitch black nights I will need the memory

Of when I saw you on a Tuesday.


I met you on a Wednesday

At a table full of people who made me feel alone;

I felt your approach intensely before you came

Like a railroad feeling a coming train—

You shook me when we met on a Wednesday.


A handful of exchanged words,

An apprehension that would sear at the touch—

I watched and was caught when I let my eyes roam,

And never before did I feel more alone

Than when I met you on a Wednesday.


The past flashed before my eyes

And left me as stranded as the present,

Which was a joy so great it felt like a void of sorrow;

My heart told me, “You’ll regret this tomorrow,”

But I already regretted meeting you on a Wednesday.


I missed you on a Thursday,

Drowning in the water I let slip through my fingers

When all I wanted was a drink—I watch it in my mind,

A silent film unfolding in black-and-white—

I missed my chance—and you on a Thursday.


Despair was deferred only by the hope

Of basking again in your Tuesday-light

And redeeming myself by reliving that Wednesday meet;

I will not let that Thursday repeat—

There was a glimmer of hope for a Friday.


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My days—my precious days!—where do they go


When I’m immersed in dreams of you and I?


My time—my treasured time!—how it does fly!


This fantasy of mine is all I know,


For when I’m living life I am in woe,


And my foe, Anguish, is whom I defy


With these dreams in which there is no goodbye


And no reason to ever say hello.


My love has not been false to any end;


Reality appears to have no heart—


If anything it wants for us to part,


For it does not show sympathy to truth.


It seems as though Anguish is its best friend:


The adversary of the love-struck youth.



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