Snow Day

Snow day,
Nothing else to do today
I could catch up on homework
or maybe go back to sleep

Anyway,
I'm glad there's no school today
I'm so bored and I'm hazy
So this is quite a treat

What's a boy to do, as to not waste this day?
I guess I could go outside or stay inside and play

Snow day
Better than a two hour delay
Lay my head on a pillow in my bed
And hope this lasts all week

But someday
We'll have to go back to that place we hate
Just pretend there's no tomorrow
and we'll pretend that it's not too late

Crescent

Streaks falling across the sky
Begging for redemption along the horizon
Hanging on for its dear life
Once it's spent its worth, it burns into the sun

The pitch black crawls and gnaws
Needle marks scar the perfect photograph
Before too long, they were all gone
Saving the echoes of everyone's last laugh

Last reserves of the nuclear bomb
Served as the reminder of what once was
The symbol of the rebellion wall;
The symbol of the rebellion lost cause

Finally aligned, they cast a shadow
Watch from afar and listen to the whispers
of the cheering children below
The choir asking for that perfect picture

With every sunrise comes the following day
With every shallow breath is another way

Here is where it starts and here is where it will end.

Existential Doubts

What am I?
A bag of repetitive phrase?
Redundant thoughts and emotions?
Part of a species too self-aware?
Recycled thoughts?

I know what I like, and it happens to be you.
Oh there he goes again with his second person pronoun reference,
using random words that semi-describe what he's saying.
There he goes again, using commas excessively and wondering
what you're really thinking
There he goes, breaking up sentences over lines
in a way that seems somewhat poetic.

There he goes, staring straight down at the table.
He's lost in thought, staring at the same paint pattern.
Chances are that he's thinking of you.
When he realizes that he has, it's too late.
He's fallen behind.
Integrate, deliberate.
Don't argue.
It's true.
When his eyes sparkle, it's often because of you.
When he crashes, he probably tried to impress you.
When he makes a fool of himself, it's a desperate attempt.
A desperate attempt to make you laugh, to make you smile.

When he opens his phone, he types the same words over again.
He hopes for a different response and hopes to keep it open.
But really, when will he get the clue?
When will he stop rambling on?
When will he finally, after three years of hitting his head against the wall, expose the fool he really is.

The one you never wanted him to be.
It wasn't to be.

When will he stop coding everything in dumb similes and metaphors,
pretending he knows his way around the English language enough to
pretend that you don't know.

With every "her", every "you", he's probably thinking of you.
Every word is not etched in stone, but it might as well be.
Deleted text is scarred in the brain.
Every word, every motion.

It's over analyzed until he finally lays his head down.
It's never too late; Stress inducer or reducer?

He refers to himself in the third person in an attempt to distance himself from the boy he really is.

The one that doesn't know what else to say other than, "I'm sorry"
The one that somehow manages to pack so many feelings into so few words.
Whatshisname?

This boy sees every situation. His plot thickens with every twitch of your mouth and every indirect motion.

Every hug, every glance.
Every shift, every dance, or lack thereof.

He kicks himself, damns himself, and runs on to catch up.
He wonders what went wrong and what's right.

He pretends to know what you believe in and who your friends are.
He pretends that these words will actually do anything, or do nothing, whatever is less destructive.

He's far too gone, past the point of wishing sweet dreams or good night.
They are not returned, reason unknown, reasons speculated.

It's never too late. He begs to differ.
I beg to question.

I wonder what you will do once you've read this and thought about what it means.
Does it mean anything?

In the end, we'll never know.