Suffocation There are five cigarettes in a pack Resting upon my bed, One for each. The first a supermodel, Too much of everything, Whereas I was too much of nothing. And just as exuberant light defeats somber shadows, This smoke is you. The second an intellectual, Knew not to bet against odds. Chose firm land over a sinking ship, And just like the water filling my lungs, This smoke is you. The third was cynical, Aware evil always prevails, So chose corrupt morals and fame. And just like the defeated crawl to an escape, This smoke is you. The fourth was destructive, Always finding ways to feel pain, Until the pain was too much. And just like a child suspended on a doorstep, This smoke is you. The final was ill, Masked behind good will and smiles, A knife plunged deep in my back. And just like your madness consumed me, This smoke is you.

Here's To The Past Memories are far too easily warped by the present, such as that we can trust no one, not even ourselves. Carefully turning through the dusty pages of a photo album never gave me the satisfaction I expected it to. Nostalgia made me ill. I grimaced at the trapped versions of my past selves, standing alongside many trapped versions of others. The snapshots provided a window to an event, a window where I could only hopelessly stare, fully aware of the outcome. However, there is also something comforting about the familiarity of the past. It's an escape from the present, a momentary gap in reality. Some photographs remind me of happier times, and I often find myself smiling, remembering how I felt in those moments. The happiness of nostalgia never lasts long though, and the emptiness that lingers afterwards is rarely worth the pleasure. I glance at all my old friends, stuck next to each other for eternity on dusty cream pages, and wonder if it was always destined to end like this. Maybe they're happier now. I hope so.

Growing Down There was a baby Innocent and pure Hearing noises Remembering voices Of the ones who'd keep them safe There was a child Hungry and happy Playing games Remembering names Of all the friends they'd made There was a teenager Deflated and sad Sullen eyes Remembering cries Of all the pain inside There was an adult Drunken and mad Haunted mind Future resigned With no more pain inside

Goodbye Now we're departing, can you inform me what you truly desired, what it was you actually wished to acquire? Were your actions ever set out to serve anyone but you? Did you care about what I said? If only I knew. I can only assume that your true intentions were greed, helping only yourself, to get what you need. Well now we're leaving I guess I'd better say, I used you too, just in a different way. I used you for friendship, so I wasn't alone, but I suppose your desires are better left unknown.

"In my experience, when you leave a place, it's best to leave" - Paper Towns