It wasn't at all

surrounded the year with empty walls
capturing memories in frivolous scrawls
pining over what it all means
and the unlikely source that stole my dreams

losing sight more each day
end result of never being asked to stay

a hangul candle projects a world more intimate
running alone makes the possibility less eminent
desperate attempts to normalize my insanity
words escape in their own sweet vanity

the truth is hidden in a mistake
what reality of yours is fake
you say you don't know what true love is
and I know it too well
driven apart by a completely different parallel

transferred here to spark invention
lost the one I'll always mention
spend futile hours clearing words already spoken
pensively inserting actions awoken

broke down in a booth empty of storage
who could dishevel the lack of courage

used to be so independent
now I'm left here to defend it
my only hope down the line
I can distinguish what's yours and what's mine

- aaron smith

quietly loud

lost, not astray, but destroyed
too many others opinions to avoid
introductions forgotten on the spot
attempting to relive the past in thought

memorizing pages of the dictionary
its the disgusting habits we refuse to bury
when i free my mind i'm using
unlike most, into losing

throwing back drinks until i drown
they're all marrying christ on the rebound
unexplicable disease, a face turning red
mind the cliche, better alive than dead

talk of black, white and gray
keep it short, what's the point anyway
how is it strange when I'm erradict
take a look around, everyones an addict

all busy becoming their career
i'm getting far, far away from here
with people off in real mourning
spilling a speech intensely boring

- aaron smith

your past is sketched in pencil
or erasable pen -
lines of impermanence that you
sweep away in dustpans,
then plug your ears to avoid
listening to the beep of the garbage truck
the following morning.
it's gone
when the sun comes up,
and the rest of your history
is packed in black plastic
garbage bags
that smell funny when you cast them in the fire -
your memories dissolve to ash.
the matches, eighty to a box,
eat away your suffering, and
forgetting is your tranquilizer.
you tell me that you're happy now,
now that yesterday has perished.
names and faces decomposed in landfills
like mistakes.
and i can't help but think
that you should really try recycling.

- jordan smith