You remember it all.
The way the wind battled with your hair,
The sky that seemed so empty,
The feeling of your hands on the cold metal of the driving wheel.
You can still picture the angle her mouth curved at when she knew she was making a mistake and smiled.
You can never forget her thigh brushing against yours as she shouted out into the darkness, telling the stars that she wasn’t afraid of them.

Sometimes, when your heart aches, you pretend that she is still be your side, and everything feels okay.
She is running her fingers through your hair while singing you a slightly off-key lullaby.
She is holding you in her arms, and there is nothing that exists other than you and her.
You are still in that car with her heart in your possession and your name on her lips.
You are still searching for the darkness that will hide all the wounds.
You are on a road that you don’t know anymore.

—  Memories of a path you can’t find the way to
I went on seventy or so dates the last few months of 2013. I was on a rampage for something you can’t necessarily look for, but along the way I discovered that maybe we’re all a little gullible for any sort of human intimacy whether we admit it or not. That sometimes it takes time to find peace of mind and it’s alright if our crazy comes out for a little while.
let live.

Two mourning eyes 
dulled with the force 
of impending doom 
and the clouds stare, 
they stare down 
the abyss and wink 
at the sadness 
displayed in hard lines 
and fine lives - 

taking pleasure in 
smacking lips, 
readying itself to kiss 
sullen pleasures 
of dark tomorrows;

Let us not alter the minds 
of the youthful, the carefree, 
the dreaming - 
let them live, let them breathe, 
let them be.

i.
this is burning down the cathedral.
this is shaking hands clenched into fists,
this is iconoclasm and dripping votive candles.
shattered stained glass at your feet and
spilled holy water.
there’s a poem somewhere in this chaos,
but it’s just out of your reach.
ii.
this is being crucified.
this is nails deep in your wrists,
blood soaking into the mud at your feet.
this is becoming one with the earth
that you are being forced out of.
iii.
this is the life that Jonah knew.
the whole damn world
is starting to feel like the belly of the whale.
you’re looking for your Savior,
but no one is here to set you free.
iv.
this is the pearly gates rusting
off their hinges.
this is the fence rotting and falling away
under your touch,
this is the calling out to the heavens
and only hearing the echo of your voice.
v.
this is looking for The Lord in the night sky,
but the stars are growing dimmer.
this is listening for His voice and realizing
the world has been quiet for a long, long time.
—  there is no God here.
I want you to wrap me up
with warm hands, cup me
as if you’re sipping from
a pool of holy water and
my every droplet fills
the crevices of your palms.
I want to become the breeze
that eases your tense limbs,
pulled taught by an unseen
puppeteer, I want my words
to cut those ties and set you
loose, comfort your worries
and settle you soundly as if
cradling a baby to sleep.
I want you to trace the contours
of my body as if you are
committing them to memory
as you soak in the feel of me
and my skin so very close
to yours, our bodies falling
into some inevitable orbit
and there is nothing outside
of our own galaxy in miniature,
and from within we are together
an entire universe with fathoms
of feelings worth exploring
that we seek out every morning
when we finally return to one
another with open, eager arms.
—  Brittany RubioBefore the Dawn.
The Hangover Is Real

the hangover is real.
the hangover is real.                 split my head in 1,000 directions
the hangover is real.
the hangover is real.
the hangover is real.                      call my coffin a luxury
the hangover is real.
the hangover is real.
the hangover is real.
the hangover is real.
the hangover is real.               I can’t think past my eye sockets
the hangover is real.
the hangover is real.
the hangover is real.               my belly is a whale about to erupt
the hangover is real.
the hangover is real.
the hangover is real.
the hangover is real.                                    there is nothing pleasant
the hangover is real.                                    in living this early
the hangover is real.
the hangover is real.
the hangover is real.                      tale me home, I’m fading
the hangover is real.
the hangover is real.
the hangover is real.
the hangover is real.
the hangover is real.
the hangover is real.