Dear Talia,


My mattress is tattooed with your scent.

You held me as I slept.

You kissed my forehead and told me you love me.

You whispered three syllables into my mouth. You create waves in me that wash away cigarette burns. I would hold you tight in the unforgiving night.

I want to drink cheap coffee with you as you smile between each sip and as I master the art of looking at your smile. I want to make love with you like it's going out of style and until our lungs are burning like California wildfire.

I want to evaporate into your breath.

We were side by side in a bed made for us, and I fell asleep in your arms, listening to the calm of your breathing and the frantic beat of your heart.

Your fingers weaved through my hair, and I counted heartbeats, hoping never to stop.

My brain is soup and my hands are worn down from hours of typing your name. Talia. Talia. Talia Betourney.

I want to rock in and out of your body, as you kiss my lips with precise lightning strikes. After you shock me, time and time again, I want to wonder if the lightning misses the sky.

I am flustered and as I type this, I lose control of my thoughts as I become swept into your green-eyed, dark haired heaven. I cannot dream a better dream than your reality. I want to kiss you for every gasp I've never been around for and for every moment of pain. I am not here to save you, though: I am here just to love you.

Your hands swallowed mine, as I was closest to your body. My eyes drank the darkness, and my mind escaped.

In my sleep, you told me you love me. When I woke up, you told that panther something and I wanted to know what his ears heard that mine didn't.

You wouldn't say, and your hands grew slight tremors, the same way farmers grow slight weeds.

We started to kiss like our lips were the antidote. You whispered into my mouth. I asked what you said, being able to make most of it out.

You said, "Nothing." But, baby, that wasn't nothing. That was everything.

After a few minutes, I told you that I made out most of it and that it was okay.

You turned to your side, and your hands shook. I love you so much. I love you. I love you. I love you. Turn back to me. Look at me. Hey.

"It's okay. It's okay, and it's going to be okay, because I love you, too," I said to you, as I looked into your eyes, seeing myself.

You smiled.

We kissed like famine was non-existent, and like the apocalypse was imminent. End my world with every kiss, revive me with every flick of the tongue. Wash me with lava, and give me acid to drink; nothing could **** me in that moment, except the batting of your eye lashes.


I wrote you this poem and it *****, but it spilled out of my fingers after you left:

In a far and distant galaxy, there is a father for you, and a father for me       
And a silver car for you and I; driving underneath the alone-grey sky.
And a blue soul that learns to be happy.
And our blood will dye the Dead Sea.
And underneath a together-old tree, our young love will try.

And while our muscles are far from weak,
we will kiss until our mouths are dry.
We will kiss for an entire week. We will kiss until we forget how to cry.

Our brains will tell us we’re irresponsible.
Our hands will shake from all the trust.
You chew on my lip like I’m impossible.
You’ll ******* blood; I taste like rust.


How you could be afraid of my not loving you escapes me.

Don't you know why my heart beats so fast?

Today was the first day we said that we love each other. I hope it isn't the last, because I love you very much, and I don't think my mouth can go a day without knowing those words.


Yours,

Josh

The other day my mother told me
I should be a writer.
I did not have the heart to tell her
that I am everything but a writer.
I hear too much in silences.
I think oceans are often lonely,
and trees don't always want to let go.
More than half of my books
are less than halfway finished.
Someone once told me,
"You're too young to be so old",
but I didn't notice,
I was too busy losing things
I never had.
I'm not weak,
I'm just broken.
Most days are overwhelming;
I often think of not existing.
You should try it sometime,
it's peaceful knowing you don't
mean anything to anyone.
It's a shame sadness seeps
through fingertips, otherwise
one day I might write; even though
I am everything but a writer.

Oh, I want to tell you. Believe me, I do.
I want to tell you how much it all hurts,
and how I hear your heartbeat in the chorus of every song.
If I could only reach the depths of your mind you never let me touch
we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place.
I want to scream at you, trust me, I do.
I ache to let my rage reign at full capacity,
and give you hell that burns eternally.

I'm afraid if I let these words marinade in my hatred,
I'll become far too bitter a person.
And what if your taste never leaves my lips?
I want to ask you.

Here we are, though.
I'm not speaking, screaming, and certainly not asking.
I'll drown my sorrows in something shameful,
and pray you care to save me.

You could say i have the heart of a miser, but you can't say I do not have one. For it beats in my chest, threatening to sweep this head off my neck with tsunamis of sickening blood. As if i had infinite emotions to gnaw at. My soul seem to be a bottomless pit, eternally craving to be fed. And I never knew how to satisfy it. I seem to be different from the others. Void of emotions. Speaking only to stir trouble, on the sorry excuse of giving myself reasons to feel. I had no clue about the inability to communicate with my mother. We hardly exchange words, and those that escape my tightly sown lips were only to spite her. But they were words from the very end of this bottomless pit, which all sums up to "I lost all I respect".

I've stated in the beginning, I have the heart of a miser; I have not forgotten the words she told me 30 odd days back. If elephants never forget, then I guess I have these ivory tusks made to cut like a hunter's spear on anything that's alive. Cut off anything that's okay. Turn everything that is okay into something that is not. Explosive cars and houses set ablaze are akin to fireworks; the only thing that seems to catch my eyes anymore. And the smoke that lingers smells like a house freshly painted; addictive. That is until they smother my skin. I can't help but cringe at the monster in the mirror. I wasn't like this. I don't know how I've come to this. I don't know why.

The words that mothers say are lessons taught to their children. So i suppose I've learnt that I am a ***** and that I'm better off dead. 30 odd days. Are you proud of me, Mum? I have not forgotten what you taught. Today you screamed. I would like to say the spit that landed on my skin burnt like acid. But truthfully, I don't feel a thing. You asked for the wrong that you've done. You screamed into my face, DO NOT CALL ME YOUR MOTHER. I AM NOT WORTHY, as yours contorted so much I could almost feel something. Mum, I'm not worthy to tell you what you've done wrong for I don't feel a tad sorry for what I turned us into. It was a mistake to give birth to me. I'm not even sure if I missed what we used to have. I can't remember what we had.

I'm sorry if this house ever burns to the ground.

Mum, I wish I wasn't a monster.

Thinking. And thinking.
It's always about a number of things,
My mind never likes only one topic
Mostly because I get bored easy.

And I think, I'm not interested in boys.
I'm interested in men.
Not this annoying, ball-less ******* that hasn't learned a thing.
Maybe that's why I'm forever in love with Tom Hiddleston.

And I think, my body is wierd.
Made of broken pieces,
Glued together by angel spit.
(I guess it's been battered, as my bones are falling apart as we speak.)

And I think, I'm done with friendship.
All it seems to do is bring me woe.
You all are now acquaintances,
Far enough away that you can't shoot me.

And I finally think, I'm happy.
Even with the **** scars and broken heart,
I like the words I speak and how they power through a room.
I love each morning, a new oppurtunity for adventure.

There’s no point in *******, today,
Because I’m not looking for skin...
Today it’s cosmic electricity.
Because I can’t smell the screen's pheromones,
And there’s something to be said for chemistry.
Because I can touch my own *******,
But familiarity is hard-pressed to impress.
Because the only scraping and biting here
Is far from raunchy; my teeth are restless.
Because people have **** opinions and nuances,
And today I see caricatures but no people.
Because it’s all poor, uninspired acting,
And the only singular thing I want is truth.
The only singular thing I want.
Is truth.

Nothing against *******.
Today or ever.
But there are some lonely stretches
When I’m perched on the edge of the world,
Aroused to adventure,
And Life is buzzing past me
And I desperately want to rip into it
And savor and lick and **** out its seed
And reach into its hair and pull hard
As we bruise and break each other
And SCREAM OUT
-- LIFE!
Where redtube just won’t cut it.

my heart missed the lesson on holding back
so
i swallowed my pride and got
indigestion

i'll tell you in the smallest ways until the right way
comes to me,
i'll leave you notes in obscure places and kiss your feet

you are the butterfly branched from the moth,,,



and you are worth the wait.

in my shower.
You’re there in the passenger seat.
You’re in two places simultaneously.
Your head’s on my chest,
arms around my neck, fingers laced.
You’re in my headphones when “Cheers Darlin’” hits my ears.
You’re sitting on my lap.
You’re laying on your bed.
You’re climbing in and never leaving my head.
You’re at the top of my list-- the only name.
You run through my veins—
the only drug I want to take.
You’re the love that hurts, the love that saves,
the love that stains my tongue.
You’re the anger, the sweat, the out-of-breath.
You’re the “take your time.”
You’re every good word.
But you haven’t said your mine.

you ****** him, baby. you are.
that's all right.
i sleep alone but you do the same, even when he's with you.
dissonance carry on with her other lover.
forego "break" when hesitation will do.

we're paralyzed. i'm blindsided.
fear is fault.
he's at the top of his claim as spring wakes.
i'm begging love to bring quake.
struggle knows it's somber call.

then could we sleep late?
i'd love the sight of unclouded
daylight on an unblighted face.
so break latch, show me thirst
under sheet, hand-in-hand, outside bloom, inside burst.

i revel in your rhapsodic gaze.