I noticed you, on the other side of the street. Conveniently, but I felt one of us was misplaced so I looked away. My eyes couldn't drag your attention as clearly as the poignancy of the image, of you, on the other side of the street.

On the other side of me.
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I might just have to accept the fact that your alcohol talks more than you should.
Controlling what is the truth and what is less deserving to be shoved under that category, you seem so interesting and perpetually grandiose.

I believe someone asked: "what is the point of you?"

- I kid you not, I feel the same aimlessness as you see in me.

However, far away from your presence, someone needs it. You know this, but then again if you didn't, the difference would still be none what so ever. Not everything needs fixing, except you.

You're crying rivers in my bubble world, but they are still not enough to drown us.

in other words;
je suis onze, je suis ici et je le fais pour toi.
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Resolute and
ignorant decisions
lead you to,
not so much,
but where so many
objects come into play, 
don't forget pain.
Once you 
elaborate your resolute,
ignorant opinions
and protests, 
against
not so much,
but amongst many
who are deliberate
resolute
ignorants.

It does,
lead you,
into
nothing.
So don't forget pain.

Thanks.

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Dear

I wish you were here
now that I am
no longer
there.*
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As I force myself to sleep,
I want you.

I open my eyelids
and pretend that your head still rests on my chest,
your lips against my cheek
and
I want you.

I get up and chase my dreams away.

I dont want them.

I want you.

Its pouring down outside today
and on the pavement outside my place,
it says:
I wanted you

You'd slit my throat if I ever told you
and I am still in recovery from the last time
you did.

So I wont
and tomorrow,
I will want you again.


I will ignore the pavement.
11