The devil doesn't always appear with a red cape and horns.
Sometimes he is beautiful.
Like a fallen angel
because he is
and he was gods favorite...

i don’t want to hold you if you won’t hold back
don’t want to run my fingers across the skin of your back and
don’t want to whisper that i love you in your ear
(but i do love you)
because I’ve run the love out of you
(and now i can’t real it back in)

Don't you think peaches are made of these?

Thighs slicked with coconut oil
on a hot summer day.

Think of us breathing in the southern heat-
think of us singing with no defeat.

But we can't miss this anymore,
our sleepy eyes will now reside
behind screen lights and subject lines,
traffic lights constantly blinking yellow
and your 3 favorite songs on repeat,
I look down as I walk away
so I won't have to say the words
"goodbye"

I hate the overhead lights that
drain the deepen shadows of our
Sunday's from the bed-
it holds no purpose for the artist
in her head, an unbelievable feat
of emotions made logical with out any angle.

We find ourselves like a bed
stripped of its sheets-
nothing left to be hidden.

All the stains hang on threads
of all things that can't be washed clean,
no rinse and repeat
like your mother's crisp cotton,
once solid white sheets.

where my mind should be,

animals locked up in cages
waiting to be let out so they too
can play.

Lying on a bed but maybe it’s not your bed,
maybe it’s the sheets sticking to your back and twisted around your ankles, contacts taped to your eyeballs and waking up at noon to his whiskers kissing your forehead.

You were fleeting,
like a perfect photo passing you by
on a long car ride,
the one you won’t forget about,
at least for the next few miles.

But I guess that’s what happens when you’re in transit,
you meet people and you let them pass you by,
because it’s not the right time.

They’re so beautiful-
maybe for just that moment,
and maybe even more beautiful than the ones who stayed,
because you know they’ll be gone soon.

Like soft serve sliding down your hand
in the heat of an afternoon,
there was a sense of urgency
to your sweetness
that only I could taste.

I’ve created a list,
it’s in my head.

It’s things
I’ve never said.

“Who knows
if we’re meant to be,
my love.”

But the tide still
moves,
and I’ve still got you.

“Maybe I like holding hand guns,”
she said.

They all ask
“When will you go for a nice boy?”

But I’d rather enjoy
my cold one.

Let the ice drip down my back,
cooling my romance off-

“it’s another hot one,”
she insists.

Like’s to see how numb she can get
before the sickness sets in.

Stuck in the dark,
thinks beauty must be dead.

The demons have started to look soft,
and the sweet words have gone to her head.

"What’s a boy without danger?"
A lust that’s dead.

I’m so tired of sleeping without you and I’m so tired of my attempts to fall completely into you

only to be bounced back like a trampoline you leave me wondering if my feet will ever touch the ground since you first kissed me.