Maybe your aim is to sweep me off my feet
to plunge me into darker days, dreaming of you?
Or maybe you're just case sensitive
a clingy car-wreck of emotion
latching onto, and bleeding dry
your host, with parasitic tendencies?
These are all questions
of which I am not certain.

What I am certain of, is this:

You will meet me
You will love me
You will leave me

  and I will make it so.

It's so strange how I don't hold to the same standards a group of people.
What I would find acceptable from one,
is inexcusable from the next.
What makes one exempt from another?
Maybe, maybe, my focus is all off.
Maybe I should be more critical of the first, and more accepting of the last -
because in the end -
in the first kaleidoscope world,
no one escapes judgement.
Far too this, or not decent enough to be that.
In this everyday stratosphere, people are just people
from different places, with different goals
and one minor commonality.
To elevate oneself.
Surely, that is a respectable claim.
Much more so, than, wading in stagnant water.
The same filth that has been there, years upon years - without purpose.
So maybe I've been doing it all wrong.
Putting energy in the wrong place, I suppose.
Sometimes you must leave to see it.
I guess you can say that now I've seen the light.

Maybe you are supposed to be a tombstone -
in the cemetery of my mind

You are the cause of many sleepless nights
I wish you gone
and not in the sense of this world
Gone from here / gone from me

Weathered torn &
tattered
a culmination of
sequences in life
    stone hard over time
underwritten by    
hard lines of the sun
         to catch your
breath
              you must actually
                                         be alive

consistent contradictions
gambling away my
happiness to the gods,
or the devils,
i can never tell which
i can never tell which
witches are good
and which ones are bad
and i'm on the edge of
glory and humiliation.
consistent contradictions
of a woman whose heart
is not in her body but
within another's, whose
home is june and whose
jail is the present
presently prosecuting
my own **** fingers
for falling and failing
and fumbling for the
light switch
for faltering and
sweltering in the heat
of heaven or hell
i can never tell which.
i can never
tell
which.

you will never be forgotten.
ever.
your name twisted into metaphors and colors and distractions will forever
be painted across pages and pages of her favorite brand of notebook,
no matter how many she burns
there will always be one she forgot,
and she will only find it once she had almost forgotten you.
she will find the one Papyrus notebook
and all of your metaphors and colors and disractions will come flooding back,
just like how the ocean in your eyes
flooded her heart all those years ago.