No young man believes he shall ever die. There is a feeling of Eternity in youth, which makes us amend for everything. To be young is to be as one of the Immortal Gods. One half of time indeed is flown-the other half remains in store for us with all its countless treasures; for there is no line drawn, and we see no limit to our hopes and wishes. We make the coming age our own -- The vast, the unbounded prospect lies before us.
Death. old age. are words without a meaning. that pass by us like the idea air which we regard not. Others may have undergone, or may still be liable to them-we "bear a charmed life”, which laughs to scorn all such sickly fancies. As in setting out on delightful journey, we strain our eager gaze forward- Bidding the lovely scenes at distance hail!-and see no end to the landscape, new objects presenting themselves as we advance; so, in the commencement of life, we set no bounds to our inclinations. nor to the unrestricted opportunities of gratifying them. we have as yet found no obstacle, no disposition to flag; and it seems that we can go on so forever. We look round in a new world, full of life, and motion, and ceaseless progress; and feel in ourselves all the vigor and spirit to keep pace with it, and do not foresee from any present symptoms how we shall be left behind in the natural course of things, decline into old age, and drop into the grave. It is the simplicity, and as it were abstractedness of our feelings in youth, that (so to speak) identifies us with nature, and (our experience being slight and our passions strong) deludes us into a belief of being immortal like it. Our short-lives connection with existence we fondly flatter ourselves, is an indissoluble and lasting union-a honeymoon that knows neither coldness, jar, nor separation. As infants smile and sleep, we are rocked in the cradle of our wayward fancies, and lulled into security by the roar of the universe around us. we quaff the cup of life with eager haste without draining it, instead of which it only overflows the more objects press around us, filling the mind with their magnitude and with the strong of desires that wait upon them, so that we have no room for the thoughts of death.

Come in
Yes I know it's raining
Why do you ask
Are you really complaining
I let you kiss me
I let you feel
I never told you
'It was real
You say I tricked you
Gave you a disease
I'm so sorry
You bought it...please
Goodnight
Lock the door on your way out
That's right
And leave your key
This is the last time
You pay and say it's free

xo

A year passed, I still like you.
And I know deep in myself that I have loved you.
Although, it's hard for me to keep holding back,
Pretending not to be clingy in any act.

Twice, we've seen each other;
Longing my heart for another.
But there's really no sparks ongoing,
I guess I should stop hoping.

This sensation keeps on coming back,
Ending this is what I really lack.
I am so helpless forgetting about you,
Hence, my heart breaks waiting for cue.

About you is what I don't understand, Having a cold heart is what in your hand. Wishing you were here is all my aspiration, But giving me heartaches in this infatuation.

xo,
Angel Lav

Sometimes I imagine that you could use a flat blade knife and separate parts of my body.
Like an anatomical model, an arm in half, a wrist entirely off.
An outmoded coloured wax model. Perhaps, a very old one. A decorated one with human or horse hair, closed eyelids and uncomfortable lips, and like those ancient roman ones, thinning sheens of paint on top.
The blade would slip through neatly, perhaps catching friction as it passes the block of soap texture, and leaves grimy residue on the knife.
You can see the vessels.
They are not clean.
Like my soul there are very nearly translucent scrapes and patches of liquid. Some days the liquid spills out.
Some days I just want to clean out. I want to purge, but I know I will just melt and the mistakes will be just as visible. You will see the marks that look like mouse's claws or pincers where I have pulled apart the skin trying to work out what went wrong. Doing some kind of surgery. Inside tying double sided sticky tape and chips of plastic, driving them in deep and forgetting about them.

When you say those things I can't be big anymore. If I'm tired you make me cry. Salt crisps up my intestines.
You make me imagine what it would be like to plunge a knife into my stomach.
I bet it would be satisfying like the braking of chocolate. Cracking of value bars.
But I have to remember that you are the organs thrown out at the end of the day, sloshing around in the bucket and I deserve to be preserved and anything that had been cried over or crafted is better than a remote controlled car. Stop telling me that it's not.
It's not as if I'm trying to be a petal or a fragment of netting fallen off a ballerina's skirt.
I've chosen to hover above the blades. I am nothing so frivolous. Feeling at home in a web of metal coated in paisley oven gloves. I am safe here. In fact I'm glad that thick haze separates us. You will never be able to find somewhere so tranquil. It makes me happy that there is no possibility that we can meet in the middle. It just makes it easier to keep the space, without the concern of some congealing platelets tethering to a surface which was never there.

Usually
when I get any sort of late night feelings
and decide to write
the outcome, the product
is clean,
crisp,
but most importantly,
cold.
The feelings are typically harsh;
self hatred,
self loathing,
loneliness.

But tonight, oh God tonight,
the feelings are warm.
After a self performed heart palpitation
I have concluded that I'm at risk of a heart attack.  

Hours ago I met a girl.
Tall.
The first thing that struck me was how tall she was.
Almost as tall as me,
I didn't have to avert my eyes down to meet her own.
Which was refreshing.
The next thing that I noticed was her face.
More so, the beauty held within.
The beauty held above and below her eyes.
The freckles that dotted her cheeks,
her nose,
her forehead.

Although we did not exchange numbers, only names,
my heart rate sped up to an alarming speed
when I received a call.
Checking it quicker than I normally would have,
I **** near fell out of my chair to wrangle it from my pocket.
It was only a friend calling.
Asking if I had any dope
and if he could come over.
I said no and no and goodnight.

With my heart still beating fast
and my face comfortably warm
I lay down
and looked at the roof.
Usually
the white paint makes me sick
but this time I could only see the outline of her face.
I drew in her freckles with my fingers
and created a beautiful piece of art.
Only to have it fade from my mind.
Gasping, I reached for it.
I erased all thoughts and all memories other than those of her.
For the moment that it lasted I was at ease.
While it was not true meditation I reached enlightenment.
I felt peace.

And while it still resonates in my mind and heart,
I cannot seriously believe it will last.
I beg God to let it stay.
I ask God for this one thing,
I promise him I will do no more wrong,
I will not pick up my pipe tonight
or tomorrow
or ever again.
I promise to never taste alcohol again,
if only he will let this feeling last.
That's the least he can do.
The very least.

I lied to my friend.
I have plenty of dope,
for now,
as the feelings are already leaving.

I am clean and empty
I took my fathers advice
Slowed it to a crawl and
Now I hear the song hidden among silence

Cicada
Teach me the song
For *** and darkness
I whistle all along the notes
Rhythmic sweet and somber
Tones envelope

If I could once
Just once dream
Of hands so delicate caressing
The chords of sinew dance once more
As eyes so graceful lull me onward
Into darkness
Unafraid

So now I lie again among
The brambles gazing o the stars
A crescent moon caught so
Who am I to dare this fate?
What eternal price must I pay
To gaze upon such beauty

Why is darkness at its meekest within a light source?
How incredible it is, that among its enemy, it’s able to wrap victims
In its arms.

Swallow them;
Disguise them;
Embrace them.

Its long tendrils crawling upon your skin
Its poison traveling into your heart
Destroying you;
Engulfing you;
Letting light into your eyes.

Darkness isn’t an enemy, it’s your invisible friend.
It lets you see the truth.
While light? It conceals it
Everything is a lie.

Light wants to be perfect, but it can’t.
It is the result of all social judgements
All things.

Darkness reveals everything that you might not have noticed.
But beware
If you fall too deeply into the abyss
You might get stuck and never climb back up.

Because we humans would rather accept the beautiful lies
Rather than the cold truth.
Because we are us, and we are cowards.

you are a beautiful little box at the bottom of my screen.
and somehow i am always shocked
when you want to talk to me.
the first thing i remember you saying
involved naked women and steak
and we were
twelve...
you're more awkward
than anyone i've ever met
and
the way you carry yourself speaks of unfamiliarity
with everything
and i feel like two planets trying to smash together
to make one
when we talk
because somehow
we never get
our point across...

...but
i
spent several years of my life loving you
a quiet little box
on the bottom of my screen
and you spent several years
loving a girl
with the prettiest feet
i ever saw

...i feel ok about this now.

dave,
i would make you pancakes
but instead i wrote you this poem.