My lips said,
'Let's ride,'
Her eyes said,
'How far?'

Sometimes the ride is all that matters no direction has suited me most my life.
I listen to the music of the night and smelt the ocean as I tasted the salty winds embrace.

I'd come to an understanding of emptiness was far better than the false comfort of another's secrets  were better off left buried with only one    lost soul  serving as the map.

I sat at the bar for a while not speaking to others as I found it far more comforting to be lost within my own lies and illusions insanity makes for good company.
Far better than the ******* of some ego driven windbag.

We were always happy in the moment but it was alone that let the demons wreak havoc upon our memories, why couldn't I ever just get over ******* and leave the past a corpse to rot within the ground?

In depths of your own thoughts you will find the truths that are not mired by your own lies.
A man's ego is but a wildfire soon to be out-of-control and so easily snuffed out by another's manipulation.

I couldn't give the answers when asked questions anymore, **** if I cared to answer I just struggled to exist let alone fix others.
And my vices were given the excuse they so desired.


Why can't we just be like this she asked?
Because moments my dear are simply that.
And time is a ******* of a friend who exist only to bitter you and where down your soul like the sun does to the old man's skin turning fresh intentions to worn-out leather hide.

Maybe I'm a ******* maybe you're just a ***** maybe were all flawed and I was simply looking for someone more ****** up than ourselves.
Stroke our own ego and say well at least I'm not that ******* bad.

I never care for the destination I simply exist for the trip.
Maybe I'm running from something maybe I'm just happy to escape, maybe I'm just a fool to life but I've seen enough to know the blindness of passion and the deceit of a well intending heart.

We drove from miles happy to exist and content not to speak.
Sometimes the silence says it all my friends.

I could have sworn
your eyes were hazel
when you told me
you loved me,

I could have sworn
they were never this shade
of rich mahogany-
but maybe they have lost
their intircate flecks of green
like the leaves do in Autumn.

I suppose winter was inevitable.

This place scares me.*

So why do you come down here?

*To be scared.

I scraped my knee
and asked my lover if he thought
the blood is brown because I am all dried out and
rotten inside,
or if I am just full of dirt. As children, we
drew lines in cemetery soil

pretended to snort them – I must have inhaled
the cry of someone’s bones
their whimpers
of exhaustion

(my angel in a cloud
who I cry for each day
keeps asking me to just let her die, she is every
unidentified flying object and
she is tired
of needing to stay afloat, even with wings).

I wish I didn’t need so much sleep
but it is probably my fault.

I lifted
a bookcase of pretty things, doilies beneath
porcelain faces and bottoms
mildew
smoke-stained letters

and blocked the windowpane. Light reminds me
too much of
how I became a mistress
thinking I would not take anything away,
thought I was adding more love
into the world – it is
too full.

Darkness is absence, darkness is my
own creation.

I spent my allowance on it
to pretend I am still young enough for bad men to
want to play dolls
with me, twist their heads around backwards
so they will never know of their
private parts

never be like me.

Dearest Reader,


My name is Margot Dylan, and I'm a pariah.

On the 16th of April, I told my mother that I was gay. She threw the clay mug that I made for her before she found out I was gay, against the floral, peeling wallpaper mess of a wall, in our kitchen. The decaffeinated peppermint green tea left a wonderful aroma that almost cleansed the room of the stench of 'lesbian'.

I met Dylan Dunham a few days after that, and, a few days later, she was the first girl that I ever loved.

Dylan wore a red flannel jacket, and was a butch and sometimes a *****-but I loved her even at her tomboy cruelest.

Dylan smoked a cigarette that smelled like lonerism, and she looked at me like she didn't care. My heart skipped a beat, as cliche as it sounds, whenever she would remove the cigarette from her mouth, exhale, and look at me as smoke traveled up her face. I looked at her and knew that she was everything that I wasn't, and everything that I wanted.

Dylan was Dianne, before and after school. Dylan was Dianne, who wore floral dresses and lipstick and who ditched her butch clothing in her locker before leaving. Dylan was Dianne, who was straight and who thought Tyler Wesson, from church, was cute. Dylan was Dianne, who had a short hair cut because of track and field, because she explained that she ran a faster time with less hair. Dylan was Dianne, who didn't associate with me before or after school because her parents knew that I was gay.

During school hours, the only thing Dylan did keep from Dianne was the lipstick. I was envious of the cigarette because of it's burgundy stains. We would stand in a stall, as she looked across from me, after each drag. She frequently offered her cigarettes, but I refused because I only let love **** me. If she ever brought alcohol, sometimes she'd kiss me. I told her that I loved her and she said, "I know."

The only thing that Dylan kept from me was my heart, before she started to smoke cigarettes in the bathroom with Annie Way.


I wish you the best moments so they can overcome the worst,

Margot Dylan