Bite
  marks
are
   love
notes
   written
in
   flesh ...
So
   let
me
   bite
you
   hard
and
   make
you
  moan .

pull you close
grab my waist
rest my hands
on your face
kiss you slow
close embrace
lift me up
wearing lace
hands will drift
press and trace
melting with
the sweet taste
love on lips
time to waste
you and i
in this place

s.s

you can't see me
I'm invisible
but if you see
through the grass
then first you'll be
hypnotized by my eyes
yellow
and diamond
come stay
you may
I'll craw around you
observing
you look nice
but you're just a mice
Do you care?
Shall I spare
you?

so I bite
like a knife
but as gentle as I can
cause you're my friend after all

I bite
with two long teeth
down through your feet

I bite
but only if you want to return
like a 'home run'
as fast as death
speed with breath

just say my name

"Snake"

and say the word

"bite"

I be there...

are they staring at me?
laughing at me?
my head hurts
“always in that dang room”
i don’t like me anymore
“get off your phone”
i didn’t eat lunch today
“you’re so skinny”
not enough
“gorgeous girl!”
am i tho?

you start to see things a lot differently once you set an expiration date on yourself.
there's beauty in the small things; the feel of warm dirt beneath bare feet, the gentle clucking of chickens, the brush of a cat's whiskers against your cheek. you suddenly want to watch every sunrise and sunset, to count every star, to take long walks through nature. you eat what you want and no longer care what people think because it doesn't matter, you will be dead in five days and no one will remember your name.
you are now nothing but a faceless silhouette, and no one cares enough to remember the little moments but you collect them like a child collecting seashells. you treasure every glance and exchanged word and half smile sent your way. you settle for the bare minimum because that's all you have ever received and will ever receive.
you find optimism in the dark moments; you **** a mosquito only to lay beside its crumpled body and watch a tiny ant drag it away, carrying three times its weight and you are jealous. you are jealous because you can't even handle yourself, and you are not strong enough for this world, not smart enough to figure out what you're supposed to do with your silly little life. you tip your chin back to the sky and wonder if the sun ever loved the moon, if the rose ever loved the daisy, if anyone could ever love you, and you're afraid that you'll never know.
but the fear within us is all the hope we are afraid to hope for. if you are not afraid, then you have no hope, and what are you then? free to die in silence and gray ashes and dead flowers from people who stopped coming to visit you long ago?
how could the sun love the moon, how could the rose love the daisy? if we are only fit to love those within our standards, then what is love really? chosen? picked at random? or is it a passion, a longing, a scrap of a song sung to a star?
and then comes the reality, that we are finite beings, and it doesn't matter if the rose and the daisy got their happily ever after, and it doesn't matter if the sun loved the moon because the moon loves you and the stars welcome you with open arms and yet you still cower on this pathetic earth, and it begs the question,

are you afraid to fly?