Your heart is the echo of your loneliness, it sets the practiced flow to your poetry and the undeniable sorrow of your prose.

Your unrequited love seeks out new partners with the deranged need of a ***** looking for the next score and with the same pathetic results.
Your crash between lovers' highs may lack the sour stink of the vagabond's putrid sweat yet the addict had the good grace to hide his broken soul behind doors, however flimsy;
You would rather celebrate your fractured heart, dressing your wounds with your words as the cheap ****** dresses her bruises with makeup and glitter.
She hates her john and dreams of a better way,
You idolize your ex and yearn for his or her return some day.

Yet I think we can all agree; drugs were the best thing to ever happen to the substance abuser...

Against too many writers of science fiction

Why did you lure us on like this,
Light-year on light-year, through the abyss,
Building (as though we cared for size!)
Empires that cover galaxies
If at the journey's end we find
The same old stuff we left behind,
Well-worn Tellurian stories of
Crooks, spies, conspirators, or love,
Whose setting might as well have been
The Bronx, Montmartre, or Bedinal Green?

Why should I leave this green-floored cell,
Roofed with blue air, in which we dwell,
Unless, outside its guarded gates,
Long, long desired, the Unearthly waits
Strangeness that moves us more than fear,
Beauty that stabs with tingling spear,
Or Wonder, laying on one's heart
That finger-tip at which we start
As if some thought too swift and shy
For reason's grasp had just gone by?

Greasy fingerprints on the window,
from the breakfast she smeared in her face.
Chocolate everywhere, which somehow wouldn't go away.
Hitting the window with her hands,
at the children across that play.
Waving 'hi',
the image in the window
slowly turns vague.
Don't forget the breathmarks of our dog
with a bunch of leftover food remains.
Saliva and pawprints,
nails carved in the window.
Barking at the neighbours dog.
Teens are competitive today.

All these beautifull memories here.
But I really gotta clean my window..

We posed like **** stars in adrenaline filled bodies
proud in young magnificence always, never understood
as we kept posing statuesque... that happiness
is not met by a youthful blaze, and like glass
is always brittle...
transparently solved the  riddle we saw when
we were too old to go back.

I can't help the fact
I'm hardwired
for serious adventure.
It's really not my fault.
It's genetic.
And you know darling,
we both love living on the edge.
You take my breath away.
You stoke my emotions.
You make my body combust.

My Eyes
hurt
when bent
around trying to see
all cocked in their sockets
a red dizzying me.

But, they
hurt
much more
when I do see
another's
misery.