The last one is always the best one.
The next one is only the next best one.
The one after that is what the last one was not.
The one before the last one was the best,
I swear...
I mean...
before the next one.
This is the ultimate rat race.

Our hearts are the hopeful romantics.
Eventually one of them will be the one.
Just not today.
Just not tonight.

Will you the my next one?
Will you be worth the try?

It's funny how it's never funny when people say
"It's funny, you know"
No one laughs.
There is no joke.
They are reminders of a lack of them, actually.
Put them behind velvet ropes and adore them.
There's your joke

I laugh now.

Play with my brittle spine on this
June and sultry
night.
Ruin me and ******* hate for you.
The rapture is coming, but only tonight.
Cross your eyes and see yourself from yourself.
Run away child! Whisper in deaths rustic ear:
I am here. I am here. I am here.
Freet of the all black piano keys. Disallusion
has run rampant tonight.
Look at the half bleeding moon.
Oh how it sends shivers down my weak spine.
The fields are full of grace on this red and black night.
Chances mingle best with lust. One without the other is
me without you.
I blame you not for how I am now.
I was like this long before the moon shone a light
and peasants knew what real plight was like.
You were my rapture, and it came at night.
Whisper into deaths rustic ear:
I am ready to die tonight,
but only under the moonlight.
Only tonight.

Everyday, at the crack of dawn ,
I wake up and **** myself.
Instead of a knife, I use a pen.
Instead of blood, ink is spread.
Soldiers march in formation,
from left to right.
They follow the orders of their master,
always leaving blood and massacres in their path.
This war is twenty-seven years old now.
I cannot corral it though, I've tried to stop.
With time comes lessons,
some will never have the honor to be learned.

At the crack of dawn, I wake up,
and **** myself.

Every single day.

There is a monster trapped inside my head.
Oh how it seeps deep within my inner monologue.
I swear it's the darkest voice inside my head.
It protects me from the things I've left unsaid.

Forced words are poison for my whimsical, pulsating heart.
I'm sitting on a rickety chair, hoping for a tap on the shoulder
from God.
It will never come.
Leaves dance outside your window, and still,
nothing.
My motivation for life has always been tied to foolish words;
foolish people.

A musk is left on my scarf from the night before.
It's from the woman I did not speak to.
I can write now.
I can dance too.
Of the things I still have not done.
With the music that will never come.

Your blue eyes are infections for each one of mine.
My double barreled siren.
Stop killing me with that look.
Piercing oceans slap against my
Sea side ribs.
Tangent truths are dead to me.
Your blue eyes make sense to me.

You are my guarantee.