If i keep with my stroll,
I might just
catch a crazy case.

I might just catch
crazy
in the worst place.

In love,
the worst humans
debase
themselves
even lower.

So when her love
reaches me,
it make me less human
to the point that I don't even
know her.

I begin
to only know myself
in my episodic returns.

The episode
of kissiing.

The episode
of loving.

The episode
of breaking
over *******.

I wish I could pull ****
my way;
have gravity
in my palms
and the sun
in my arms.

I want to  feel heat in my biceps again,
I want the mountains
to rise up
again,
I want volcanoes
instead of pimples.

The words of a heavy
heart,
are replaced
by the resplendence
of life.

I think about her
constantly,
but truthfully
you have been my only friend.

I call
and
call.

I place hope on Hermes,
I place hope on my messages
and their ability
to convey
how much I care
over telephone lines
and the truth
of my heart's reminiscent eye.

A collection of sadness
is the heart
when it swims
in a pool
of madness
waiting for success..

Have thoughts and prayers
like
the thoughts and prayers
of a CEO.

Think of yourself
as successful and important
as them.

Our society says it can only be men,
as a woman,
work twice as hard
and be twice as passionate
as them.

It shouldn't be that way,
but it is,
so you've got to make it
and want it worse
in every way.

Saw a ******* on the border.

Looking for fireworks and something
To keep her busy for the rest of the night.

I was shuffling through black cats and m-80s.

She was in a pink spaghetti strap shirt
and  a black ***** belt.  

Brown eyes
like cut-down bamboo.

When she walks by, a little kid
steps on my chucks and trips.

The kid was trying to squeeze in between
Her and a dude who was trying
To talk to her.    
                                                                                                                          
The floor
Is littered with plastic broken fuses,
M-80s and a texture sticky like
It had been mopped with *****.

Too me she was beautiful.

I had so many purses
of night
that i couldn't sweat her.

I couldn't feel warmth
even in the embrace
satan
made
when he held me
in his sweater.

Hell could catch me for a thousand reasons,
I might be a sinner,
I might **** a man if need be.

But my heart
is made from a century
of hate.

A century of racism,
telling me that the white girl I loved,
was probably getting *****
when we ******
and made love
on the side.

So what can I say,
when I go on journeys
against Hades,
trying to pull life
from the depths
like Orpheus' stupid ***
couldn't do
for
Eurydice.

I'll never do it again,
this is where
the heart the begins.

In hell,
trying to make
sense
of the devil
and calling her
to make amends
for my sins
with girls
with a ***** smell like vanilla.

Blandness is a disease,
I can **** a thousand of them
with ease.

Ease is the son
of lazyness
and I've gotten careless.

I used to love
the ripple
of her.

I Cherished
placque suns.

I walked amongst
the withered oaky clouds
reaching to the earth
in capillaries
of lightning.

I made
****** on journeys
in the night
to the
licquor store.

I could take refuse
and morph it
in my hands,
because they were
her
hands.

She was the gravity of neutrinos,
I spun
and
spun,
and threw off layers,
as her bra
lay on the floor
and the laces
of her ******
lay
whitely
in the corner of the room.

I could've been anywhere
in those final seconds,
the club with it's thousand
orbitals of dancing brilliance,
the park
with it's millionaires
of hate,
the senseless
desert
of my
heart.

I was in the rainforest
feeling the universe
in droplets,
and my pores screamed.

Destruction
is something to reminisce over,
and I moan
like a cat in the night
with it's broken leg.

I moan
like a dwarf star,
getting smaller
and
smaller.

*******
i miss you.

*******
I wake
up
and
it's the terror
of a famished
heart.

Could I cry
a thousand
times?

Could I have more
eyelashes?

Could I learn to play the banjo
and finally
make a sound
like
raindrops?