Oh lies, oh lies,
I know them by their tone,
They have this... nervous tick,
a habit of leaving little vacuums
so they can live in their little
depressions, and anxieties,
which they are quite comfortable in.
They feed on joy
and keep turning the thermostat down to zero!

(Let's hunt them, and skin them,
and throw them out of the yard)

Oh truth, oh truth,
I know her by the manner in which
she speaks: gently.
a voice glistening with hope,
in every form of joy,
permeating every iota,
saying in that polyphonic
timbre, "You were made
for love and nothing else
will satisfy. Open your eyes,
see this love, and come alive."

(Let's marry her and make
our hearts a home for her)

your. fresh. face.
is-an-excitement-to-my-eyes.
if/ our / purpose / for / this / bonding,
-is to hit a new high-
then-the-intention-of-our-souls
is. to. consume. until. we're. full.
(until comparison)
$to the memory$
[of the first time]
{that we rolled},
€makes another€
<seem old.>

How-then!
shall. we. proceed?
;
A\bond\that's\made\for\breaking
is[already]
de-cease­d.
(

Everything is simple;
simpler than you think.

Everything is just...
Layers.
Layers of simple things.

I haven't given up on love.
It's not that.
But...
there's something in the way the night hollows out the heart,
it's like being sculpted.
It holds less sway over my thoughts than it did when I was younger.
I wait for love.
Yes, yes that's it.

Sir or Ma'am,
It's not blood but my sweat that trails the sidewalk of the                
                        boulevard.
Dogs lick it for the salt.
I've given them names but they
       growl.
I wear a watch, a polo, and a prayer.
       I offer a future for you
            to entertain
for the thirteen seconds
      that I exist
at your front door

(that is)

until you slam it in my face.

I'm underneath an amber twilight
(and tasteful landscaping)
flirting with nostalgic anticipation
in room 1034
yet alone and content
I should photograph my life events
or the morning dew, still wet
with evaporating trepidation
which breaks into a cold sweat
when soothed by the resolution
of the seventh, to the third, to the root of the polyphony, harmonizing to the tune
of a Scantron being scribbled on,
or my choice
to ignore
everyone
(at least until finals are over)

I spoke with testosterone,
and after he ripped apart
the concrete in my driveway,
he sank into a pile of rubble.
Lighting an ironic cigarette, he said,
"Teach me how not to care"
before he fell asleep.
He's been there for a while.
Maybe we should check on him?