Scientists estimate that you will fall in love seven times before you get married.
That 50% of these marriages will end in divorce.
That lesbians get their sexuality from their fathers inability to maintain a platonic relationship with a woman, pram pushing into bedrooms whilst our mothers clean with wine stained pinafores and nicotine laced lips.
So when I sip seduction from your navel, when I unwrap you like the present at Christmas I never got, untieing the ribbon as I undo your jeans, just know, the only I do I will say is when you ask me if I think you look pretty.
I am chasing something that cannot be caught, something that has an expiry date before I can even co-create this thing called love.  
So forgive me if the only aisle I will see you up is the biscuit aisle, pulling the fabric of my non-wedding dress around my slipping tights,
forgive me if I trade in the sweat on your neck for the salt side of tequila as sometimes I like to use the wool from over my eyes to knit me telescope so I can look at the stars between your thighs, but no one ever tells you that when you wish upon a star, that star has surely died.  

Because I want to fall in and out of love 7 times.
Correction: I want to fall in and out of love with you 7 times.

I want to press you, not in a book, but against me. Imprint the lines of your finger tips on my ******* like maps of Alantis because I want to go places with you I never knew existed.
I want your nails engraved on my back like constellations of stars so I can always find my way back to now. To then.
The present. The past. That very moment where Greenwich meantime got it wrong.
Those seconds were longer than any before, and my life has been full of seconds. Second best. Second chances. Second love. The third the forth, the fifth the sixth but the 7th, the 7th time you tell me is no longer reserved for you.
You tell me the 7th time is for me to fall inexplicably, uncontrollably in love with myself.
So when I walk you up a different kind of aisle I can do it with you by my side.

I really should stay away from boys like you.

Who take me to their rooms and don't go anywhere near the bed, just put their arm around me and tell me about themselves. Who touch my cheek and look at me for a moment when they talk about things they love.

The beautiful, innocent ones with stars in their eyes. Who introduce me to their parents and hold my hand and hold me and don't try anything in the dark.

Boys who I really, really don't deserve, who eventually see that for themselves and leave, taking a piece of my heart with them.

Boys like you, honey.

Tonight, I'm not sad enough to string together sentences that attempt to stitch shut the cuts that scatter my heart.

Tonight, I haven't fallen deep enough in love to create a vivid image of us and if I tried, its thousand words wouldn't be loud enough to break the silence that it is painted on.

I don't know what I am tonight, and  the blank that follows "I am..." will remain empty when the sun comes up.
I should try to draw even more of those, until I have enough blanks and lines to draw a plethora of Z's that I can catch, only so I can wake up to an unanswered question.

My pillow supports a head full of sweet nothings, with no one to whisper them to, so these candied thoughts will slowly slide down into the pile of forgotten things, where all the things that used to matter, find themselves stuck in a state of irrelevance.

I think that's what I am tonight,
Stuck in a state of irrelevance

To be broken

Without repair

Is a game without a token

To have been caught and snared

I've got a bad habit

We all do

A favorable habit

Let it forward and ensue

The smile is a trap

With all the warning signs

I guzzle the drugs

To take the plunge

And shift through the wreckage

Piece it together with perpetual guilt

We can't cure the sickness

When it's cold before you hit the ground

Let it snow let it snow let it snow

Hopefully the cold will numb it

As it did before

Then when summer comes to melt the ground

Pick me up as you did before

Broken and battered

Repaired and bruised

When I jump again

Maybe just maybe

You won't put me together

And help me again

I crave honesty

Though I weep to it's side effects

I've seen the ******* and many lies

Can you tell from my bitter eyes

Accepting and tolerating

The truth with the lies

I'm turned immortal by a stone dragon

Cursed to be reborn from                     A phoenixs' ashes

Just to be held close

To know it never felt close to love

Because love never felt so good

Which is what made it an enemy

I turned my back to the knife right at me

Hoping another entity maliciously pierced me

Situations change but don't lie to me

This love is all that I got

And when the escapism fades

All I'll have is the shirt on my back

Look, we prosecutors in Law Town
we are so well-practiced
that if we set our minds to it
we can even put on trial a turkey sandwich

In fact
just last week we managed
to get a banana convicted of ******;
sure, the conviction was overturned later on appeal -
but hey, the point is, we can skin anybody

For sure the woman
killed her husband -
she served him hot soup
mixed well with poison

But her defense lawyer wanted
to give her a chance
so maybe she could get
a few years instead of life

And so he asked her as
she stood in the box:
“Mrs Tile, did you feel any remorse,
considering you killed your husband?”

“Sure, I did,” said Mrs Tile
*“when he asked for second helpings”