three hours before i knew i loved you, i loved you.
i was devout moss on the lea of the stone, where the unicorns died of laughter
and the wild things slept. i was unreasonable. god knew i had no you -
now ' there you are ! '
a sprite of brisk cooling hell's beauty where the goth is real enough
you broke the spell of some other heart
and i was all ready there
when you were.

three hours before you knew you loved me, you was me.

These Furies that laugh in their sleep
are the last to be reached
in a chasm.
To repel from oblivion's lip
and Have at 'em As atoms have
Nothing to cling too
And That Matters.

These Furies that die in their sleep
Are polite to at least keep the last spasm -
Hapless as a Trivial list Of Mad Pattern...
Though that Lantern Has Nothing to shine through -
And light scatters.

These wounds that laugh at sleep
They weep in a Keep Where the Night gathers.
Shelves of elaborate Script
Of a Myth of " Had Happened "

These eyes that dine on Sleep
They reap the breach Discretely Haggard...
The last gasp of Ice Nip
A tad Sadder...And That Saturn
has Ice Lanterns
More dark gladly
As Had
Phantoms.

I lie awake in the waves of the wake you left me in
My lungs fill with water until my chest bursts open
My body is a lake again
I know I make mistakes but I can't fake like I can displace your skin
I sink deep with every crash
Let me in
Let me in
Let me in
Let me

that's it again
the artistry of the curling hell
the mark of what was destroyed
and for some reason used as a metaphor for life
I look in the mirror and I see long, lean, noble
like a greek god, or goddess, someone gender ambiguous
with hair framing my face and jawlines ever reaching up
my body is beautiful and I shouldn't destroy it
I celebrate myself, and sing myself,
like whitman,
there is this strange dark attraction to
standing somewhere leaning against the wall
with my hood up as I watch the stars become clouded
and that warm friendly scent fills my clothes where no one wants to go
it's like a forest, a forest of embraces and thistles
something tragic and suave and slenderly beautiful
the workers in the yard light up daily
just like my sister when she's hanging out
always happy
or my grandfather on his patio with the parrot on his shoulder.
he lets her drink coffee sometimes,
and lets me drink in the air of his breath mingled with ash always.
I am the rolled tobacco, just ready to be lit, inhaled, and blown away
flammable, quick to go,
filtered, my body a slim cylinder,
the heat at the end catching the eye of children
I want to be united with that which I personify,
unhealthy, but **** cool looking.
It wouldn't surprise anyone-
where there's smoke, there's fire, they say;
maybe that's why I've always wanted a cigarette.

There are unknown universes
in the deepest parts of your soul
that I wish to explore
*but you won't let me in