I'm a lost beat in a generation that I don't belong in
This accent isn't my own, and nothing is really just nothing
On drunken nights I feel you, your words stumble upon my sight
And I feel, I feel... static, ecstasy, loneliness

This beauty which you claim of blossom fields and grey empyreal
It mimics my inner-manic. Estranged voice that dauntingly whispers:
don't claim to the beauty you see

Satellite heart, you're losing your signal, again
I'd build a ladder to the sky and climb every star,
past the moon and beyond, if I could.

I've tried, you know I've tried.
Although I refuse to recline,
denial itself fixates truth:
I'll never be able to fix you.

To quench your thirst, to ease your pain, keep you awake
I'd make you stay, forevermore upon your desire, you know I would.

In my mind, I'll hold your hand without interference
And if tears do in fact dry on their own,
I'll cry yours along with mine until they do.

Feverish trembling of reminisce will not exist, not here
Outside these city walls,
To a place afar from calendar days and neon glistening hours
We will dance atop telephone wires

The soles of our feet tracing back to the sound of that very first call
gliding, floating, drifting
recklessly, carelessly, quixotically - - -
And if we fall, love, imagine that imaginations fly.

It's been said, as they say, that everything, everything ends
We are not everything, however. We are merely ourselves alone
You and I, it is just you and I, dispersed, coffee of the sea
For no reason other than our own, we rage in reprise as
Metaphors among caffeinated tides.

We are not infinite, immeasurable, imperishable
Our ancient bodies have long been buried in one-an-others heart
We are our own. Constant as the silence of sound.
Ceaselessly, immersed in the slumber of our dream
*We are, we are,   w e   a r e

there is this boy, he writes beautifully about this girl
she is his best friend and he is in love with her
and she might be, too
but love can be so strange at times
and just breathing in general, it doesn't make sense
and I am writing this while walking
and my cursive looks utterly ******
and I would take a fall and
scrape my knees in the name of poetry
and I would stand tall and
learn not to slouch my back so much
if you asked me to
but you don't, because you like the way
I walk with this sort of shy ghost over my shoulders
and you'd rather watch the way my lips move when I talk
and count the times I push up my glasses during mid sentence
and I just like the way you make me like things
and I like that you like me more than I like myself

I just want to go to sleep
It's been a lifetime and I am restless
I often write your name repeatedly on paper (eric eric eric)
only to emphasize to myself that my longing for you is real
I remember the first time I fell in-love with you
The cuts and bruises on my skin make it difficult to forget
These words aren't coming out as sweetly as I intended
I want the vertebrae of my voice to make you feel at ease
So I'll keep quiet and let you speak
come and go, passing cars, change of season - - -
How much farther, dear?
The college-ruled lines in your eyes warn me it's too soon
Yet with so much time to waste, can I waste some time with you?
Yes, I'd love to waste it again
I'll take you afar to dimensions of unknown pleasures, if you let me
The moon itself is a possibility
10 : 11 PM
Both falling so tediously
                    upon the mattress of my mind
Sleep immune, volume mute
          Tonight, your blood flows through my veins
Tonight, the heat of sun on your soft skin
Shifts to meet my own
I **** the nectar off of your lips
You pluck the petals off of my skin
Both falling so tediously
                           upon the mattress of your bedroom
Risen light, morning furor
Today, my blood flows through your veins
Today, I've rearranged the bones in my back
To meet your own
       To love you less
                   To watch you go
                                     *Perpetual shift

Angel, I feel sad
What a stupid thing to feel
But I do, for you.
The lonesome feeling is mutual.
I've replayed your words in my head probably more than I should
And I want to cry
What a stupid thing to want
But I do, for you.
There’s this indiscreet place within my body
That refuses to acknowledge that what you say you feel is real
Through photographs and words, I let the world know that I love him
Through photograph and words, I try convincing myself that I do
There’s a chance that these same words and photographs taint your heart
A little, just a little, it could be.
I've never acknowledged this thought until now
And the slight realization of it turns my stomach.
You are not a poem.
You are its meaning.
I’ll still be here after the parting
You’re with me until my bones decay.

I feel as though I am drowning in a song with no sound
Faceless voices echo the anxiety reflected on my keyboard
The mirrored image in your midnight gaze is that of my own
After life, oh my god, what an awful word
You should have held my hand
You should have kissed my *******
You should have busted my lip raw and tender
Perhaps then would spill the poetry lost and forlorn inside of me
Inside of me, you want within?
Your ears pressed softly against my chest
My thighs pressed tight against your hips
Mezzo forte, pianissimo, fortissimo
....

*Do you want to step outside, or do you want it right ?
I don't know just what I feel, but I feel it all tonight .

It's Wednesday. It's raining. I'm in my car at my schools parking lot listening to Beach House on one of my favourite college radio stations. My hands are going back to their pale colour (sign of autumns bloom.) I am wearing my favourite beige trench coat and my favourite noir beret. So many favourites, you being one of them. For once in what seems like a long time, I do not feel utterly discontent with myself. In fact, I feel quite good. I'm alright, Bryan. I'm alright, and so are you. I crave warm soup and hot green tea. I crave a metro ride to somewhere far, far away. I crave heart-felt embrace and mail packages with my name on them. My tights are starting to tear. I've always had this thing for beaten up things; books with loose-leaf pages, worn out t-shirts and sneakers, Ginsberg, Burroughs, Jack Kerouac. I like the spurs of sea shell rainbow that form in puddles on black concrete. They remind me of the ** Coexist album cover, as well as bits of recalled memories from my childhood. "Why do you come here? Why do you hang around? I'm so sorry. Why do you come here when you know it makes things hard for me?" Goodness, Morrissey in his Smiths days makes me feel so in tact with my youth. Black is such a cool colour. Cool is such a cool word.
Swim in a puddle with me, Bryan. We can leave our coats on if you'd like.
I want to be foolish with you. Be my autumn valentine.
February doesn't need to know we're here.

I think you may think I’m pretty
I also think that’s not enough
To make me want to know beyond your name
Or hold the different layers of warmth between your fingers

The walls stand against me tonight
There is feral love within the unseen of our dreams
Why do you croon so insolently, child?
The forces of gravity are in your favor, be keen

I want to taste your pain and insecurities
I want the exposure of your body to melt in my mouth
Cherry blossoms spring forth from desolate hymns
Autumn leaves spur foolishly among the skies

Press your throat against my earlobe
I want to hear you louder

I want to hear you clear
Your every sigh, a memory left for me to dwell on
Your every moan, an undoing, my ******’s suicide

These are the things that matter, the more you get the less you are
The higher you are, the more you fall
The more you fall apart

These are the words that hold my youth
These are the words that hold my heart

These are the words that will never be enough, no never be enough
To make you less you and make you more mine
Yet I hope for your life, I hope for you, I do

There are subliminal messages on my birthday cake
The candle lit itself on fire cause it did not know
No, it did not know how to feel about time

Glow in the darkness with me, monsieur
There are secret worlds in your mind
That you yourself are not aware of

Let the strum of vision put you to sleep

f-f-feel it, again and again
In your bones, on my bed

You've got to close your eyes to see me better
There are ghosts in the back of my head
They want to know
Don’t tell them why

Neither one
Neither one of us
Will make it down this hill alive

Gila, Gila, Gila
They will teach us everything
Except how to mourn, except how to die

Maybe I will change
Maybe things will change
Maybe you will change your mind

Madame, I meant it when I called you pretty
Madame, I meant it when I held your hand

Piano tuner vibrations at one-hundred-fifty decibels form inside my chest
Yet, it's not enough
No, it's never enough

To hurt the soft smoldering of my insides
With the conditioned paradise of your pain.

that was never sent.

Wow, I am such a loner
I am such a loner, wow
Internally, I’m a loner
Physically, I’m a loner when I choose to be
Which is often I suppose
Because you see, I enjoy the company
Of my own awkward silence
Our bones are composed of empty spaces
That are meant to be filled up by each-others words
You need to tell me whether you love me or do not love me
That is the only way to keep me from breaking in three’s
My ribs they are so fragile
My tiny body atop the sheets of your bed, so very fragile
Oh, but I don’t want to be whole
Shut up shut up shut up
Succumb to the glories of drunken cinema with me instead
In your mind
Come, touch my thoughts with your thoughts
Whisper somber poetry into my ******* with your soft chapped lips
I cannot forget the temperature of your body
Your hand in mine is a fever I refuse to sweat out
Medicine, medicine, artificial cure of wounds
I like the way bruises add sass to my skin
Wow, I am so pathetic
I am so pathetic, wow
I will never grow out of it
You will never grow fond of me
What a cycled misery
Baby, baby just walk away

Another rainy evening in the city
6 2 4 P M

you live within the empty spaces of my body

with your book
full of lies
and your eyes
filled with tales
sad autumn stories to tell
soft stormy weather to feel

don't fool me in
let me be
a golden thread I spin
Jeremiah, dance with me

I woke up this morning with my face in a book
it smelled so sweet
it reminded me of you
I brushed the tip of my fingers against it's words
smooth, soft, mesmerizing
I pretended it was the pale of your lips
pausing the words I wish you hadn't said
indulged in the kisses you've yet to give
an epilogue, your ghost inside my head
paper spine, your bones resting on my bed
good-morning, love
it's been a long time since
I got my hands on your teenage poems.

here, take me.
have me.
break my body
and sip my blood
if it make you whole.

bury my remnants of lipstick stains
and somber poetry
underneath soil mixed with honey
when you're done.

Autumn, you do something to me.
You lighten up my heart and fill me with melancholy all the same.
You bring out my inner-romantic, and also remind me of my being alone.
Yet, you're my favourite. Always have been, and will always be.
If I could be a season, I'd only hope to be as lovely as you.
Let's take a midnight train ride to some place I haven't been to yet,
somewhere far away from here. Just you and I,
and a thermo filled with warm tea, a woven blanket,
a book of collected poetry, a few blank notepads
and the stillness of forgotten summer memories.

your silence is a room where dead hearts beat
foreign lips devour me through a straw

I slash my wrists
and let it fall
drip by drip
the words I bleed
become the words
of my book

blue veins
blood red
spool ribbon
remnants of emotions
I could never bring myself to tell you.

do you ever...feel the need to forget?
only to remember one day
only to remember one day when things are better.

do you ever...void out hope?
do you ever...avoid comfort?
do you ever...let yourself get fooled?
do you ever fool yourself?

I want to say...that I believe in you as much as I do in myself.
I want to say...I believe in you, and I
as one, as two.

I want to say...that I believe in all that I do
and all that you say and all that is yet to come

but I don't.

I made love to you for the first time on February fourteenth.
I haven't since then felt so artificial and impure.
I haven't since then felt so dishonest and so sure.
It wasn't love, it wasn't love, it wasn't love for me.
It wasn't love, it wasn't love, it wasn't love from me.

Ingenia humana .  6 0 7 P M .

sitting alone at a café. oblivious. observant.
staff meeting. **** talking. deceiving. polite.
you are perfect for me, to me, within.
i am shaky. i am nervous, constantly. all the time.
i am eager to speak to you. i am timid. come closer, kiss me.
i am not afraid to dip my slice of bread into the bowl of cream soup.
it makes it soft. i like it better when you're soft.
your smile makes it difficult to go further past the core of you.
are you happy? are you sad?
are you here? were you ever?
these questions. relentless. etc. etc.
i starve myself just to know how it feels.
i quench the thirst of my heart with the liquid of your poetry.
velvet wine and sea salt tears.
give me something to relate to.
is history recorded? does someone have a tape?
king of convenience, master of none.
my hair is not as long as i want it to be.
i'm not very fond of math. i'm not very fond of time.
i like your voice, it's slightly soothing.
writing is the only way i know.
the world is at large and i am so small.
i know very little if anything at all.
i don't want to go to work.
i want to lay down on the mud of the sea,
i want the dance of waves to set my spirit free.
read On the Road with me until we both fall asleep.
miércoles, miércoles, let me be.

She's the kind of girl who'd take a pregnancy test (after drinking two venti iced green teas) at a Starbucks restroom. She's the kind of girl who'd come close to overdosing on antioxidants and diet pills. She's the kind of girl who'd drink cheap velvet wine to the point of senselessness and obliviously karaoke to Radiohead's Jigsaw Falling Into Place at a distant city bar on an Autumn Tuesday night. She's the kind of girl who'd still be holding your wrong-doing hands underneath the sheets atop your bed at 4:03 AM.
She's the kind of girl I'd be if I had more of a heart and less of a mind.

There you go, again
******* your hand because you don't know how to love.

There you go, again
making poetry out of feelings you cannot bring yourself to understand.

There you go, again
getting upset over nothing, falling apart over everything,
getting upset over her heart.

it is possible to cry without tears
and love without condition

it is possible to live a life interested in everything
and devoted to nothing

it is possible to cling passionately unto the comfort of your words
just as it is to decay my existence upon the silk sheets of your bed

it is possible to wound without beating
and mend myself partial with solitude and sadness

there is a possibility
of a million lovers
in my head

there is a possibility
of two lovers
in my heart

Here I am twenty years old smoking cigarettes alone at a public city park sometime around 9 00 PM. There is a drunken homeless man or woman, I cannot tell, staring intently at me from a distance. My oversized-sweater covered back slouched toward the bike riders and family walkers of the night. My mouth tastes of melancholy and syrup. I made love here once before with a boy I never truly loved. It is possible to make love to another human body without taking off your clothes. It is possible to love the idea of a person more than the person himself. Herself. Ourselves. That’s the thing about love, that’s the thing about words. They are used so frequently, so effortlessly, so abundantly; they’ve come to lose much meaning. Meaning. What does meaning even mean? Everything and nothing make sense. Should I be ashamed of myself for having read more poems from Charles Bukowski than Psalms and scriptures from the HOLY BIBLE? Should I be disappointed in myself for genuinely not caring for the pursuit of a higher education? I don’t even want to be a writer anymore. Is it sad that I don’t have the same flame of desire as I did when I was seventeen? Yet, I still want so much. I still want it all. To be happy to be alive to be healthy to be mad to be in-love to be inspired to feel wild to feel on the edge of so much greatness to be beautiful to be broken to be fixed to be passionate to be young to be it all to feel it all. Everything. Every emotion every word every color every flavor every sound every sight all things unseen the haunted the past the future love love love *** faith sin sadness sadness hollow burning lovely days nights evenings mornings cities people their stories glory hunger thirst satisfaction. I want to live in dissatisfaction until it’s driven me to the point of maddening bliss. I don’t know what I want. I never have. I never will. How am I to say, really? It could be enough to just have my hand held by yours. It could be enough to listen to each other through silence. It could be enough to feel the wandering breeze of summer wind coquettishly linger through my ***** autumn hair. It could be enough to capture my distorted anxiety on blue-lined wide-ruled yellow sheets of paper. It could be enough to have what means most to my heart taken away without return. It could be enough to sit here in solitude, by choice, as I am doing---and allow myself to be taken away as well by the mysteries of the sky, the moon, the clouds and the odd noises of the night. Perhaps, we are just as simple as we are torn. We are more. We are everything and nothing all at once. Elope with me through thought.
Close your eyes, forget your name. Here, we’ll never die.
Here, we’ll never live. Just you and I --- here.
A modern intimacy.

la noche es tuya
pero las estrellas son mias.

//

the  night is yours
but the stars are mine.

I feel
Yes, I feel
That sometimes it is necessary to be cynical
There just comes that breaking point
Where you have to get out of your maddening mind
Face your own reflecting image in a mirror
And say those few words
Those few words that hold the truth
To your million faulting thoughts

"You're not as bad as you think you are, Gladys"

I'd rather lose my
virginity
than lose my
              compassion .

*at what age did you lose your compassion ?

last night I dreamt that we were in-love
then I woke up and it was only half-true.
there is this boy, he's never met me and he is in-love with me.
there is this boy, I've never met him and I am in-love with him.
perhaps our fault is throwing around love more than the word itself.
people are stranger than fruit.

I cannot miss what we never had.
Is anything truly ours to begin with?
I touch myself cause my hands are lonely.
I cry at night cause my eyes are not yours.

and turn me on instead
the night is not as young as they say
our bones are a thousand years old
/
make poetry
of me
while our flesh is still juvenile

everything fades
it's just you and your thoughts again
fighting with the echoes of the mistakes you cannot erase
weeping over memories that you cannot forget
        everything fades
it's just you and me and the words we cannot bring ourselves to say
mentiras mentiras, amor, mil mentiras
my body melts under the heat of your nervous glance
I am putty in your sinister hands and
         everything fades to your favor
you've always wanted to be mine
yet I am merely my own
everything everything
               everything fades
it's just me and my thoughts
and the echoes off shadows of your image in my mind
again
tonight and
forever.
                    everything fades but you.

and I am so jealous

- - -

It is Sunday night / technically Monday morning
I've been listening to Billie Holiday's Just A Matter of Time for the past two days
I am repeating similar meaning in different ways
you're somewhere out there right now
away from my arms, away from me
yes, I'm losing all sanity at 2 17 a m

darling, love
go steady.

to tell me
good morning
like you mean it

I'm searching for the words
I cannot find within myself
Throughout the sentences of others
I'm searching for the words
That will mean enough to you
To consider the thought of me
In your mind, in your heart
Because
              I'm aching
                I miss you
                  I love you
              I'm broken
                   I need you
             I'm nothing
             Without you
Has never been and
Will never seem
To be enough

i deleted your number from my cell phone
i deleted every first every last and every in-between conversation and
message and letter and poem from every modern source you'd ever written me from
i deleted every single photograph every song every "to watch" on "our list"
i deleted "our list" all together
i threw away the sunflowers the roses the button-pins the heart-shaped box
along with the cinema metro and music festival stubs stored within it
i threw away the books the t-shirts the drawings the key-chain and every other ******* gift
i threw away the old bed sheets, the ones we last lied on together
and replaced it with a new set and another's pulse
i erased you from my presence
i erased you of all memories
you're merely in my mind
i no longer need you
i no longer want you
i no longer love you

i - am not over you

last I checked it was 3 06 AM
the foggy window displayed scene to a rainy night of a
small town near the city of Chicago
your dim apartment filled sweetly with vanilla lavender aroma and the
delicate croon of Billie Holiday transcended from the living-room phonograph
a blue tin coffee *** pictorially placed upon faint orange flames
overdue library books and half-written notepads stacked symmetrically
within the oven of La Cornue Albertine ivory stove
you sat me atop the wooden counter of your tiny marble kitchen and
gently tucked at my stockings until they gracefully
renounced to the tile patterned floor
with your hands placed on either side of my thighs
you gradually - - -
kissed me softly on my knees

Give me Beirut after midnight on a Tuesday
Wednesday morning doesn't need to know we're here
My eyes so dull of aging compromise
Give me the anticipation that will make me feel young again
Things aren't how they used to be but they can be in our minds
Fall in and out of me
My heart is so dizzy and my thoughts so blurry
And you still so pretty, so pretty to me
I want to write you pity love songs until you think of me as pretty, too
And hold your soft hands through a cold autumn stroll through the park
And kiss you credulously in the dark
Yes, sometimes I want to die
Somehow somewhere I am already dead
And you, my light, might not exist
Perhaps we have always been
Alone
Alone
Alone
But right now while listening to The Rip Tide at 1:49 am
Pretend with me
Lie to yourself, too
You're not too shallow
I'm not too broken
You're the right amount of shy
I'm not overtly out-spoken
We are our feeling
We cannot be tamed
We cannot be touched
Us
We are us
We're in love
love
love
love

//

Leave it for tomorrow to decide what is false pretense and real

sweetheart, what have you done to us?
you may have broken me
I've enough pain to last the rest of my life
all that's left to linger is meek wind through my wild hair
you used to call me lover
and now the sunshine doesn't touch my skin
and my cursive is just as sloppy as my thoughts of you

sweetheart, strangers watch us through the night while we're sleeping
poets have a certain touch of sadness in their eyes,
a certain touch of sadness that only another poet could understand
my violet lips taunt draw nearer
the sapphire in my eyes warn keep your distance

you want to hear the words that separate whom I was to who I am
but darling, it's not that simple
I prefer to dream in silence
there's a past I've never known and it reels me to this same place of
searching without finding, of lonesome noon's of writing

We made love in your car once
on the rooftop of a thirteen-story parking structure in Los Angeles city
the faint smell of liquor warm on your breath
the full look of night-sky ablaze in your eyes
you mended my skin with soft parted lips
sewing my wounds shut one kiss at a time

It’s been six months since and now I sit here, alone
in the parking lot of a train station some miles away from town
observing the dismiss and arrive of lives I'll never get to be a part of
my insides are still bleeding just as much as that night in the city
when you held my naked skin in your mending arms
/ /
sweetheart, you used to call me lover
when I didn't know what love meant

we stayed up all night
drinking wine   listening to nirvana
until we both got so tired and fell to the floor
you took my hand and I closed my eyes while
you traced the outline of my lifeline with your tongue
I'd never felt so dead before, so careless and at ease
my lips met your lips like it was the first time
your lips met my ******* like it was the last
my hollow bones filled sweetly with your breathless moans
your fingertips vigorously stroke my delicate skin until our feverish bodies became one
and burnt a hole deep through the ground
all coherence lost in the shadow pits of darkness
our lust scattered lovely all the same
your hidden demons exposed through euphoric thrusts
my soft murmurs like whispered prayers in your ears

when I opened my eyes and saw into yours
I knew for a moment that heaven still exists

the night is dull
my hair is damp
there are bruises on my knees
your photograph still lovely on my wall
you told be to be calm
my mind is a storm
every poem I've ever written scattered on the ground
it makes me sad
the mess I've made of us

the seconds and hours of life have wistfully aligned and
it is your birthday
and although I wish most sincere it be happy
I myself cannot help but feel terribly, terribly sad
so I am sitting here fourteen minutes past midnight
eating fruit in silence at the tiny desk of my tiny room
trying to sort myself out, trying to snap myself out of it
I know death has no preference of age
the young and the old flee indistinctly alike
but it's been two years since I noted your first bald spot
and a few months ago while we were eating breakfast at the kitchen table,
a flashback of abuelito came to mind while I observed a faint milky layer visibly
taking form around the lens of your charcoal eye
and the other day you forgot to turn off the bathrooms light and it wasn't the first time
and last night you had the televisions volume past fifty all the while sleeping
and those favorite pair of jeans you've worn for years no longer fit you like they used to
and the skin under your chin and arms are starting to stretch
and I can't help but want to cry
because here I am at the tiny desk of my tiny room
while you are sleeping alongside mom two bedrooms away
and this is how it's always been since I was a child
and the days will go by until it is not
and I can't help but want to cry
because you have always been my hero
because up until college you were by my side for every single first day of school
because the first time I had my heart broken by a boy,
you held me in your arms until I felt better
because you know what condiments I do and don't like in my food
because you give me encouraging words without even realizing it
because you never call me stupid,
even when I do stupid things like accidentally locking your keys in your car
because you care enough to take away my internet connection when I'm *******-up
because you still tell me that I'm pretty even after all these years
because if it weren't for you, I don't know what would be of me
because my love for you is infinite,
but our flesh and bones are not


father, words can go farther than you and I both
and on this tenth of july, I leave such fate in poem
the seconds and hours of life have wistfully aligned and
it is your birthday
and although I wish most sincere it be happy
I myself cannot help but feel terribly, terribly sad
because sixty-five years ago today God gave just one like you
and this world so large, it will never have the feeling that I do

It was in that night /
The night we lied in that vacant parking lot a few miles away from town
Just you and I, and the half-a-moon and glistening stars above us
Everything still, so still
Everything rapid, never-resting
Just you and I, arm length to arm length,
You and I, two straight lines in a crooked world

I wondered aloud:
What do stars think of us whenever they glance down?
And you replied, lovely and ever desolately:
They wonder what we think of them whenever we glance up

It was in that night /

I sought you
I knew you
You burnt through
The college-ruled lines of my delicate paper skin

I was so young then
I could have known better
I could have a lot of things
You could have been a boy

Do I miss you?
It could be
I’m too ******-up to process thoughts thoroughly
People fall in-love much too easily
The look in your eyes is all too promising

There was a place and time of
Beckoned curiosity, loss of dignity
Tainted sanity, your fingers inside of me

In and out, out and in
The pale of my limbs
Past the garden and villas of my soul
Through the thick of my skull
In and out, out and in
The beating of my lukewarm heart

There was a night when
We let love in
For the first time

From that moment on
We could never be the same
For your fault, I’d take the blame
You’d soon despise me all the same

The presence of your memory
Abandoned in my mind

It was in that night.

I want to read the books that he reads,
and like the books that he likes.
I want to lose myself in every song he's ever dedicated to me,
and sing sweet words to him through my mind.
I want to stay up all night and watch movies with him curled up on his couch,
or bed, or folding chair, whatever have he.
I want him to know he's the one I want, too.
And when he calls me by my name, and tells me I'm beautiful,
I want it to be real. I want his confide in me to be everlasting.
I want his next Tuesday, and every other Tuesday after that.
I want him to stop being so nice to me.
I want him to stop telling me the words I've so long waited to hear.
I want him to teach me about Pokemon.
I want to teach him every french word I've learned to date.
I want to go into the future, of twenty-three and twenty-five.
I want to be seven-teen again.
He makes me want.
He makes me want.
To want him so.

Silver reverberating heart
You've out-grown me
Tonight
You out-run me
But I
Chase you still
I chase you still

Past the corridor of the city's dark slumber
Past the pleasures of the fixated ******

Your magnetism deteriorates my final inning

I'll go
s l o w

I'll go
sdrawkcab

Imperceptive to
Your stance
I'll slip to you
As the sun
To the horizon

Silver wretched,
Alongside the start of an early-morning
Your meek murmurs are
Visible,
Tangible,
Like sunlight from the window passing through a glass picture frame
That creates a spectrum across the steam rising above my coffee
Placed atop the kitchen table

Silvering wretched,
With your faint-cloudy-murmurs I agree,

The sea is the best place
To be
Wondrously
Free

I track you down,
Ever so desolately


Pale skin, blue bones
Renounced
Upon
Breeze
Reeling
Tides

Humble,
Dismissive,
Tr­anquil

My regard is not toward the thoughts you think
I intend not to dismay your delicate appeal

Silvering opulent,
Be lenient
Even if just for the sake of yourself

Tell me so
I want to know

Tell
me
how
you
feel

Reverberating silver heart,
Come, converse with me,

Give me your gossip
Tell me your stories

I
need
to
know
how
you
felt

And I wept myself to sleep that night because I had never before been so confused by love.
I cringed and curled up in fetal position, grasping a hold of my chest so it may not intend reckless motions. I had to remind myself to be subtle, and for a few sustainable moments hold my breath.
Anything to settle the beating urge within me. A beating. Rapid heart-beats beating me whole from the inside-out. I clutched my fists together, fury enough to pronounce war. I was in a battle. Sentiment and myself. I was overwhelmed. My least prediction was circling around in wayward precision, staring me down. And would I take back yesterday if I could? I don't know. Would I run away with him if I should? For good? If he meant it? If it were more, if it were pure, if it were true? God knows. The moon knows. I sure as hell don't. I'm afraid. I'm haunted. I'm scared. I fear I might like you too much. I'm afraid. I'm haunted. I'm scared. I fear liking you too much may never be enough. And so you proceed. And so I weep. And so we both remain discreet, if tonight we sleep. Possibilities are endless. Tomorrows rising sun can change us. But tonight, we seek, from afar distance one-an-others unseen. If tonight, we dream, it will make no difference to our reality.
The lonesome feeling is mutual.

I want to drink the tears you cry .
I want your beautiful emotions to live
if even for just a moment
inside of me .

It's 3:09 PM, I've just deactivated my facebook account. Not planned, or thought-out...just so. I know, it's a foolish and stupid thing to even take the time of noting down in words but so it goes. I'm not horrible, I've been worse. I'm just not...doing too good. I don't feel well, and quite frankly I'm too exhausted for the whole staying positive *******. Things like deactivating my lame facebook account and not owning a cell-phone by free-will...it's my way of modernly disconnecting from the artificial world I've held part of and the people in it. It's not that I'm trying to isolate myself or become anti-social completely...it's more like...I'm just trying to find some air, some real ******* fresh air to breath. I've been listening to Man Of A Thousand Faces by Regina Spektor on repeat this past week, and I just need...I just need to let my own self be. I'm at a distant public library away from home as I type this. It's one of my favorite places to visit and spend some quality free time at. Surrounding myself with books and records and strangers is one of the most tranquilizing methods I know. It's difficult sometimes...to accept that I'm twenty years old and in far reach of accomplishing my dreams. It's difficult to accept that my father's heart could fail again...it's difficult to accept that my mum has vertigo...it's difficult to accept that my uncle is dead, it's going to be a year since and I still cannot bring myself out of selfish denial. Loving is difficult, caring is difficult, trying is difficult, beliefs are difficult, feelings are difficult, I am difficult...and the thought of wanting to cry makes me want to cry because it's so exasperating and draining and overwhelming and humbling. I haven't written or posted much on here lately, but doing so right now gives me this tiny and odd and inexplicable crumb of...hope? It's difficult to accept death as much as life itself sometimes but nevertheless I accept it. I cope through it in the stupid little ways that I can. I become torn and furiously passionate all at once. I can only love as much as my heart can manage and work hard and try hard and cry when I feel like ******* crying because feelings are beautiful and meant to be exposed.
todo en él es lugar adecuado .

sometimes it’s necessary to get rid of the old shoe boxes along with the sepia toned photographs and rubber band held stacks of folded letters stored within them. The old ballad, the old familiar places, the old desires, the tainted dreams. The image of that young familiar face so deeply engraved inside of your eyelids, in the back of your mind--and those rosy lips that once spoke to you ever so sweetly. Those rosy lips that made you tremble, took you to a height of heaven--those rosy lips that made you cry. Some things are irreplaceable, such as that one autumn night of 09’ and that one early morning phone call of some day that you’d rather leave unknown. And you may never forget, and you may always remember. And those feelings may or may not fade away. And you may just come across something better, cause you know ******* well you deserve better. And you’ll go on to live, and you’ll go on to die, and the world will spin madly on and the jigsaw puzzle will fall into place-- just as you held his hand, just as you said hello, just as you kissed goodnight, just as you walked arm in arm. There will, there was, there is, and there is not. And it may never be enough, never as that time you both lied conspicuously on the ground counting raindrops in shared silence. And it may just be pointless, and this may just be a step of defeat, and you may day after day remain clueless. You may just figure it all out. Whether it matter or it doesn't---sometimes it’s just necessary to get rid of the old shoe boxes along with the sepia toned doubts and rubber band held stack of wasted emotions stored within them.

I really, really don't like myself sometimes. Most times. I like coffee, books, birds and flowers so much better. I've been listening to Ready, Able for the past four years. I'm still not alright. I'm no good at most things. Introspectiveness is not a talent. If I were a porcelain centerpiece, I'd scoot myself to the tables edge. My mum has reassured me that my head is not on right. My head, my least favorite accessory. I've yet to master the proper way of sock-folding. I've yet to master how to configure my heart. In less than five months time I'll be twenty-one. I get stupider with age. I like it when wine makes me dizzy. I wear old crazy-cat-lady coats in the summer because I can. My noir Remington is starting to build up dust. What use is it if not put to use? Useless, useless, useless like a harmonica without blow holes. I want to melt like ice cream in the sun of your pupils. Instead I sit here far from absent-minded, alone. I cannot be held still or perhaps I simply choose not to. If you wait too long for the others, I'll still be right here. Here, in the corridor of the memories we never had. I close my eyes in hope of seeing matters clearer. The world is composed of messy closets and ***** hands. Many youth wasted behind closed doors. Can we ever be sweet again? Will you hold my hand and mean it? Hollow voices frighten me but not as much as hypocrisy. I don't need to understand you, but I want to.
Lover, it's worth crying in your sleep if you've got somebody to dream about.

I'm sick of all the things my money can buy
Your long damp hair, your dreamy eyes
If we're all free to live a last time,
I'd off and cage me to the ripe rye

Broken bones and frozen limbs,
My little problem's just begun
To solve you, sadly beautiful,
Free to go, and go and love
Exposed in depth to fields of lust

Wreck loathing lungs
Inhale the length of you
Your full ivory ******* valiantly read :
Light me up, again and again
Light me up like a cigarette
Inhale. Exhale. Light me up,
Exhale the satisfaction

A taunting drag
A wayward distraction

Sooner than we know
Warm dew blossoms
Imbue the night of
Frailty rapture

Arching backs
Gliding hands
Swaying hips
Bending knees

Porcelain ashtray placed beside the bed
Preserve the words left to be fled

Cenicero, mi cenicero
Tu corazon, mi cenicero
You were alone before we met
No more forlorn than one could get
How sinister and how correct

Through foggy haze
I ruminate and sigh,
I'm sick of all the things my money can buy .

I'm standing in the center of a bar and
I hate everyone
The whisky is sour and my make-up is a mess
Cherry blossom storms mix my feelings of you in early-morning dreams
We hurt one another in humble self-defense
Our young needs make our feverish bodies tremble
I've drowned my sorrow and slept around, if not in body tangibly in mind
You kiss pretty girls to erase my scribbled cursive name from your memory
Yet your hand placed in mine was real and
Syncopation of hearts aren't easily ruptured
The city lights glow dim in primal sympathy for the broken gestures of love
Wounds itch when they heal and
Sometimes writing is not enough

you always hurt the one you love /
clutch your fists, my body craves for your touch
slam your tongue deep in my mouth/ deprive my lungs from breathing
slam my head into the pavement / distort my pastel point of view
color me in misery/ lips stained red/ knees blue-green
skin the sun within my eyes / obscure the light in me
drag my heart across fields of daggers / leave it out to bleed
discard the poetry within me / theive me of my sanity
I offer my skin to you like a prayer in the night
For love, my love, it demands to be felt / And
I need to know that my pain for you is real