my love is building a building
around you,a frail slippery
house,a strong fragile house
(beginning at the singular beginning

of your smile)a skilful uncouth
prison, a precise clumsy
prison(building thatandthis into Thus,
Around the reckless magic of your mouth)

my love is building a magic, a discrete
tower of magic and(as i guess)

when Farmer Death(whom fairies hate)shall

crumble the mouth-flower fleet
He’ll not my tower,
                        laborious, casual

where the surrounded smile
                                hangs

                                          breathless

Stranger
Sometimes I think I
Want you so bad that even if I was
Never capable to call you mine, it would
Still be Ok; because wanting you is the
Sweetest torture one could ever
Imagine, in fact it is: out of
Imagination, far from control and
Absolute like a blaze in
A cold winter night.
Stranger, I have built so many
Labyrinths of letters just for your
Pleasure, and you have always
Followed me there because
There’s nothing in this world you
Love more than losing yourself
However: what you
Don’t see is that
Words are my
Hiding place
And it is by
Following my
Trail of letters that
You’ll never be
Able to find
Me, so:
stop
it.
Come
And seal
My lips with a kiss
Find me, so I will stop
Running away from your ways
Because this time I want you
To lose yourself under my
Skin, deep inside
My body.
Stranger, let my fingers
Trace new fables
Over your spine
Let my hands
Reveal my secrets
Let my eyes build more
Castles than my words will ever
Do, because my body is my
Finding place and
This time
I want you
To finally
Reach
Me.

I wouldn't call this poetry
I wouldn't call this poetry because there is nothing beautiful about wanting to die. There is nothing lovely about hurting yourself, nothing symbolic about deaths kiss that I wish would kiss my entire soul.
I wouldn't call this poetry because it isn't.
I think really living is a lot like knowing there's demons lurking inside your head but checking anyways.
I think it's like getting home late and pulling back the shower curtain checking murders
even though all you have to so is pull back your own eyelids and see the very thing that's killing you
I did not sleep last night because I was contemplating ways to die while also telling myself not to do it
I think I'm in a paradox.
I wouldn't call this poetry because there is nothing moving about this.I long for safety like a deaf person longs to hear.
But how can you long for something you've never felt?
I've been applying bandaids to my heart except it's words and the adhesive they provided just doesn't stick in my mind anymore
Everyone wants to knock down my walls but I'm missing the safety the cemented in bricks provide and I promise you
Oh god I promise you
You don't want to come through my walls