**** ME NOW.
It's like a slow burning brand
cooling down in a bucket of ****** water.
Transparent life support failing me sweetly.
Sweat that even taste sweet.
Can't cover imagination's eyes.
I'M A SINNER.
I call upon the definition of "love"
because it is defined.
Perhaps I scream too much.
MORE.
Crawl on knees to me, Dove.
Bury your lust and fears
in my thighs.
I'm the side effect
not the medication.

Birthdays are usually seen as a time of celebration. It is almost as if many ask the world to thank them for their existence and there is nothing wrong with that form of celebration. I’m glad you exist. However, for my birthday (which was a couple days ago) I would like to thank every single one of you for your existence. It is you who I should thank for this life I have. Without your thoughts, whether they be good or evil or void or valid, I would not exist. And if you’ve ever taken even a nanosecond out of one of your days to think of me, thank you. You really didn’t have to, but I am so appreciative you did. My birthday is considered a time of self-reflecting and know that I thought of you. Because a piece of each one of you has made this whole that is me. You are an incredible person who is unique and ever evolving. So, happy unbirthday to you, beautiful. I love you.

I am okay.


No, I am not.

Dismissed Earth reconfigures with tongue
Binary reality simplifies through eyes
Barren body reimagined as fine wine
Hollow holds on cold text
With warmth behind false ideas
Carry out reversed scripture
Speak louder and louder
By choice
Indecency and despair
Three piece suit, satin stitches
Running sweat off worried hearts
Sweet honey suckle blood to bare
Love in a shadow box display
Echoes of an empty shell

It seems the tip of my forked tongue

     craves the taste of all the elements

           that create such a figure.

"Cardiomyopathy is a weakening of the heart muscle or another problem with the heart muscle. It often occurs when the heart cannot pump as well as it should, or with other heart function problems. Most patients with cardiomyopathy have heart failure."

In other words, Broken Heart Syndrome.
I have the cutest named disease ever.
They should make a Care Bear.
One with a crumbling heart on the chest.
Make 'em happy as can be.
But not too happy.
Don't want that pesky adrenaline puffing up its chest cavity.
Perhaps we'll make the eyes empty and craving hope.
No one wants a broken doll.
Who would buy such a thing?
'Features: soft plush fur and convulsions'
I guess it's ok.
Broken Heart Syndrome that is.
Because...
Well at least I know I have a heart.

Waves of wishes that part to orange skies
Universes stare in awe of you
Bruised hands wait in hollow eyes
Planets bow with thought of you
Follow close but so far behind
Gods smile for they created you
Feet that run in directional lines
Sprint, for life calls to you