we lounge in the backseat to
wait out the rain.

your fingers still against my
thigh, grapefruit juice drips down my chin,
and we stare ahead like this is
what we were meant for --

you pack another bowl, lana sings
on, jazzy and sweet, and i

i overflow

The living room is invaded
I've barricaded myself in the bathroom
yellow light my only savior
from the doom of interacting

if we could churn things out in seconds,
i'd make you a tape of my top 3 songs I'd want to ******* to.
.It'd start with something fast-paced,
a song that would be standing up
a quickie but a "we can't help it, we have to right now" quickie,
not sloppy, just fast-paced.
loud and intense and back against the wall, hair grabbing, *** grabbing,
guitars blaring in the background, the beat matching my heart racing as you bend me over
.but the next song would be slower. It'd be the nights we didn't plan on it,
the ones where we already said goodnight and we tried to go to sleep
but I accidentally rolled closer into you and couldn't resist one kiss on the cheek
which made me want to kiss you more and then we're accidentally ******* and ending up having to say goodnight again.
Probably an acoustic, lyrics something about love.
.The next song would be classic. Something you're not allowed to really hate because it's by an artist you're kind of forced to respect? And you like it, really. It'd probably be one of my favorites by an artist I know you love. It'd play in the background and we wouldn't really notice it exactly until later down the road when we're on our own somewhere hearing it and wondering why the song reminds us of each other. It would be a song that just ended up playing one time while on shuffle in the parked car, us pretending nothing else was really present except that back seat.

I already have a lot of shuffled car songs that remind me of us in moments,
parked in the rain
from when kissing never got farther than kissing.

as I am growing as a lover, I am appreciating music in a new sense,
associating it with feeling from my own auto-biography of emotion,
associating those feelings with images from collect moments
and I am so glad some songs will always bring me back to right now
in this collection of moments and images and feelings
in these picture-perfect memories I have of rain on the windshield right before you kissed me while you played the Smiths
or while last summers shuffle of pop punk played while we fogged up the windows in a baseball field
and I am glad that once my mind can no longer form or remember the picture-perfect moments,
and I won't be able to put together the scenery,
I will at least be reminded of the feeling through a song.

being human is strange,
out of everything
I could have manifested as,
a sand grain, a water drop, a rock,
who would have guessed
I'd be projected into this brain,
which sometimes lets me fly,
but usually gets me stuck...

I'm in love with a girl who washes her hair in her bathroom sink every morning.
Truth be told,
She washes it in the kitchen,
But I wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea.
Let's backtrack for a minute.
You see she has a shower right behind her
But she hasn't used it since the day the water ran red.
She tells me she likes the way dirt looks under her fingernails,
The way people on the street wonder if she's lazy
Or just excavated a body.
But what's the difference right?
Either way you find yourself in a hole.
I wait for her in the kitchen every morning.
Hand her her coffee.
Watch her stare into the yard as she sips.
I mention the birds
and she sighs something about the night she had to chase away the neighbors cat.
How she wishes her father would stop feeding them.
But you see,
I've heard this story a hundred times.
And though the ending's always different,
Nothing really changes.
Her dad keeps feeding the birds,
And her uncle keeps dying.
Sometimes it's an accident,
sometimes it's a disease.
Either way he ends up in a hole
And her dad only comes home when the birds get hungry.
I picture her sitting cross legged on her grass,
Her eyes envying the way it always shines green,
And I get lost in thoughts of how I'd like to make her my emerald.
But you see she's always wanted to be a diamond,
And there's just not enough warmth in my soul,
Or pressure in my hips
To give her that.
You see she washes her hair in the kitchen sink everyday
Because her best friend killed himself when she was eleven
And let the blood run down the drain.
She dyes her hair the color of a crime scene,
But forgets the caution tape.
She says she hates the mirror in her bathroom and the way the lighting makes her look,
But I've never once seen her bother to open the window.
You see I never minded though
Because the longer she stayed in the dark,
The longer I got to pretend to be her sunshine.

light your cigarette again
i'll try to breathe toxic air like im the one addicted.
i found myself in the flicker of your lighter,
only warm when your fingers were on me
i used to be forest fires
volcanoes
heat waves
now i am the dying ember in your ash bowl.
forgive me for wanting to feel your lips against my skin
ice melts in the presence of heat,
and you could never be less then me.
cigarette breaks are temporary
but the black in your lung is permanent.
you lit me with the intentions of putting me out
but I promise my flame will kindle every time you try to exhale me out

Free yourself from worries
Make no room for doubts
Fear no more of what the future holds
Walk away from stress
Do not let insecurities eat you up
Unload all your self guilt feeling
Detach from all the negatives
For today is a new day -
A new beginning -
A fresh new start -
Jump start your day
Filled with hope
That everyday is going to be
The best day of your life.