The color of a slightly tipsy tongue peeling my resolve from my own is that of a winter morning
-- clear and concise in its purpose,
Sending signals to my brain, which, in response,
Transmits slight shivers down my spinal cord,
Raising the fine hairs
Along my smooth skin
--the same relaxed, whispy, ***** that covers tense, terse, and trembling muscles.

The sound of a shirt being pushed
Out of the way;
The sound of pants already crumpled,
Settled,
On the carpet my mother cleans.
That sound that represents
Everything I've ever wanted from nothing
But can not accurately depict
Anything I've wanted from one thing in particular.

Because you are special and
You make me want
And
You make my body tense and
My words short and
My lips loose.
Loose so as to open and receive your secrets given
In
False
Drunkeness
--to allow your breath to absolutely fill
My lungs
As you drag me down beneath the surface
And into the dark.

We are not blind.

Our nerves spark in the darkness,
The area devoid of any light source
save for those that arise from the
friction of skin against skin
and mind against mind,
Ideas crashing and banging together
As they
Escape
From our mouths
During our futile resistance to anything logical
Or rational,
Our selves piloted by the thought of
Unfathomable numbers and equations
That led to this moment
When our bodies feel everything
And our minds feel
Nothing.

We are naked before the eye of the God neither of us believe in.

I went home.
Body swore
from you slamming into me.
Gliding my hands
over the cactus,
******
become another face
that forgot.
Summer melted away while
friendships froze,
just as they said.
Sticky fingers
placing prints on new skin.
Everything diseased.
Crossed legs;
bottle of whiskey,
face dripping
with battle wounds
from a war like storm.
We should have broken the mirrors.

Stand in the street.
Four hours of Wednesday
marking me with gray bags
on my not so innocent teenage face
and tears painted across my forearms.
A canvas.

Letting candle wax
burn my crooked skin,
cigarettes are sewn together
one by one.  

Sloppy handshakes,
cold coffee.

It's covered my toes now.

A piece of art
is never finished
though.

So what am I becoming?

I'm jealous of all the girls,
   who can wing out their eyeliner,
   and learn how to fly.

   Whos eyebrows are perfect,
   without filling them in,
   even though they still do.

   I'm jealous of all the girls,
   who can speak to anyone,
   and who aren't in a lower league.

   Whos hair is perfect any day,
   and whos smile could,
   make world peace a real thing.

   I'm jealous of all the girls,
   who fly around people at school,
   without feeling the need to hide.

  Whos life seems perfect whatever,
  and who get invited to parties, real parties,
  whom have decent friends.

   I'm jealous to all the girls with lovely,
   long blonde hair to which people,
   compliment as though it'll be their last.

   Whos outfit is amazing,
   whos life is and their friendship group,
   whilst I'm here trying and trying.

   Always trying.

   And I'm sorry.
   For all the time I pull out my flaws,
   I break your heart just once more.

lines of blue
and indigo
drawn just under your skin.
the beginning sketch
of a human.
pumping your
sustenance all
the way
to
your fingertips.
hide the tip of a needle
in them.
our hearts beat
in synonymy.
i love your veins
even when you make them
collapse.
i love you
when you collapse.