I’ve been sitting here for weeks,
and this is the first time you’ve noticed me?
Do you think I like being under this teacup?
I’m terrified; it’s dark and cold.

You’re out at your party,
and all I can think about is my wife,
all alone on the web back home just waiting for something, anything, to fly by.
It’s all a joke to you though, you sick man.
And would you believe that I climbed into a man’s suit,
got on a plane, flew all the way from Europe,
and lived with Johnny Depp for a while?
No, no you wouldn’t—
you work at NASA,
you drive a corvette,
you are dating the Aphrodite of your age
and it’s all not enough.

So let me tell you about me:
I’m not like you or him or anyone else here.
I don’t own shiny medals or have my own talk show,
I’m just looking for a chip in a cup,
some little imperfection that will set me free.

I’ve been thinking how I like
smooth jazz
poptarts
gushers
wheat thins.
I have hundreds of kids I’ve never met,
and a home in your bedroom window.

But none of that matters anymore
because I’m trapped under this ridiculous cup
and it’s dark, and I’m cold.
I’m beginning to think I should just give up.

I want the respect that I don't give,
and I want you to notice how blue my eyes are,
and how red my lips are.
I can offer you my hands,
they're exactly as soft as you want them to be.
You can look down my throat,
or bite my finger nails,
anything you want.

I want you to stop talking to me forever,
so that I can think about you all the time,
and I want you to watch me
as if you knew what I meant when I said goodbye.

It always gets to the point where my face is hot
and I can feel it seep into my ears,
and my heart is beating so fast that I'm afraid it'll get tired and stop,
then I'll just be dead.

God's not a dancer,
he doesn't have any feet, or a body,
not to mention a spine.
How could you dance without a spine?

I want you to ask me questions that I can't answer,
and prove to me how much better you are,
or maybe if you stood there and smiled at me long enough,
I'd realize how  tired you really are.

If I stop talking, that means I'm better,
and if I keep talking, that means I'm worse.
I hope you don't understand any of this,
because that would make me a liar,
and I'm sick of being a light that you stare at,
and I'm sick of that chair that you sit in.
but mostly,
I hate the smell of the theater,
and I always wonder why the floors are so sticky,
not that I care, I just have an overactive imagination.

there is a time fore fireflies
AND THAT IS NOT NOW
so put your silly fireflies AWAY
i am very serious
and in a relationship with my left hand
because i'm right handed
and I don't want anyone to feel left out
OH don't be RIDICULOUS!
you silly duckling
YOU KNOW NOTHING
SO STOP ACTING LIKE A MAMA DUCK
OR I WILL STICK MY **** DOWN YOUR THROAT
until you CHOKE
or until it feels good to ME.

From lip to lip your secrets transfer,
sincerely, I am sorry for kissing so much.
Love is sitting somewhere behind my teeth,
cordially waiting, legs crossed and hands folded.
Your friend reached down my throat.
Respectfully, it didn't even feel good.

Thank you for the blame and pointed fingers.
Take care to clip your nails where I don't dream and
write soon of some excellent ****** endeavors, for
my best regards are long gone, along with
yours.
I miss you when we hate each other.

Wishing the best of every moment is childish,
thinking of you is even more so. But somehow we
always seem to sleep in each other's arms.

I knocked on your door at 3 AM because I was cold,
but you let me inside for different reasons.
I was wearing my mother's jacket and perfume
and I think you thought I was her,
but my lips are fuller and my hands are harder.
I felt your smile and you felt mine,
and you told me about being gone
so we left.

I held a whirlwind of your emotions in my hand
and it was the first time I'd felt so much
without even moving.
You asked me to throw them, but I couldn't do it,
so I put them in my coat pocket and cried without telling you.
There was something you whispered to me
at half past six that is sitting in that pocket, too,
but I just can't bring myself to look for it.

And the whole time I was waiting for you to hit me;
I had to keep reminding myself that I wasn't her.
In the passion of your memories
you would grab my hand and shake it,
the weird part was that I let you, I didn't protest.

You were kind at 9 AM when I left because I was warm,
but you pushed me out the door for reasons I don't understand.
Maybe because I wasn't her,
or maybe you just needed your sleep--
but I am content with a pocket full of your emotions and memories,
and you are content being alone.

you always said smoking would **** me,
but I never knew you meant it would be karma for stealing cigarettes from my mom.
I cut the pizza into thin pieces,
so I wouldn't feel bad when I said I ate three.
I was going to rhyme home with phone, but they don't rhyme,
and I was going to quote some famous person,
but I don't know any famous people,
so I couldn't ask permission.

Last night, you said you would call,
but you didn't.
I feel fine because I didn't feel like talking anyway.

So, uhh, when you get this,
just know I called because I knew you were gonna call,
and I wanted you to know I'm not mad.

ok, bye.

Sometimes it's unclear
which way to turn,
Sometimes it seems weird
to be on this Earth,
But look to the Heavens
and you will see,
There is a God
watching over you and me.

Swim down a river
or climb up a tree,
Sleep in the forest
or sleep next to me,
Each moment's a choice
and is sometimes unclear
But if you listen carefully,
there is always a voice to hear.

Harolds rootbeer was warm but he was out of ice.
Josh said they never had any to begin with.

Harold searched the freezer desperately.
"I'm so ******* thirsty!"

Josh took out some popsicles and dropped them in Harold's glass.
"Problem solved!"

All the coins in your pockets,
everything I've ever given you.
in the washer
in the dryer
burning in the back yard,
like those notes,
and the pictures.
subconscious attempts to hurt you
the attempts of escaping everyone else: equally beautiful
until you looked away.

Don’t leave things alone for too long
or they'll begin to rot.
It took three years for you to give up,
and now your over bite clenches onto your bottom lip.
It looks painful,
but you're always so calm.

I can never tell where you are.

I feel ridiculous asking you questions
that I already know the answers to,
but I can't help it:
I love to hear your voice.

When you came home drenched,
spinning dizzy,
you laid down as I gazed at the wreck that laid before me.
You were in another world, and I didn’t want to follow.
Your golden feet could take you anywhere your heart imagined.
(I guess that was part of the jealously).

I want you to tell me about your childhood,
learn what made you the way you are.

Back to the photographs:
You looked so fragile,
so small, (breakable).

When I saw you cry for the first time,
the comfort in your grasp gave me the confidence
not to panic.
I stared at the bruises on your body,
knowing they would never heal,
knowing that you liked it that way.

I know you never understood how special you were,
that you never would.
I was scared of the things I knew,

I knew I had to leave
before you woke up, and,
walking with the faint shadow
of sleep behind my ears,
itching at my scalp
from the inside:
I took notice of your car,
and the bird **** on your windshield
                                                   reminded me that we were the same.