beware when you fall in love
with an artist
be it a painter, a singer, or poet

for the artist will
paint you
with strokes and hues
in shapes of every kind

sing about you
with heartbreak lyrics
and feelings which rhyme

write about you
with the simplest words
and a secret message she wants to say

beware of the artist,
and her love
one wrong move
and you're an artwork in her display

He told me he likes Bukowski.
That was the first sign.
You see, boys who like Bukowski and me
Don’t get along.
You see, Bukowski and me
Don’t get along.
I’m a Sylvia.
I’m an Anne.
A Maya and a Virginia.
You see, I am well versed
In death and silence.
You see, I have no interest in
Alcohol and misogyny.

He told me he likes The Smiths.
Now The Smiths
In and of themselves are great.
I’ve always been a fan of melancholy,
Of heartbreak.
Now The Smiths
Who have been morphed into this
Pseudo intellectual mirror are not my thing.
You see, boys pin me to a pedestal
For merely knowing who Morrissey is.
You see, I don’t care if
Dying by my side is such a heavenly way to die.
You see, I don’t plan on dying with him.

He told me he drinks his coffee black.
That would explain
Why when he kissed me
I tasted nothing but bitterness.
That should have been a warning.
You see, I need a little sweetness.

He told me he smokes cigarettes.
You see, cigarettes remind me of my father.

He told me I’m not like other girls.
As if other girls are a disease.
As if I am this magical creature.
This manic pixie dream girl with wings.
You see, there is nothing special about me.
I am me. Simple.

I told him he was a sad boy.
A boy who pretends like he’s wrapped in barbed wire
But is really a caged petting zoo animal.
A boy who will smile like he has a secret
But really has nothing to share.
You see, sad boys drink whiskey.
To me, whiskey tastes like listerine without the mint.
You see, he tasted like whiskey.
You see, he reads Bukowski.
You see, he listens to The Smiths.
You see, he drinks his coffee black every morning
And smokes a cigarette on his balcony
While reading the newspaper
And listening to a vinyl record.
You see he doesn’t love me.
He loves the idea of me.
He loves the idea of sad girl.
You see, there’s nothing romantic
About a boy who thinks romance is a Hemingway novel.
You see, I hate Hemingway.
You see, sad boys and me don’t get along.

I crave that which is bad for me
But you weren't bad, just bruised

               *I think I'd fall for anyone
               with a black and blue heart

Hell is when you are in pain
But don't show it
Cause you don't want a million questions
Hell is when you feel pain
And there's no moral
No lesson
When you are trapped in emotion
And have no control over what will happen
When the tears roll down your cheeks and you can't stop them
When your soul is screaming
But no one will listen
When your soul aches
When your eyes are blinded by the heaviness
The hurt
The pain
And knowing that tomorrow,
The cycle stays the same
When smiling actually hurts your feelings because its proof that you're a liar
You're lying to yourself
And everyone else
Cause when they see that smile
They don't see the pain
The tears
The emotions felt
But just a facade you put up
Because you're scared.
Scared of the implications
And seeing how people actually feel-
Do they care about me?
Only God knows
And meanwhile the pain grows
Fornicates, multiplies!
And so do the lies
The "I'm okay"s
The "I'm fine"s
But back to what I was saying,
Hell is when you have a million ways
To explain your pain

i am the center of my own disaster;
the victim of my own demise
although i fell in love with the thought of happily ever after
i grew to love the darkened skies

reach out to me
love, open your eyes

i live and breathe for your existence;
are you here for mine?

dancing to silence beneath the glow of the moon
you twirl me in a spin to fast; just a step too soon
i catch a glimpse of my fallen angel,
for he's been watching too

i took the hand of chance and laid beneath the stars
in a moment of passion that had to happen right there; right where we are

an unforgettable unimaginable pair to par

imperfections speak ridicules
to the sanity we seek afar
an addiction to the feeling of being wanted;
yes i do concur
and i solely promise to want you forever
right here in the dark

I feel pretty small living on planet earth
like this planet was a doll house that belonged
to a gigantic girl,
ken and barbies everywhere & babies too
cars planes and army men....
looks like a giant boy lives with her too
------------------lol----------------