I find love to be a painful concept. Each time i love, i risk opening a wound dug out by the animal in me. And in love's sick game i've grown tired of the fight, tired of the constant tug of war between the past, the present and the ****** heartache. After awhile, it all just seems easier to give up on, then to move forward. And i guess this is the feeling of losing yourself.

Love is a bleeding mess, red paint splattered on a ****** canvas. My heart decays like petals off a rose, wanting to be whole again. To be enslaved, I seek an act of closure because it's an ongoing issue. I get emotionally attached to someone then begin to push them away for unexplainable reasons.

dynamics of heartbreak
your distance, his proximity,
the repetition of releasing
hormones and horrors,
and honey-colored eyes,
and hope.

i enter the car and
he looks at me. kisses me
before we walk in, opens
the door, brushes my leg
under the table, butterflies
warm and sooth and scare.

my heart breaks when
it's supposed to be solid,
when i'm supposed to be
happy and whole and ******
and orgasming and screaming
and strong

my heart breaks when i am kissed,
when i tell my sister i love her,
when my dreams come true;
the edges are sharp in my chest;
i don't think it will ever not hurt
i don't think i will ever not be broken

No time left for art
As the worker bees descend on the sun's rays
Dereliction of duty breeds insecurity
Allowing the conveyor belt to move
Our greatest hopes rely on the wallet
And not the gentle stroke of the brush

The sword of literature and design sheathed
As machines dominate our minds
Destiny of redemption lying in wait
As we inhale the sourness of greed
No fate too unfathomable for idealism
Perhaps no fate at all for pragmatism

Alas, no time left for art
The conveyor belt pushes forward
Transcending individual furnishing
And descending into the darkness of want
Complete injustice for need