Time flies fast,
like a little bird,
swinging trough the sky,
never looking back.

Time is forever,
but never do you realise in time
that the present is not present anymore,
but is now past.

Time melts in my hands,
slipping trough my fingers,
only remaining the everlasting trace of memory,
staining every little crevice of my hands.

But memory,
memory remains,
persistently present in your mind,
always haunting every little image,
and every little thought.

<>

No, He said.

I want you
wanting.

I want to taste the miracle of your desperation,
need,
lick the sweet sweat of tense from the hairline well hid
on the back of your pleasuring neck.

I need your needing constant completion,
but not succeeding.

The airborne aroma of your desires are fiery, arousing,
stimulus sensating me by the unending beauty of dissatisfaction,
this virus desirous, infection, makes my perpetual wanting  
for an incomplete perfect woman,
forever seeking betterment,
perfectly complete.

<>

yes, we all wonder sometimes
if we are more than meaningless specks
on a dying planet and
yes, all things tend toward chaos but
you, staring up at the stars wondering,
are a counterexample

Self-loathing finally came to an end,
the stranger in the mirror is now my friend

There's beauty in broken things
Even light has to be fractured to make color