It’s all loves fault.

I didn't want to be happy *anyway,
why the **** did it have to come strolling along
to show me how asleep I've been.

Why did I give it the right to parade around me
and then keep marching off
with its drums and dancers,
leaving only confetti behind
and a wide-eyed person relentless
of letting go of the procession but
FORCED to clean up the massive mess on the street that
no one else seems to notice.

It’s in that same moment that we all realize,
we should never throw parties that big,
that festivities that grand shouldn't even be legal.

They’re messy and exhausting and the confetti is
too scattered
to rest assured that we’ll ever
clean every last bit up to toss away.

It’s in that moment that people assure us that
paper is biodegradable and that it just needs
time for the earth to make it natural.
But every bright piece of glitter that gleams on the street,
persistent and as present as ever, is simply
a reminder of that parade with its cheers and
the faint beats of the drums and the moment you had

to stand idly by and

watch it

go.

“…wait, are you afraid of the dark?” he asked with a tone of disbelief.
“So what if I am?”
“Well, I'd say that's a shame. You allow your imagination to control you.”
She couldn’t disagree. He was right and she was embarrassed.
“turn off the light,”
silence.
"and just listen to my voice."
And she did.

There’s a strong urgency in *******.
The longing for there to be another human body
pressed up against your own, so much so you envision
it vividly in your mind, painting hundreds of
thousands of scenarios until you find one just right
for your hand,

for your body.

It's not about pleasure, but about that momentary loss of place and time,
a further commitment to your imagination but
to your loneliness as well.

I couldn't bring myself to tell you this.
It's selfish of me to wish you missed me now.
to wish you’d call me at five in the morning
asking if we could talk for a while.
I don’t want to ruin you this way.
How egotistical of me to wish for  weakness
to destroy you because you let me,
destroy you because you're willing.
And to think I would allow myself to do so
not because I still love you,
only because I can.

Here darling,
rest your neck on my knife
and I'll cut us both a slice of peace.

There's not enough alcohol in the world
to fill the void you've left.
Your silence holds enough torture
in itself to remain nameless and
beyond anything explored.

Only I know -
I've mapped it out in several pages.

I have mapped out the curve on
your bottom lip that I never kissed,
and below that a chin that's connected finely to the jaw bones
chiseled by God himself.
Your soft palms that sprouted out to five
different ways in which you could have touched me.
Five ways in which I could have held on to you.

I should have.
But I was so stupid then.

What sweet youth this is
to slowly wilt at eighteen.
Where in twenty years I will be
thirty-eight.
I wonder what my hands
will feel like then.

Rougher?
Softer?
Kinder, or maybe the exact
opposite?

How many paintings will they
have created by then?
How many countries would my
eyes have seen?
How many men would I have
chosen to lay with?
How many decisions would I
have taken?

How many things bought and broken.
How many of those will I save.
How many memories will I forget in
twenty years that now seem so
unforgettable.
Legendary.

How much of my life will I regret?
How much will be left by then?

To mend what I have broken.
To throw away what should not have been kept.
To take a pottery class and learn
how to finally mold myself.

To Remember.

Talk to me about research I'm ignorant of,
tell me what you think of it
and then ask me about it to
make sure I'm listening.
Keep me on my toes with intelligence,
I'll be sure to repay you with the equivalent.

Entice me.
Flirtation can be the best weapon if you
know how to make the conversation
sufficiently intoxicating.
Try it.
Do it with me.

It's only when you can **** me
without laying a hand on me,
that I will ever fantasize about
really surrendering myself
to you

having me.

He said it's only a risk if we're scared,
they asked him what they called it
if fear wasn't present.

He said
"A decision."

These are the kind of thoughts that I feel like I need to swallow
because they're on a level of pathetic that I can't even admit to myself.
It's that level of pathetic that really makes a person naked.

The deep dark corners of a person.
It's the trigger of the first tear.
And it all boils down to you.

Your simple acknowledgment of self scares me.
Your self-awareness kills me because
it brings you closer to realizing
that you can do better than me.

*And then what do I do
with this epic love I feel for you?