It's 4 AM and visions of you are keeping me awake.  
My mind is cluttered with thoughts I shouldn't be having...

I want to hold your hand in the backseat when my parents can't see.
I want to kiss that spot on your neck that I've been dying to.
I want to map out your body with only my fingertips.
I want my name spilling out of your mouth incoherently.
I need you.

Oh, please understand that when I said
"Stop..."
I really didn't mean it -- by no means did I mean it.
But I needed you to.
God knows what I would have done otherwise.

i saw a quote the other day
about emptiness
and how no amount of love
on this planet
can fill it
when it's sincere
and i couldn't help but think
of myself
as a black hole
gaping and bare
stealing kisses in the dark
and words out of the mouths
of babes
just for the thrill
just for the reassurance
that i am desirable
but nothing more

because he took
the rest of my capabilities
with him.

Turn the wheel into the sun. Forget the stars. Forget the wind. Forget the way the waves are weeping. I am not coming home.

We are never again what we once were. And I am not sorry for it.

Some of them end before the music can even start. And we are left somehow, like monks, pinching book spines like vertebrae. Seeing if we can find our ability to
Stand.
Up.
In words.

Most days.

I am only words.

But some days, I am more.

Some days, the thought of those ivory temples run me up masts..

I am stretched out. Arms wide. Accepting the storm. Ragged.
(Stronger for it. Unafraid to unravel more.)
Inventing time. Investing it back.
Some days. I am yards of cloth, fighting history.

And when my sea is calm:
Puff your cheeks and blow on my spine.
For motion.

I am still.

I am calm.

I am still calm.

I am still calmly waiting.

It's worth mentioning that we never made love.

Now. Everything is different.

I am listening to an ***** grinder, playing my heart on his sleeve. Taking light from my future and shedding it on my past. Saying, "What happened? Where did you go?"

And I try to answer back but find my throat dry and only able to mutter, "I can't feel you, Lord. I can't feel you."

Some days I am lost.

Is it fair, when asked what happened, to say, "She did. Calliope happened to me."?

Start the music. Let the carousel turn. I am not coming home.

Is it fair to say that I am better now. But not always better for it.

I am walking a tightrope of strength and..

Something else. Something else entirely.

Now, I am tired. I am at a loss for words. I am sinking into the oldest crimes in the oldest ways and creating my own wooden chest. You are on it. Carved. Etched. Playing in my mind like laughter on the really cold days. Your fingerprints matching the grain. A petal for each flower I picked trying to fix it.

And this is how it will end. It was this way before it even began. When we found our faults on the back of each others lips with our tongues.

Thank you for teaching me the opposite side of love.

And this is how I will end it.

I will be words. And action. And learn to touch with passion. Learn to make love, like sounds strung together. Masterful. Seamless. As to seem less important. like lyrics. Like an aria. Rising and falling like tides to my mast. Lips pressed and cheeks puffed. And arms outstretched like a horizon to sail into.

And all wonderful happy lies.

I will be more. In hopes of forgetting that briefly.. I once more allowed myself to be less.

And found my self wondering, If it was me who slipped through your fingers... or you who slipped through mine...

I once allowed myself to seem less.

I guess...

I just needed to get you off my chest.

Darkness is replaced by light. Like a cup of water it's poured out of the soul and filled with goodness that the boy tries to take in. He knows the darkness can take hold easily so he closes the door says babe I can't open it you aren't good for me. The darkness isn't a girl it isn't a person it's him it's who he is or was or is or was or isn't at all and never was. The boy grows tired, mind going faster than an old Windows computer which if you don't know isn't really fast at all. Speed-dial static manifests in his mind he craves a cigarette he's never smoked or some **** he cannot ****. He won't dip his fingers into greed so instead he'll dip his fingers into ****, or friends who smoke **** or just friends who he knows aren't good for him. One's who call him fat *** even though they probably don't know that he'd spent approximately two years starving himself so the one time he indulges they decide to say that. To call him fat and put him down why is it that he chooses the things that aren't good for him? Every. Single. Time.
  
   The computer finally boosts up faster, words spill out faster than the darkness coming out of him so finally he has something to write about. His angst turned bitter spills out, his anger spills out, his sadness spills out there's just a various amounts of spilling from his body like an **** in Japan he's soaked in juices...of emotion.

   (I can't think of anything else so end).

My bones ache for a body they don't have. Stomach empty I look in the mirror unsatisfied with what I see. It's a stranger. Intense, pale, fat. Skin should cling to bones like rubber to skin in the water, instead it hangs distastefully to my eyes.

******* in I then breathe out the stale air I force to my lungs. The urges are never weak enough. Food looks so good though I know I cannot indulge in what I see as my sin.

My bones ache for a body they don't have. I ache for a body I don't have. I want to be thin, beautiful. I will never be, not to my eyes. To me my body is just a stranger that I'm forced to be with.

I look at my little sister. She's beautiful and tragic,  like a metaphor. Or a cigarette or an odd cat. I look at her and see the same emptiness inside of me, only there's more hope for her. How do you tell somebody that you care for them? I don't think I've ever really cared for many people in a sibling kind of way. That requires an emotional connection that maybe I just lack. Like a wire in my head that was cut early on or misplaced in my head.

   Dear sister, I write you a poem. A letter. A song. I'm losing my mind, I'm going insane. Knowing that all I care about could just disappear within an instant. I don't want to lose my friends don't want to lose my sister. I was never close to my brothers it isn't fair if I lost you too. What is it you think of? What do you think about? I see you playing the piano and wish I could do that too. I'd ask you to teach me but I'm too shy to do that. I don't know if anyone's said it, but I'm proud of you. I see you trying your best and it's okay to do that. Take baby steps at a time cause the world is cruel but it seems to like babies to maybe you can trick it. I know, I've tried. Am trying. Trying harder?
   I don't know what it is I really want to tell you. You should know though I love you. I have a hard time telling people that. Have a hard time expressing feelings without suddenly wanting to cry or rip my arm to pieces. You'll be okay sister dear, I know you will.

My hands, they quiver
My voice, it shakes
My heart, its pounding
My head, it aches
My friends, they're dead
My enemies, in power
My life, its passing
My death, next hour

The contrast is stunning
Taking my breath away
Only when I'm so happy do I realize
How miserable were the other days
Life is always so heavy
Weighed down by fear and the past
Though things seem so perfect right now
I'm terrified they won't last

Why can't God be female
imagine it a world where women wouldn't
have to have fought for their rights
where they would have been treated equally
from the start
so instead of saying thank god
why not thank The Goddess.

If stone is breakable then why is a stone hearted person less likely to take emotional damage.
Does this mean that someone with a stone heart will only be hurt more when something gets though to them.

It would be nearly impossible to have a cold, frozen heart unless you were dead, because wouldn't your body heat warm your heart and thaw it out.

I personally would prefer a paper heart, although they are the most likely to burn and your blood would most likely saturate it, which I guess would stop it from burning so that's good. A paper heart would probably be easily broken as paper is easily torn, but I guess you could do origami with it, but then I guess you'd die because you wouldn't have a heart.

So I guess that maybe a flesh heart is the best. ( **** I was really hoping that origami heart idea would catch on, like adding the word hogs onto the end of other words to make them sound cooler, all the cool kids are doing it-hogs, or so I'm telling myself)