my favorite part of the day could never be the morning
when we're new people and hesitant strangers
but it's when your smile is the brightest and your kisses are the softest

my favorite part of the day could never be the afternoon
when there's minimal talking and maximal noise
but it's when silence gets blissful and comfortable

my favorite part of the day is the night
when you're vulnerable and tired, yet smiling
when your arms touch my skin like satin
when i can see stars in your eyes

but alas, the brightest stars are the ones yet to fade the soonest

you know me a little too much
and a little too not enough

you know me in a way
no one else will ever know

you can never tell
my hair or toes apart
nor my fingers to my eyes

but you know what's mine
my words, my song
all things that make you feel

the onset of my descending mind: -
i remember it well

a baby flower
barely a flower
picked it up
told it to grow
grow
GROW NOW
GROW
scolding, screaming

ripped it apart,
unfolded its wings.
desperately tried to retreat
tried to fix itself

irrevocably exposed
efforts wasted
seethingly hurt

crying
CRYING
why did i do that

the foreshadowing
of my comeuppance

to you whom i hold near —
you've yet to receive my heart
each beat is ridden with your name
writhing, bursting in pain
that is to be without your gaze
though you have mine in all your days

to you whom i hold high —
do you feel the breeze i've yet to feel?
how does it feel to be loved for nought,
but for and from all i've got?
you float, but i keep the line taut
allow me this — to fly, you cannot

then they are cruel
for i have wailed and kicked and begged
for this felt pain to be taken.
i've longed for the end constantly,
even in times when i forget.

it has been fortunate
to have travelled stories
with my hands

hands of my own
felt rise and fall,
heave and **,
and to and fro

the tincture of air
engulfs the absent trees:
***** trunks, grotesque and amiss,
inferior to my hands

a bashful melody
escapes my mouth.
sonically stimulating,
a tinge of an aurgasm

i mourn humbly
for ye who have not travelled far.
feel the hills,
your deep valley,
the gangling stems,
soft blades that shy beneath you.

i mourn for myself
a quiet tantrum whispering
for i have joy spilling
like a spring of life
just within my reach.

i will never know more
than the clockwork stories
my hands have told

blind happiness
in satisfaction
with what?
what is that?
i never knew her

i saw her once in a dream
daydream
bloodstream
existing, not living

who was she
i saw her
im supposed to be her?
who is her

i wanted to be her
i was her
i wanted to be more
i fell
i wasn't her
i don't want to be her anymore
i don't want to be me anymore
i don't want me

skin gets thicker
heavier
how do i get out
i never could get out

may i forever be a coward
for when i find courage
i will be dead