Some children wondered why the grass is green
or the sky blue
Well, I wondered why your touch was made of ice
I learned of gravity and the f word
and decided
your presence felt like ******* free fall

You say you've changed
I know you have
but your kindness
still turns sour in my mouth

I want to love you
but how can I?
When I accidentally wiped your poison kisses
with the same sleeve I wore my heart on

Hate is a coiling gust of air seeking it's way out
Apathy sags,
murky and cold
in complacent instinct.
While hate can be tofu to a child expecting sweets,
apathy is nothing but the silent flickering of a neon vacancy sign.

Hate is bottled
yet bursting.
Apathy  is free,
but sedentary.

Hate is muscular
it shouts and threatens
while the other beckons,
just to push you away.

One: lava fit into a mold.
Two: so hot it becomes cold.

Hate is the fire
and apathy the barren field of ash
from which no phoenix shall rise.

i've got feelings in the freezer
stored, saran-wrapped, tin-foiled
abuse
so when emptiness feels like starving
i microwave some pain

We were fugitives tonight.
Fugitives
of light;
The blink of a window
drawing naught but dusk.
We grind against fate,
crossed our fingers and flew
from what we are, were-- might be.
Closed the peak whole
lest it should dawn
and glid doomed,
to some place nice.

Sunlight reaches your eyes,
to flicker,
forever rest or die.

Your air is of dandelion dreams
whispered in the distant past.
All smudged into
a dusty closet where they
roam endlessly.

Most times,
I live on the pause;



the lingering,
between what you say,
                    and what I hear.
The livid moment of incessant
existence when I take from life,
the meaning within moments.
The weight of a second, drawn
like blood,
from the bare atmosphere.