i'm not sure if we
are victims of
circumstance
or blessed by
coincidence

"plan a" was to be cordial:
you said, "coexist."
we toasted with our cappuccinos,
"to coexisting," before replacing our masks.
smile. wave. be polite.
I suppose some dozen missteps by me rendered this plan
useless.

"plan b" is much harder.
put your hand on the table.
the knife comes down, quick,
press the hot metal to the wound.

amputate. cauterize.
use your friends as a tourniquet,
like the one I've been twisting you into for the last year
and a half.

You, with your bed of thorns,
Broke the fall from my throne
And tangled me in your chaotic glory.

i think people die because they're all used up. whether they're 18 or 80, something inside them has run out of fuel. something inside them wants to be loved, or idolized, or immortalized or whatever they're after and they've run out of whatever makes it happen. so they die or they **** themselves and they fulfill their greatest desire; to be lost, to be mourned, and to escape the void they've been digging themselves out of their entire lives. six feet under.

If your first kiss doesn't feel like the galaxy is creating new asteroids from the stardust that formed when you first held his hand, or if it doesn't feel like the comets are flying across the sky and crashing into your heart as you stare into his eyes then you should run away from that boy because he's kissed so many girls that even the sky remembers his lips.

IM TRYING TO SLEEP BUT ALL I CAN THINK OF IS THAT TIME YOU SAID "I LOVE YOU" AND I GOT TINGLES IN MY FINGERTIPS AND A POUNDING IN MY CHEST BUT NOW THAT TINGLE IS GONE AND THAT POUNDING IS NO MORE.