You are
delicious
And I am
greedy.
You are
generous
And I am
needy.
You are
experienced
And I am
learning.
You are
flammable
And I am
burning.

I am a miserable ****.

Traffic jam thoughts.
Aimless speech.
Fever dreams,
coffee with no cream,
love with no pulse,
alone at restaurants,
            at grocery stores,
            at parties.

I have no identity.

Shifting shape, black to blue,
trading girls, red hair for Persian skin,
parents and gods,
politicians and lost purpose mobs,
all asking me to be sacred,
                            to be loving,
                            to be trusting,
                            to be active,
                            to have no spine.

All I want is a bit of my own time.

A grenade of change,
to end the coagulation of my brain,
to leave me hungry for anything
other than me,
didn't somebody say I was promised something?
                                            I was going somewhere?
                                            I was unique?

I am the same miserable ****,

As every other miserable ****.

The ******* that cut you off on Highway 62,

The person that complained about too many pickles,
on his precious fast food,

The boy yelling at his baby sister for getting too much attention,

The girl sexting your boyfriend,

The boy sexing your girlfriend,

The generation divorcing everyone it knows so it can fall in love with

itself.

All different,
in exactly the same way.

Traffic jam thoughts. Traffic jam thoughts.
                   Traffic jam thoughts. Traffic jam thoughts.
            trafficjamthoughts. traffic. Traffic Jam Thoughts. Thoughts.
Traffic. Traffic. Traffic. Traffic. Traffic. Traffic. Jam.
thoughts. traffic. trafficjam. trafficjam. traffic jam thoughts.traffic.
traffic jam. traffic, traffic, traffic. I am a miserable ****. Traffic jam.

little dark girl with
kind eyes
when it comes time to
use the knife
I won't flinch and
i won't blame
you,
as I drive along the shore alone
as the palms wave,
the ugly heavy palms,
as the living does not arrive
as the dead do not leave,
i won't blame you,
instead
i will remember the kisses
our lips raw with love
and how you gave me
everything you had
and how I
offered you what was left of
me,
and I will remember your small room
the feel of you
the light in the window
your records
your books
our morning coffee
our noons our nights
our bodies spilled together
sleeping
the tiny flowing currents
immediate and forever
your leg my leg
your arm my arm
your smile and the warmth
of you
who made me laugh
again.
little dark girl with kind eyes
you have no
knife. the knife is
mine and i won't use it
yet.

Strange is the land on which he treads
seeking blood for vengeance within
he stops and sniffs, yes there is hatred here
someone will fall for the false hope again
some eyes will always be moist
some hearts will beat with deception
someone will be every ones fool

he enters a cave marked red
a thousand eyes stare back unconvinced
they have seen the ascent
they have witnessed the retreat
the darkness engulfs him now
and yet he keeps walking along
something is squelching under his feet
some faded whimpers, some squealed threats
he can't see what he treads on
unseen unnoticed unforgiven,
they die under his feet

just as sudden is the advent of light
his feet are red, blood red, red
his hand still holds the sword of malice
and he wears the shield of ignorance
forever protected in his own heaven
oblivious of any agony but his own
he yearns for satisfaction
he yearns for instant gratification

You send shivers down my spine when you walk in,
Cause the butterflies to flutter like mad.
When you look in my eyes,
You burn right through me.
You are the sunshine when my skies are clouded,
The light when I can't find the good in the world.
I could be all that you need,
You are all that I want.
My stomach knots when you are next to me,
You make me nervous and giddy.
I smile at the thought of you,
Quake in your presence.
You have all control over me,
And you don't even know it.

A Spectrum—
Cobalt to cherry and back to blue,
With fifteen shades of gray not knowing their place—
Fans out across the artist’s desk.

Her Fingers—
Nimble birds,
Skim across the sea of colors, and,
Quickly,
Dive plucking a turquoise pencil from the waves.