A bullet

so small and strong

struck right where

my lungs met.

Embedded itself

this insult of occult

fake tidings riding on

elitist ****** attitudes.

A bullet

or was it an insult?

Either way, I am plummeting

towards humiliation street

with my tail between my legs.

A bullet

was that woman's sharp words

cutting through my skin

like a paper cut gone berserk.



She was a joplin spider

stuck in a ditch

and I should have

smashed her spindly

weak legged body

under my heavy black boots

creating an ugly stain

that looks like gunpowder

or left over oil

spilled over

with the utmost disrespect.

It was in April we met of last year
Never thought I'd hold you so dear
A curious thing I thought you were
Loud, eccentric, and certainly belligerent
Of my feelings, mostly inconsiderate

At odds were we from the start
With every argument we rip each other clean apart
We clash like demigods on the battlefront
I, petulantly persistent and you, cruelly blunt
I am stubborn and prideful just like you
An abundance of intense feelings between we two
Polar opposites in personality are we
But some of the things in you I see in me

Leery was I of your intentions
Following every reply with even more questions
See, no matter how hard I try can't read you
So handing my trust over to you is an issue
I've never had someone be so true
It scares me to death, because true people are so few

Even if you are not meant to be my lover
You'd be a genuine friend--like no other
(Even at times when we can't stand one another)

Patient sometimes you are with me
As I slowly release my grip and conceed to our reality
For whatever twisted reason there may be
I love you for you and you love me for me

Ah! how the memory of

those pretty green eyes

enlighten my senses

making them parallel to

round ***** of safety.



Ah! how those eyes

regurgitate and bounce

pupils widening whenever

my eyes meet their gaze

wavering and moving from

person to person in an intimate crowded group setting.



Ah! how those eyes

which resemble soft moss

or the slick flesh of kiwis

stare at mine catching like how

flypaper catches mosquitoes

accidentally but intentionally

awkwardly but inventively

and ultimately intentionally.



Ah! how the memory of

those pretty green eyes

throw me off balance

when they lock into mine

and for a good ten seconds

merging a little too long

unnoticed by the crowd.


Ah! how those eyes

are like ghosts in my

memories so valid and

plausible they seem to

drift yet knowing they

will be seen tonight

creates a fidgety hope

splintered and shaking

within this hubris heart.



Ah! how those eyes

are framed by the

curliest of lashes

so cute they bloom

ripe smiles within this

here empty chest cavity

which seems to be defeated

at the moment but somehow

waiting to witness

orbs of stegosaurus skin

shelled and shellacked and unbuckled am i

at just a smack.



Ah! how those eyes

are like a slap

to my psyche.

Every part a swirling mass

of unabridged uncertainty.

And no matter how it seems

those irises of gold and green

will always be downright dainty.

Loads of bubble wrap piled behind

and it crackles like how a stomach

gets twisted on itself after

eons of sleep

decoding it's diaphragm to follow

the blips and beeps and bleeps

encrusted on trusting

a tight gut reaction to

wanting to touch



you.



But waiting is so difficult.



Loads of suds creep up

forming in cysts or scabs

upon stomach encasings

all slimy and orange inside

with a stretchy cover all

deep royal purple with

dark pink veins coursing

through it encoding the

rapture of film recording while

the lining inside gets all clammy

with arousal secretly clenching

this yearning and aching just

wanting to touch



you.



But waiting is so difficult.



It's a difficult, messy procedure that leaves the body exposed if it comes in contact to actual skin and flush and heat and mucus but



it is a necessary step to

colloquial banter within

the clustering of organs all

internally arguing while the

overwhelmed brain tries to keep order and the genitalia hums

all quiet in the corner

because she knows she runs



the show.



And it's funny because the brain knows he'll have to give in to

the actual world of living folks

and climb out of his bundled

fabulous fantasies in order to

make reality plausible.



And in wanting you



and in waiting



I've found myself in visceral shock

to the point where I panic and

all that's jumbled up and bound inside me seems to clench tighter.



And I fear that in waiting for your mutual touch



and I fear that in wanting to be with you so much



I'll collapse under the weight

and never get up.



Loads of words hide beneath me

resting in tubes that resemble

the small intestines in looping

nests of unbridled questions.

Will it be enough to see you

and not touch you?

Will it be enough to talk

with you and not kiss you?

Will it be enough to be chaste

and respectful when all my brain needs to do is test you?

When all my brain wants to do

is clobber you whole, chew, then swallow, spitting out bones?