i would still die for you
even
        though
im
           already
                


                              *dead

It seems the worst of the waves are yet to come
The rough before the storm
As I sit in my newspaper boat, afloat
In a sea deep with regret
Waves topple, I tumble, boat falls asunder
Can I stay afloat?
Donning cap like Edmund, grab the ship debris
But it's not news to me
And the waves crash harder, deeper I go
'til my feet touch the bottom and I feel Peter
He's trying to go home, but this is not the way
I emerge and here I find, the best for last has stayed behind
And a wave of enormous proportions crashes down
I'm churned like a washing machine
Growing dizzy as the stains are erased
But I loved the stains; they made me who I was
The wave pops me out, and I see who I am
And it's not news to me
No, it's not news to me

"It was gravity.."they said.
It was gravity's fault that she was dead.
Not her own, but gravity's fault.
After all, she wouldn't have died
if gravity wouldn't have choked her.
It wasn't her fault...
gravity helped, after all.
gravitygravitygravity
It keeps you down,
it keeps us all on the ground and
it kept her from falling
but it was already too late.
A noose caught her around the neck and
gravity let her down,
yet again.

you're right
I am absolutely a hypocrite
I don't know why you hate those so much, honestly
because everyone is a hypocrite, we all say things
and do other things
because we think we're excluded from the rules
but that's not the point, the point is that between you and me,
I can cross the line but once I'm over I panic
and hop back to the safe side of the fence-
I don't know if the grass is greener on the other side
but the real question is if you or anyone can keep me there.

I'm a white, male,
American dreamsicle
who says "****"
way too much
to not be cool.

I read about my father issues
on my mother's face.
I hate things and people
because the news told me to.
Art is ****** and ****** is art;
when Billy killed Sue,
my heart raced.
Do drugs with me
or do none at all;
promise me when we're high
we won't fall.

There are ******* on the street
and the cops are shooting them.
There are ******* kissing
and old, white men are scared.
There are mentally ill people
and they are "seeking attention".
There are women with voices
and old, white men are scared.

I am an American Dreamsicle:
cold, unhealthy, and killing your kids.
You can buy me for 40% off
and I promise to take 60% of your ideals.
I am what my parents don't want me to be
and that is the appeal.
Little do I know, I am every thing you are
and that is my cancer.

Her hand grazed my knee first;
black nail polished fingers
filled with golden rings and solitude

Her hand slid up past my knee next,
A chilling whisper of a husky voice,
"I'm bisexual, whatever, who cares?"
A tone so sleek, so ****,
Uncaring and unrelenting

Her hand moved inward this time,
her warm breath pressed to my neck,
questions of sexuality and culture
in her ******* rasp and
I melted that way, I ******* melted that day

A level booming below,
A band of drummers,
Drumming of ambition and heartbreak,
A base-dropping attitude from Athens

She leaned in first, her smoky green eyes
******* mine and I looked up,
with a feeling of hot temperance on my tongue,
She kissed me,
sweet and bold and the evening was full
of firsts because she grabbed me,
so fast and forward and
dimmed the mood and began her journey
into transcendental fluidity

We swayed to the beat of casuality,
a beat unfamiliar in my world of seriousness,
and she grabbed my hand and pulled her lips
closer, closer
and whispered "I'll get us a taxi"

Beautiful women make my heart flutter,
and beautiful women with smoky green eyes
and blonde dreadlocks make my speech stutter
but I followed her into the abyss of wonder
holding her hand onto the grassy concrete,
our breath white and our spirits hazy

The taxi home reminded me of New York streets,
and it made me forget of Oxford priorities and
senseless irony and she kissed me twice,
her **** fingers searching for answers
in the 2:30am moonlight

She kissed me in the elevator,
A familiar scent of the haunted ancients and
her sly character left me breathless, an
adventurous eighteen-year-old searching for
wisdom and a twenty-something searching for
a definition, we collided

Her dorm, lined with yellow lights and
colorful elephants, a comforting essence of
security and warmth

She grabbed my waist and
turned me around,
I lost my breath in her
seductive sway,
She kissed me hard and pushed me fast,
onto her pillows of a cool fragrance

She screamed once and I screamed twice,
A fantastic pain muffled by the sound
of old heat lamps

"You'll forget this," I said
"Please," she said, "I'm practically sober."

We continued for hours, her spirit quick,
unceasing,
persistent
She smiled exquisitely,
with slanted eyes, she licked her lips

We slept soundlessly,
Her hand where it started, above my knee
and below my waist,
Black nail polished fingers held
my hand until morning,
a soft kiss on the shoulder blade
and I awoke to the chirping of morning

And I left with a sense of softness,
not accomplishment and
I'll see the smoky-eyed,
yellow-dread girl once more,
And I hope it's when I don't know
what
for

I have a confession,
But more of an obsession;
I don't wear this dress
Just to impress.

Yes, I like to dance
And sing and prance
But I feel most happiest
When you're most sappiest

And we can be crazy
Although we're lazy
And I don't feel like a mess
With you and this dress