She doesn't know a thing
about the immense strength
Her teeth have over my
attention
Or how I would rather have my  eyes fall out
of their sockets,
from lack of blinking,
than to miss even a single moment
of her grin.

The forgotten tale of a young girl
with bloodshot eyes and traces of
broken wishbones.
Death on doorsteps and
tails-end pennies
scattered beneath her feet.
The garden of good and evil has not existed
for a long while since it hasn't stopped
raining,
and by now,
the fields of purity are drenched
in melon-cholia.
Maybe next time.

How desperately I cling to the image of a lost cause
with a side of despair,
tomorrow I will be a blithering fool,
but today I am content with
just being
next to the furnace
with the radio on.

Her face suddenly turns to me with Exite -
you're glittering again, you're full of warmth.
Was I cold before, I ask her.
No, but I couldn't put my hands in your pockets
the same way
I used to.
Come here.
I am back.

Somehow
in my conceived perception of
glitter
I desperately try to latch-on
to another
beauty.

Somehow
in my blurred realization of
time
I think that not being
alone
will make me not
lonely.

Somehow
in my outrageous menacing
skin
I thought that
She
could be replaced.

Let's go on a Journey. She said.

The problem that lies within my raisin-swelled brain is that I do not like to speed on open highways
or smoke behind chipped bathroom doors.

I vomited in the kitchen sink once
because I couldn't make it
to the trash.
Now
when I dye my hair and
rinse it out
under that faucet
I get extremely uncomfortable.

So maybe,
one day
we can travel again.