There are so many. So many boys.

I like to hear the smart ones.
Who can cut a pi in half and use proper diction.
That's ****.

I like to see the handsome ones.
Who have impeccable shoulder blades and those sultry eyes.
That's ****.

I like to talk to the funny ones.
Who are fountains of wit yet still laugh at my jokes.
That's ****

They all like to see, hear, and talk to me.
They just don't know it yet.
I'm ****.

There are so many. So many boys.

I wish you'd stay and keep me company
where do you go?

I think I want you to come closer
but I'm the only one who's allowed to devour.

I could say that I want your hands all over me
but you smell like cigarettes.

I live for the wink, the recognition
but I can't believe it's real.

This isn't love or infatuation.
I'm simply lonely.
And I need someone to test my resolve.

A heart beats inside my chest,
but is that sound enough evidence
that I can love,
or not hurt at best.

I try and I try and I try
but good feelings never come from my efforts,
so I take and I take and I take
and make beautiful people cry.

I should be tearing myself apart,
unearthing every sin
and dark place,
to find even the remains of a heart.

I remember the moment I fell in love with you.

You were sitting on a red couch with a very drunk boy,
and you had a cigarette with red lipstick stains on the filter.
Like the couch and the lipstick, your cheeks were red.

I went up to you and looked at you.
Your eyes were dilated that night,
and even though I couldn't see it, the shade of blue in your eyes will always be my favorite.

Your hand grasped mine as you stood up,
and the grasped my neck as we fell back down;
A heap of good intentions turned sour by methamphetamine cut MDMA,
and kisses wet with passion and rain.

In the darkness you whispered yes to every question I asked,
but in the light of the following days
your eyes would not even chance upon mine,
and I've only heard your voice with the subtle undertones of contempt.

You laugh in the same way you did that night,
and I bet you look at the stars in the same way
but your eyes never seem to shine like them.

A man walks down the same street he did a month ago.
His shoes are slightly more worn than when he last made this trek.
Although the sun rests in the same spot and the trees whisper in the same way, he feels cold.

That is to say that love sings in a different way when you are alone.
Love can taste like strawberry lips or it can taste like cheap brandy, the only difference is with what you purchase it.

I have everything I could ask for.
I'm white, straight and I hail from a lower-middle class household.
So why do I lay in bed and wallow in self pity when everything I could ever ask for sits right in front of me.
I have enough money to buy all the drugs I need and if I run out I can steal my mothers medication and sell it (I've never been a fan of amphetamines.)
I have two or three girls who take their clothes off and kiss my chest without me asking them too,
and I have friends who pick me up whenever I fall down,
so why do I never stop whining?
Why can I never feel fulfilled?
Numerous pairs of lips feed mine owns lust.
Yellow powder finds its way into my nasal cavity,
and plenty of ***** rests cozily in my stomach,
and plenty of chances to better myself fly by,
so what am I looking for?

Someday,
I'll have peace.

I know I will,
this can't go on forever.

Red shoes on black carpet.
She skips across the floor, hands together pulling her small body forward.
From room to room she hustles, skirt all about her, not bothering to fix her hair.

I can see her in my dreams, with unclouded eyes she looks back at me.
She smiles at me in my dreams, and when I dream of her withdrawls do not wake up.

She is my *****.
She is more beautiful than the flower
and has the *** appeal of the powder.

I guess you got tired of
the drugs
and the poor treatment
and the lack of responsibility
so you left.

I see you,
running with your new crowd.
We prefer shrooms,
so the feelings we experience can be stronger.
They prefer alcohol,
so they will not be held responsible for their actions.

That boy you're spending all your time with,
do you know what I heard him say?
In simple language,
without flashy adjectives,
I heard him announce that he got drunk,
but he made sure not get as drunk as her
so that she would do whatever he wanted.
I heard him,
through a closed bathroom door,
apologizing to a girl he had been rude to years ago,
but now she was hot,
so they should hangout.
I heard her exhale loudly
and watched her leave the bathroom.
She saw me and asked if I wanted to join her for a cigarette.

Looking back on it,
I wish you would join me.
For anything.

But you run with the self proclaimed nice guys
and I run with the equally as lame,
self proclaimed stoners.

I know this:
what goes around comes around.
The trespasses that I have committed unto others
have been committed unto me in equal measure
and I'm sure one day
those nice guys will get theirs,
and I only hope you
realize how to get yours
on your terms.

*** is
the only way I've been able
to satisfy my desire for you,
without sticking a straw in my nose,
or shoving pills down my throat,
or smoking god knows what.
*** is
the only way I've been able
to not cry out to you.
Yet,
somehow *** makes me yearn for you more,
*** makes me crave you more,
and *** makes me realize how desperately I want you.

It's always been you,
from the day I've met you.
There's been other girls,
too many other girls,
too few other girls,
and there's been you.
So unattainable,
so out of reach,
but not out of mind.
There's always been you,
and until you are in my bed,
until your fingers leave marks on my back,
until yours is the first voice I hear,
you will not be out of mind,
and even after then you will not be out of mind.