Just  by the method in which you breath
you create a sort of paradise for me to live in.
You're just my kind of man,
you're a stand up kind of guy.
Now yell at me until my eyes bleed
and stare at me until my ears pop.

Breath life into this breathless song
and breed the love until it is of pure blood.
God knows I'm bad with habits.
They pile up and I can't properly feed them.
So try to be cool.

It's funny how last Sunday, I had a full pack of cigarettes.
Now, I have a nothing but the entire Joyce Manor discography .
And a horrendous headache.

I'm the only one who could ever have any fun
but that was only when I was with you.

So be cool.

(I mean it Ma,
Click back now
I’d rather not scar you
Or cost us even more money
On therapy)**

The first time I had ***
I felt horribly guilty afterwards
I can only guess as to why

Maybe it was because I was the ‘boy’
Of the circumstance
The one thrusting and holding her up

The one that didn’t get to ***
The first go around
The one to wash their fingers clean in the aftermath

While the ‘girl’ wiped up her nether regions
Put her pants back on
And remained in an ‘aftersex’ glow

Maybe it was because I was the ‘boy’
Of the circumstance
That I was the one that ‘took’ something

But whatever the reason
Is irrelevant because within days
This guilt faded

As did any taste of regret
Vaguely reminiscent of the
Taste of her ***

And replacing said guilt
Was love; strong and (now) poignant
Beyond my years

And she is gone; literally so,

Thus replacing said love
Was pain; strong and poignant
Beyond my years

Replacing said pain
Was another type
Quite common of my age

A madly bruised hand
To be exact;
Courtesy of my teenage idiocy

Replacing my physical pain and idiocy
Was another girl
One that could never be ‘her’

I cannot kiss this girl
It’s all so different
All so ******* wrong

I can’t stand her braces
And the taste of sour milk
That is always marinating in her mouth

I can’t stand this girl
But it is not her fault
It’s, to mimic a cliché,

It’s me, not her
And I am, genuinely,
Sorry for her


But I am so, extremely, pathetically
More sorry
For myself

your lip jutting out is like a shard of broken glass
and I know you’d just stitch me back up if I tried but
I don’t think you’re very amenable to being kissed;
not now, anyway.
not here, you’d say.
all I've ever wanted was to put my mouth on you, baby,
taste the salt of your skin like natural protection against
your demons and mine
and all the others in between.
you think you've seen them all but believe me,
I'm older, I'm wiser, handsomer too but you don’t see me bragging about it
and I've seen what’s down there. I tried
to protect you for as long as I could but
we have seen the end of night
in the complete dark
together.
I almost miss that dark, the obscurity where you’d admit you didn't always have to be so **** conscious
and we slipped back to raw instinct and raw feeling
and I've still got the feel of your skin under my fingertips
and between my palms
and my hands have been covered with you for years, now.
I don’t dare to breathe on them lest the last of your DNA
slip through my fingers -
but it was probably too good for me, anyway.
your genes and your jeans fit you beautifully and I'm like a ****** hopped up on the memory of when
I raked my nails down your back and
though the lines have faded
I will always reopen those wounds.
I will never leave you more whole than I.
we have broken every rule and we have broken
each other, and I wonder why anyone
would settle for any less than this;
because an empty passengers seat is the loneliest place I've seen in the continental united states
and that’s counting the grand canyon, baby.
I have stood above that yawning tear in the ground and tossed my voice into it, practising idiocy and ventriloquism and other interchangeable words like that
and like a man carved from stone I stood there, watching, listening, waiting with a patience borne of desperation,
but after a few thousand lungfuls of broken glass there was no reply and I
left.
I pulled your favourite move and I
left,
alone.
so what do we have now? a car, the change in our pockets and each other?
it sounds romantic as **** but you've always been the poet here.
I'm just the guy who sits behind this frozen wheel and drives
because it’s easier than warming my hands
and when I tear your heart out the cold
numbs your chest so you can’t even feel it.
have you ever felt anything? have you felt me, baby?
has this whole ******* existence of mine been in vain?
because your lip jutting out is like a shard of broken glass and I've got
the oddest premonition that it can slice me to ribbons
if you would just move your head and look at me.
baby, please. look at me.
let me know I'm alive so I can die for you.

the other day
I filled up my tank
and got the cost to a clean dollar amount
right on the dot.
seeing that .00,
I thought it would feel great.
it really wasn't all that exciting.
I just figured it was all too expensive anyway
and so I just left.

somebody once told me,
"we fell in love with each other's words,
not each other's hearts."
well, I don't get it.
don't words come from your heart?
you're lucky you even got them.
I mean, we are what we say, right?
like, what would we be
if we had the sweetest hearts
but said the meanest things?
would we be liars?
who's to say?
if you were showered in flower petals of sweet nothing's,
then that person's heart must at least believe
what the mouth is spilling,
right?
I don't know.
maybe I'm just confused.

but ignoring somebody.
when ignoring happens,
the heart doesn't "think" about anything at all.
and it probably hasn't for a while.
so, thanks.

desperately
attempt an escape
from cliché
and doing so
live another

midnight musings
jotted down in
cluttered notebooks

they never seem as grand
as they did
with heavy eyelids

kiss my spine
so intimate
your flaming breath
seeps through me
as if the years have made me porous

trace the silhouette
of my calloused fingers
and linger
on the ridges of my wrist
you shiver
I resist
the temptation of escape

rest your head against my own
so heavy with memories
the sinking weight
of stories never told

I taste your breath
I taste your empathy
I taste the words
you never said