we talked about how I
seem to be noticing girls
more than guys.
how that the way some
of these beautiful women
speak
          look
                  act
                        are
makes my
lips quiver
makes my
heart skip beats
makes my
mind race with thoughts.

I thought maybe I could
control these feelings but
the dreams I have of the
faceless woman has shone
that I'm anything but
                s
         t
                    r
       a
               i
                      g
         h
               t

it is funny, you will be dead some day.
By you the mouth hair eyes,and i mean
the unique and nervously obscene

need;it’s funny.  They will all be dead

knead of lustfulhunched deeplytoplay
lips and stare the gross fuzzy-pash
—dead—and the dark gold delicately smash….
grass,and the stars,of my shoulder in stead.

It is a funny,thing.  And you will be

and i and all the days and nights that matter
knocked by sun moon jabbed ****** with ecstasy
….tremble (not knowing how much better

than me will you like the rain’s face and

the rich improbable hands of the Wind)

it's sunrise, love.
warm light beckons
and filters through the glass.
I've been awake for hours
and I've been studying every inch of you
like a scientist.
the heat of your skin
radiates from your bones.
so strong,
yet in your most vulnerable state.
I like to lay in the hazy dawn
letting shadows and light
make a kaleidoscope show
only for us.
blankets billow waves around us
and you are my boat.
I am a sailor
and I am an explorer.
you, a brave new world, untouched.
the gentle curve of your spine
is tidal.
we are magnets.
it's gravity
pulling us closer
until we gently collide
at daybreak

Cut me open and i bleed ink
break my bones and they turn to dust
steal my breath with a quick gun shot to the heart
and my rip cage with break open with flowers
watered from the wound
leave me alone
and bleeding
because its not any different
from the nights i spent in my room
on the floor
clutching a bottle of whiskey
bleeding on the inside
its no different
just this time
you actually cared to notice
because you didn't have to look hard
my white shirt was now red
and my hands shook a little harder than usual.
This isn't any more pain
then feeling alone
and empty
and having to force a smile
at the dinner table
forcing yourself to make conversation
forcing yourself to get up from your bed  
when you hear your mom call dinner.
This pain you just can't describe as well
because although you've felt like every breath hurt
and your chest had a huge gaping hole
and your head screamed like it was splitting open
and your body shook.
But you don't have to describe this pain
because although it feels the same
you trying to breath does hurt because your heart doesn't want to work with a hole there
one you can see
and your head did split open form falling to the ground
and your body is shaking because your cold
so cold.
The pain on the inside would still be worse.
Even without having a bullet finding a place to stay in your chest.
And no one noticed.
But i can't blame them,
because my shirt is still white
and my hands are only shaking from not eating all day
and too many cigarettes
and i have a headache from lack of sleep
or from the lights on this city street i'm walking.
But hey, at least i'm still alive.. right?
For now at least.
Maybe i will walk this dark alley.

If freckles were lovely, and day was night,
And measles were nice and a lie warn’t a lie,
Life would be delight,—
But things couldn’t go right
For in such a sad plight
I wouldn’t be I.

If earth was heaven and now was hence,
And past was present, and false was true,
There might be some sense
But I’d be in suspense
For on such a pretense
You wouldn’t be you.

If fear was plucky, and globes were square,
And dirt was cleanly and tears were glee
Things would seem fair,—
Yet they’d all despair,
For if here was there
We wouldn’t be we.

it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another’s,and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart,as mine in time not far away;
if on another’s face your sweet hair lay
in such silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be,i say if this should be—
you of my heart,send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands

the walls are caving in,
the house is falling.
im trapped under the rubble and
i can't get up.