Her confession for lack of a better word
Was confusing
Like that one time we lived in that house made of paper
And chain smoked
Till the draft came in
Just in case you didn’t know
You have to love someone
Before you don’t love them anymore
And you have to put the hell inside of me
Before you scare it out
It was almost as bad as that one time I was gunned down
On the corner of
Bad luck
And lonely
Maybe love has its casualties
But you can’t be a martyr for it
You can’t say you stuck around
Despite my anything
The door has always been right there
And I have always been right here
Perfectly human

So don’t **** the dawn
For rising the sun
Or expect the earth to stop spinning
Don’t tell me you don’t want me to love you
I’ll do it in secret
Like that one time
I sent you flowers
Signed
That other guy

The current love of your life
Perfect because of whatever
I couldn’t care less

Just
let’s go back a few years in time
So I can write you this note
“Check if you like me
Check if you don’t
Check if you’ll **** me
Check if you won’t”

No?
Too bad
I am two tall cans into this poem already
Least now
You’ve managed to put the hell in me
And as for martyrs
What do they do again?
Really
I just don’t wanna die lonely

Indescribably brilliantly unique, that's you.

Racing through your veins is a something,
A liquid fire,
The spark of newborn infinite life.
Here, you say, here is where I want to live, pointing to a picture in a magazine.
Even though you know it's not
Realistic, you still dare to dream.

Like a song born of the stars, like
Opening my eyes to moonlight, you've given me
Very little and yet
Everything my soul needs.

You and I are not forever, I say. You know. You know
One day we'll die, one day we'll make our homes
Underground.

some people
(like me)
don't necessarily expect
an ending. we just
write and write
and figure we
probably won't ever
run out of words.

other people
(like you)
put an algorithm to it
write an equation for it
comment on style
and tone and metaphor

i know what those words mean
and how and when and why to use them.
i just don't give a **** about stuff like that.

they say
plant your fingertips against something
solid and concentrate on what is at hand
but all I have been able to see behind my eyelids
for many months is your face
and the wood resounds with the beating of your heart

love is a sad kind of trouble
for, knowing what its like to
exist unwavering in perfect happiness,
I have the days I have to fake my way through it.

Plant your fingertips against something solid and concentrate.
I put my hands on your heart, I focus on your rhythm.

I don’t intend to die
before my time
but often
feel the sting
of dead intentions