The Second Day of the First Hour
I was with flowing fingertips, breathing
as I enticed the thoughtkin to dance with me.
They're seemingly flimsy
at times, somewhat silly but
they are beautiful in motion.

The Third Week of the Second Minute
I asked them to come fly with me so that
we could swing from the brightest stars and
be little monsters in space to fully embrace
our alien lifeforms

The Fourth Month of the Third Second**
I carved heaven in the road
and walked slowly to
read it's every inch

I'm in Love with the World,
Don't Take it personally.
It's not yours to Have,
But it's ours to Feel.
We are the World,
and I'm in Love.

I'm a new writer
And I already need time away from writing
Because all I want to write about
is you

When I think about writing
When I think about poetry
You are the first and the only thing
that comes into my mind

You are poetry incarnate
You are my muse
and I need you to be not

I need time away from poetry
because I see you in every one
I said I'll stop for a while
but here I am again
including you in my writing
Writing about me not wanting to write about you

It hurts
Every time I write, it hurts
As it keeps reminding me
that I didn't get you
That in this world,
there's not a happy ending story
of you and me

Look.
Don't.

These are the two greatest choices
someone can make.

The *art is present.
The art is present.
The art is now!
Look.
Don't.

These are the two greatest choices.

The artist is present.

did they know -
their lives were all being recorded
every little microexpression, every
reaction to every perception -
branded onto reels of film

when they're dead and gone
their lives will be played back for them
and their reactions will be recorded
little did they know -

Love is further than the tip of my tongue,
closer than my fingertips, and
deeper than my fullest breath.

Safe (or so I thought)
in my home, I stand, solemn.
Bodies line my doorways and
faces fill every one of my windows.

Some of them drool, and
some of them snicker.  
Eyeballs undress me,
I feel them groping.

They want to get inside me.
They want to look around.

Every single day,
you stand there, facing me.
A mirror image, another face, staring.
A pair of eyes in the safety of my own home.

Why don't you just rip my insides out?

Dig your nails into me.
Squeeze me until I pop!
Let my guts ooze out on the floor,
and smear them around for everyone to see.

Slice me down the seams,
and take me apart.

Lay my pieces down
in an organized fashion,
easily put together again.

Let 'em look.

—gasp—
I'm outside, drooling in the window, watching.
Face: 'Hehe it's intriguing, isn't it? From the outside looking in?'
Me: 'Yeah...'
Face: 'It's just morbid curiosity — don't feel bad.'
—sigh—

I'm naked,
inside out.

I'd say it's all for you, but
you're just a broken mirror.