We were sweating, and moving together, like animals.
It wasn't enough that we took our mothers pills,
and filled our pockets with sugar.
We needed more,
we needed to kiss and dance,
feel something soft against our bodies.

I wanted you to justify your actions
with something more than a side-ways glance,
but you don't care to explain yourself,
because you seem to do things for no reason.

We were too sensual for casual conversation,
and although we talked all day,
we didn't know what our tones meant,
or how to answer each other's questions.

I wanted to feed you chocolate,
and feel your hands on my sides,
but for some reason you wanted to tell me jokes,
and use your hands for other things.

We were holding on in small ways,
secret ways that made people stare,
and wonder if we were in love,
even though they knew we weren't.

I wanted to consume as many chemicals as I could,
because the ones we shared were worth close to nothing.

I want to live my life backwards,
so that the things that I say will come out right.
I've been spending my time sober in a place that doesn't exist,
and in the end I forgot everything because I was blind(ed).

I'm glad he remembered how good of a kisser I was,
because I didn't forget how good he was either.
He asked me why my hands were so cold
and I said the feeling must have seeped from my heart.

The night went on, we acted like cousins.
It was bitter, but I sat and waited for it to taste good.
His hand was clenched with a fist full of my hair.
We were silent. I felt comfort in his grasp.

We walked, our legs untangled and silent,
the sparkles in the street made the breeze control my heart,
and my legs screamed, burning for more,
begging for closeness, yearning for someone else's skin.

I tried to explain how I felt, but things always come out like pearl laced clouds,
and I don't want my pain to be beautiful,
because that somehow makes it okay.
At one point you realize that it's easier if you just stop caring.

I fell asleep,
dreaming of your blood shot eyes
I woke up,
to an earthquake of emotion
I gave in,
to the fragile smile of a timid boy
I gave up,
to the words that held me down
I went to,
a place with people
I left,
and sang about their hats
their dreams
and then,
I danced their ambitions
I fell asleep,
to the song of your splattered eyes
I woke up,
to the reality that they never belonged to me.

Time smiled and killed our friendship
I think it was the day after
we discussed our body fabric.
It was because we needed the smell
of flowers to keep us sane,
but you were allergic
and I cut myself on too many thorns.
I swear I never meant to break your piano,
or ruin the carpet with my kool-aid drenched hair.

You said a lot of things would **** me,
now that I think about it,
you always used to get mad about my addiction to coffee,
and that untitled man that sat at our table.

I never understood why cats like it when you rub their necks,
I didn't like it when you used to rub mine,
I guess because it made me feel like a cat.
You know I never liked animals.

Life has gotten cold as time has worn on,
and my face has worn out,
because I have to wear it everyday,
and I've forgotten a lot of things,
so I use thinking as an alternate to dreams.

I've always thought I needed kisses to live,
but when I lie with my mouth open,
my cheeks break under the weight,
and I can't talk with my tongue in your mouth.

here i sit,
waiting.

waiting to
get thin,
get rich,
get renown.

knowing that soon
i will only drive in sunsets,
the radio will only play the sweetest jazz set-lists,
and the young girls will all be whistling.

here i sit,
waiting.

waiting for
original love,
substantial proof for christianity,
and absolution.

knowing that soon,
i'll be respected for wisdom,
*** appeal,
and my national pride.

here i sit,
waiting.

I knocked on your door at 3 AM because I was cold,
but you let me inside for different reasons.
I was wearing my mother's jacket and perfume
and I think you thought I was her,
but my lips are fuller and my hands are harder.
I felt your smile and you felt mine,
and you told me about being gone
so we left.

I held a whirlwind of your emotions in my hand
and it was the first time I'd felt so much
without even moving.
You asked me to throw them, but I couldn't do it,
so I put them in my coat pocket and cried without telling you.
There was something you whispered to me
at half past six that is sitting in that pocket, too,
but I just can't bring myself to look for it.

And the whole time I was waiting for you to hit me;
I had to keep reminding myself that I wasn't her.
In the passion of your memories
you would grab my hand and shake it,
the weird part was that I let you, I didn't protest.

You were kind at 9 AM when I left because I was warm,
but you pushed me out the door for reasons I don't understand.
Maybe because I wasn't her,
or maybe you just needed your sleep--
but I am content with a pocket full of your emotions and memories,
and you are content being alone.

It's a mirror in the doorway that tells me I can look no further.
I am not experienced, like you.
I don't know how to defy this.
I don't think gravity is on my side;
nor luck or love.
I wonder why, sometimes.

It feels like summer in winter
if I think of you with my eyes closed.
And there's something kicking at the edge of my mind,
like a skeleton tired of being locked away
and tired of trying to read in the dark.
The bulb is burnt out.
I can't see anymore than you can,
but at least you have the key to the closet.

I meant to be this and that
and all the things you used to get mad at me for being.
I'm not sure why you're so simple,
so feeble.
When I used to admire your heart I would sit on my knees
so that when my feet went numb I could feel the pin-***** of waking up.

Now you've been sleeping for years,
and I know, at this point, that I'm not Prince Charming.
You've told me nearly a million times.
Or at least your lips have,
as they mouth the words of your death,
like a diabetic child ******* on a forbidden lollipop.
I still can't seem to miss you.

2morrow, I will go 2 a dance party.
I will drnk chocolate milk.
I will fake an orgzm,
or mbe I won't try that hard.
It's all up in da air at dis point.

I'm sure that 2day my mother died,
I felt it & I knew ILY,
IDK if my mind is R;
each breath I take is JFF
and I can't seem to con't.

On tiptoes,
I am finally feeling
the coldness and tears
falling consequently from your heated choice.
I do not credit you passion
or even courage—
simply the naïve ability
to run away
as if life is a game of tag
where you will never be "it."
But, you must see, what would be the point of playing
if the same person was always chasing?