How to be a *****.  Step one, find a lover, preferably one of the same gender and do not render yourself completely helpless against her charm, don’t hold her too close because her eyes are fire and you must be the moth dancing seductively close to the flame but don’t mame yourself with her words, don’t forget that she’s leaving in a month and you the moth only lives a few days don’t fall in love with her, that would be gay.
Step two, get another lover, preferably one who is awkward and cute, someone who can flip you on your back and pin you but doesn’t because he is gentle someone who fills himself with your smile and takes solace in the fact that just because you’re **** buddies doesn’t mean you’re not making love, but soon he’ll discard you, not like a broken glass he won’t smash you. More like an apology an epilogue to a song you didn’t know you knew the words to. He will remind you, you are human,
acquire a third someone poetic, you know these are just safety nets in case the first one leaves you, you heave through the pain of every meeting but you still worship your first as if she wasn’t your curse but your lover, but you can’t love her.
Step four; have *** with them, this might seem like an obvious choice but if the voice in your head says it’s a good thing that this fling isn’t fool proof prove them wrong you’re allowed to say no sometimes
Step five: Stay alive amongst the bodies huddled close, don’t fall in love with the first, she is not well rehearsed or as well versed as the third don’t miss your second, not the way he beckoned you closer and don’t hold her, don’t hold her don’t love her, don’t kiss her, don’t miss her just **** her she’s your *** toy and you’re hers don’t fall for her.
Step six: solitude is simple, measure the space between his dimples on the off chance he’s ever smiling, the timing is perfect but you can’t purchase another round of bullets for this gun, it’s all fun and games just don’t lose it, don’t love it just like the flame
step seven: minutes in heaven is your new best friend, because a new pair of lips will remind you that you’re not as alone as you know you are
step eight: debate telling her how you feel and throwing away the third, but then say no because after tomorrow she’ll be gone and your hands will be tied to his bedposts where they belong
step nine: cry. Because you couldn’t stop yourself from falling and calling her name as you felt the soft grass beneath you.
step ten: send a quick message to the second, thanking him for showing you that it is possible for you to mean something to someone without hurting them. Let him know that before this you thought that destruction was your only coping mechanism because you have destroyed so many before him and now things have changed.
Hold her. You know deep down inside that you can’t hide from the way you feel you can’t exchange your emotions for a safety net you just have to let the pain sink in.

I hate the word beautiful, but it’s all that I can think of right now, there’s the sounds you make when I grab you and the color of the bites on your neck but there’s nothing in between the rapid heartbeats in my chest and the next best thing sitting beside me, you could hide from me, put yourself in a little parcel and package your mind up for sale until you’ve sailed half way to Australia, you could have lied about your past and cast aside a shadow of a doubt but instead when I settled down beside you, your unexplainably soft lips touched the tips of my fingers and lingered on my hips and dipped beneath me whispering beautiful.
I hate the world beautiful, its cliché. Thesaurus’ are made for a reason, I’m caught up in the changing of the seasons and it would be treason to say there is a more fitting word that I’ve heard about you but… I’d really rather not admit to thinking your be-
When the snow softly falls on the lit trees in the moonlight, or the message lights up the screen on your phone and the butterflies in your stomach start to scream. There really isn’t another word for your eyes blood shot and captured by passion, I only have some idea of the way you taste but I’d hasten a guess that it’s sweeter than sugar. That! Was cliché, but hey… please say you’ll forgive me for being so **** forward.
The smoke in this room makes my eyes squint, if you could take a hint instead of taking a hit we’d be a lot closer than we are. Thanks to Mary Jane, and if it’s all the same to you I’d like to say that you are handsome, attractive, be-
I dislike the word beautiful because it’s trivial, of course I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t think you were hot. Because ******* do I? Not a volcano, you’re molten lava, after the fires of Pompeii. You’ve single handily wrecked me, crashing into your shore I’m sure you still stretch out your arms to heal the burns left by your fellow man. I can’t stand when I’m around you, my knees quiver and I shiver from head to toe. I must really think you’re beautiful
And I am not about to deny that for every word I’d rather use the word you like best is the most appropriate. And it’s a scientific fact though it’s not backed up by experiments but experience; I’ve found a new way to exercise my right to use something redundant. Here’s my poetic licence, you can check the date of its expiry, I’ve hardly gotten to know you but I know I want to hold you while it’s snowing outside and hide with you from our not quite forgotten fears. So here I am, standing quietly. Stripped of my superfluous splendor and you still look at me in awe, everything is still in this darkness and this snow, I’m not trying to be an actress for you, this isn’t a show I’m just here so you know that it’s true. Your tongue traces your lips and you murmur.
beautiful.

Sometimes I wonder if I’m really alive, maybe this is just all a sick joke.
Then the pain in the core of my existence pounds against my rib cage
I realize that a pain that strong can’t be faked.

Sometimes I place my hands on my neck and squeeze just to make sure my pulse is real.
Because it seems I live in this parallel life of pain and numb happiness.
I’d give anything to be happy all the time.
But I’m bleeding inside.

Sometimes I feel like I’m completely alone and abandoned
like the stray on the side of the road
I push through today one step at a time.
I’m not real, is all I hear.

You know I’d forfeit it all,
for another night with you.

If his eyes were stars she would wish upon them.
Perhaps then, he would look to her the same way.
If his breath were a poet she would hang upon it’s every expression.
Wishing for a day where her remarks would take his breath away.
She drinks in his breath, as if it would give life to her dull bones.
If he could tell her how she made his life light up like a Christmas candle.
She would blush at every line.
Her lips puckered with ****** request.
It was the most innocent of caresses. She held onto ignorance
with no wish of letting go.
Because when she’s with him, the voices don’t cry so loudly
she could write ten thousand poems about his gentle eyes.
Describing every part of it she would sweep with her damp burnt, licked lips.
Drawn into a line to stop the flow of words she wishes to whisper.
So she doesn’t open her dark bat filled mouth to his spring filled questions.
In the obscurity, she imagines his soft hand next to hers.
She sings a lullaby into his ears, and he wishes he could kiss her.
And she wishes he could too.
As of now, she’ll cry out to the voices to hush themselves.
And the dusk to enlighten her,
She cannot see the light at the end of tunnel; this façade is blocking the way.
All she knows is that she needs him closer.
If he could tell her a thousand times that the sun shone down from the heavens and through her expression.
She would glance down at the floor and hear.
He’s lying. ҉

If only my heart beat in syncopation with my mind.
I wish to make the words collide, but separation is all I can find.
Still I force my hand to tell a tale a soul would plead to hear.
I pray to some cigarette and wine stained God that tomorrow will draw me near.
Yes, tomorrow I would fly high and caress the sky with such a tender touch.
But tonight I am buried, beneath emotion uncontrolled and contorted.
Tonight I cannot so much as separate a single strand of hair from my eyes without the flood of passion.
Pass the salt, pour it onto my self-inflicted wound we so often refer to as love.
But my love has been bruised burnt and destroyed.
I have cursed, killed and polluted my own mind with thoughts of sickness, and now I crave it.
Had I only believed the goodness in myself?
Not let the demons creep up and **** all hope of a new beginning.
Had I so simply as smiled and thanked the lady when she spoke, the gentle kisses of her soft words had pulled my mind from where it had been.
too where I am now.
There are no words. No motions, no belief.
I am Godless and covered in the spit of my immortal demons.
Would it be better if I simply let them win…
their knives are as sharp and their whip is warm.
Their sick pretend grace causes my hands to reach for them. But they’re not there.
Not here, I am without my demons, my lover, my God, my destroyer.
I am alone.