I've known you for three years and I still don't know whether that is red lipstick or blood on your lips.

Sleep
   Is gripping at the fringes of her mind.
         Calling her
    Into the black velvet blanket of
                         Unconsciousness...

Beckoning her
                         in an almost sensual way
     She
       Resists,
            Pushes,
                Sighs.
     And gives in. Gives in to the melting sensation, the state of rest.

As time stands still...
                                       movement stops.
As little pictures play inside her head,
          Telling her...
Sleep
          is
               on
                     its
                                    way

"They keep calling him lucky" my mama
says
reading about a boy so desperate as to
climb
into the wheel well of an airplane
and fly to Hawaii.

They keep callin him lucky.

Temperatures of -80 degrees, almost completely depressurized.
Says only 18 people have ever survived.

They keep callin him lucky and I can't help but wonder if he passed out from lack of air, or simply lack of life.

Says he ran away from his family yet people keep callin him lucky.

I think of ever time I lift off
how many boys got their eyes on my plane
wishing they could be me?

He was desperate enough to
crawl into what he must have known to be
certain death.

Yet they keep callin him lucky.

i dream about
that girl
that girl
who can wear that
dress
and smoke
after school

she can let her
hair down
even on the hot days
and let it fall
and dance
on the small of her back

she breaths in
the lethal fumes
that don't even touch her
her porcelain skin
too taut to let the
poisons in

she sits and lets
the sun melt on her face
as she lays on the freshly
cut grass
the boys staring
and her not caring

i sit and stare
at that girl
who sits and stares
right back at me
through the smoke
of my infinite
dreams

i sit there with
the cool wind
breezing against my face
while the summer sizzles
on my shoulders

your golden thigh
sticks to my skin
as we drive to the game
every ******* week

the boys
they sit in the back
and pack their lips
and talk **** about
the girls

the girls
who don't realize
that they're their easy targets
who skip around
in their short, tight
dresses

they talk about their waists
and the way they like to moan
every little imperfection
all avail have they shown

they think that it makes them buff
they think that it makes them cool
and i let them light their egos
and sometimes i chirp on too

but yet i sit and listen
and sometimes i think
they don't realize that i'm a girl
too

i don't know how i feel about that

There are a couple things
I've been missing in my
life before now.
1) Scenery,
and,
2) you