"I'm drunk" she said as she clutched onto my arm
Her hair dangling off her shoulder flickering in the wind
And her eyes glinting as they reflected the street lights.

Her heels quaked at the uneven concrete and she giggled
She wobbled, tightening her grip bringing me closer
Each step she took was a little bit messy and incredibly charming.

She stopped mid stride and turned to me
Standing so close that I could feel the wisps of her flowing skirt
Dance across my thigh.

Her lips parted just a small amount
And mischief flickered in her eyes
She leaned forward grasping at my neck

Inches away from my hesitant lips
She whispered something coy
And she spun on her heel with as much grace as her drunken self could muster

"If I were a boy" she said, her back now to me
"I'd think you were my world"
And before I could inquire more our cab pulled up.

And we, were headed home.

They left a bible for our viewing pleasure
To tame our souls
As if fables can cure the twisted minds
That lurk beneath our skulls.

They left a bible for our burning pleasure
And we watched the flames eat the pages
Smiling as they screamed "you are ******!"
We didn't listen.

We sit in silence
To others we are awkward
To us we are infinite
Propelled by the fuel
That sits in our cups
And the lust that echoes in
Our sighs.

There's eyes in the back of my head
and fingers,
outstretched,
looking for anything they can

for something,
though they do not know what
A smile - A wink
A feeling in their gut

Something found, yet never read
Something that words just cannot capture
Their voice inside your head
The feelings of a rapture

A love, so fresh
that it could never be again
The feeling of new fingerprints
held tightly in your hand

A high
Unlike any substance can procure
Someone who understands you
who wants to feel what you endure

I've felt it once before,
yet no matter how I try,
I cannot recreate it
and I still cannot find why

Love is the answer,
that's what Rivers sings to me
But it's also a cancer,
and it makes no difference
what you believe

I could paint a thousand pictures
But they still would not equate
To the meaning behind your words.

I am from inconsistency,
forced adjustment,
eternally molding in a feeble attempt to appease my demanding environment.

I am from the loophole of the universe with no purpose,
few absolutes,
and a limited amount of time.

From laugh tracks,
reminding me when to laugh,
and for how long.

From the boredom at the bottom,
I've been Thriving in the *** trough,
endlessly scrounging for solutions and temporary entertainment.

From redundant ideas and places,
stale bread,
flat coke,
familiar situations and words.

On a screen in america

Snow is a thing that glistens when it's new
Children stare wide eyed in anticipation
Of christening the fresh fluff with boot trails
And snow angels and men.

But as the days get shorter
And the nights grow longer
It begins to dim and dull to a grey suit
Covering the soft green grass
And chilling the warming air.

Until it comes to a point where
One cannot help but wish
That winter would take the hint
And simply turn to spring.

Crooked smiles passed between
The rims of crystal wine glasses
And glimpses of someone else's yesterday
Whispered through pursed lips.

Delicate painted hands clasped
In laps fiddling with cashmere sweaters
And patent leather shoes
Tapping to the rhythm of expectation.

Through superficial pity and catty eyes
The lives of others were discussed
And though each teller would deny it
They revelled in the others sin

Building their own morals up
And blinding themselves to their own faults.
But in mothers dining room it's clear to see
The traits they share are wickedness and vanity.