to the west of here
promising clouds are forming
they'll gift needed rain

I've become empty enough to the point where i can't form words
or actions
to describe it.

I've officially gone beyond definition.

I need to know
That I won't wake up tomorrow
To cold sheets
And a new hole
In my heart

I need to know
That a few sips
Or a whole fifth
Won't make you
Forget me

I need to know
That I can give you
All I have and more
And you will stay
Until our inevitable
Separation

I need to know
That you will be
My best friend
And believe in me
When I can't believe
In myself

I just need to know
That love can last
Forever

just listen:
I gave him two dollars and he blushed at me blushing at him blushing for you-
“I know that’s your girl man, I’m sorry, here, keep it”
no, you need it more than me, I smile.  “that’s your girl man”
it’s not a hard sentiment.
and maybe we’re more alike than we realize;
you’re buying me my first sword tomorrow, and you taught me how to blow smoke rings
that reach the skies quietly.
poetically incorrect go-getter and psychotic backwards ******* we are,
waiting for six o’clock

I'm cold cold cold.
My parent's house is not the escape I was looking for.
I lock myself in here without the heat to prove a point.
What point, you ask?
Well, uhhhh, I don't know.

I dug out an old sweatshirt from 6th grade basketball.
It's still too big.
If  I stretch my arms out towards the lack of sky
My tiny, chubby, baby hands peek through.
They are very cold.
I wonder if our babies will have my hands or Javin's.

I could never be a communist.
The theoretical kind of communism, of course.
I am very territorial.

You can tell me
in remarkable detail
about how you ****** that guy
not once
  but twice
    in the handicap stall
      of the first floor bathroom.

I won't judge you
or think less of you
or even blink
as you tell me
how he finished all over your face
and you licked up
  every
    last
      drop.

No, I'll sit there quietly,
  listening intently,
    because, to be honest,
      it doesn't bother me.

But if you stare at me
with hungry eyes
or comment on how "****" I look
or even offer to please me
without any sort of reciprocation
because you just want to make me feel good,
I will tense up,
shut down,
  retreat into my metaphorical cave,
    and only reemerge
      when the coast is clear.

Yes, you can tell me
  all about your *** life,
    but I don't even want to think
      about mine.