I’m sitting here drunk on stolen ***
Staring at the bottle I’ve been drinking from
Empty of virtue, empty of sin
Wishing for a swig of hundred-year gin.
My thoughts are wandering, or nonexistent,
Anything that comes is insufficient.
It’s just a craving to fill a space
Left by someone who stole my taste.
It’s not the juice that has me tipsy
Considering I’ve been playing gypsy
Travelling to nowhere, dragging my heart
Watching my soul being spread apart.
It’s the fear of falling, both in love and out,
Never knowing what you’re about.
It’s the sense of drowning, of being pulled under,
Of feeling the crash but empty of thunder,
The mixed interactions, the constant rash questions,
Attempting to sprint nine different directions,
Seeing you write all the truths I’ve been told
Then watching each lie slowly gently unfold.
It’s sickening me, I thought I knew you
Until I saw your true colors come through.
I felt secure, as though I had sight
Dancing and kissing under forty watt light
Singing and laughing, feeling your touch,
Then experiencing the words “this is too much.”
It’s like standing on concrete and feeling it crack
Opening a paintbox and finding all black.
I’m so over this game, this half-hearted living
Falling for feelings that aren’t so forgiving
But I can’t seem to detach myself from the curse
It’s a destructive addiction, and it only gets worse.
I’m not even angry, I don’t even want blood,
I’m just sick of feeling like I’m running in mud
So I need some protection, a blanket I’ve sewn
Of lessons I’ve learned and people I’ve known.
It’s not that I’m fearful, I still want the passion,
I’m just not getting trampled by your misguided actions.
In a sense I’m surrounded, my heart’s walls are high
But I’m willing to open if you’re willing to try.
Don’t think that you have to be perfect for me
Just tell me the truth, allow me to see.
We can even forget to give it a name
Friendly but physical, I can play that game
Just whatever you do, don’t call it love
Cause that isn’t the feeling I was thinking of.
If we can be honest, we can be friends
But as far as I care, that’s where it ends.
So as I huddle alone, soft focused with wine
No sense of direction, just killing time
I expose my still heart, and find it rubbed raw
From escaping the weight of confusion’s cold claw
I’m drinking it numb, constricting the light
Fervently sipping the froth of a pint
It makes me uneasy, but goes down like silk
As though I’m gulping thick sweetened milk
I need a sense of emotional healing
But crave the completeness of warm unfeeling
I want to get high, but then it’s easy to fall
Deliciously nervous then crushed from it all
So I’d rather shoot whisky, let it burn down my throat
Contemplate every ****** I wrote
Purposefully killing whatever’s inside
So I can forget about it, stop trying to hide
Each time I felt stupid, each time I got ******
Gripping for something that didn’t exist.
But don’t think this stopped me, I’ll sober up soon
But you’ll always be hung-over past noon.
Your selfishness suits you, so I guess the ultimate test
Is seeing whose love life comes out for the best.
I’m not one for pining, I’ve had my last drink
Contrary to what ever **** you might think
I’m telling you otherwise, if you think that I care
Please get over yourself and try growing a pair.

Sometimes I see you better with my eyes closed
When my gaze stops counting the lines in your forehead
And the number of times you lick your lips
And the freckles on your back.

When I let my eyelids come between my vision and you
The room becomes very crowded even though we’re the only people in it
And I suddenly see your secrets that everyone knows and your complexities become understandable.
Your worldly yet mellow curiosity teaches me to never underestimate doubt
And when I see your laughter I remember to forget.

Sometimes we’re very distant neighbors
But when I close my eyes that distance shrinks
When I can comprehend your passion as elegantly simple
And your peace as a strong weakness.

Your loyalty teaches me to quit quitting
And your determination proves itself bittersweet.

The silence of that never-ending moment roars through my ears
But I like it, and I keep listening.

Maybe it’s not right, but it’s true
Everything I see about you can be seen with closed eyes,
Everything that was hiding right in front of me becomes exposed in the darkness.

And so far what I’ve noticed is that
When you take out all the perfection, what’s left is a deadly beautiful contradiction.
I’m just an average catastrophe
But I’m hoping against hope that I’m right
And that you’re completely unique just like all the others.

I think I love you, you precious ****
Your every flaw, your every quirk
That painful glare, your disregard
Your comebacks when they’re cold and hard

I maybe love the way it stings
The times you tell me awful things
Your smile when it’s dripping pride
And disrespects the other side

When your conceit controls your vision
Exposing your sinful disposition
When you laugh, and it’s like a threat
A joke that only you can get

I think I love you and your ***** smirk
The way you lie like fixed clockwork
Your callused hands, your rough raw lips
Your wandering gaze, the way it slips

I just might love the way you boast
The way you yell, but still get close
Your abrasive touch, your shifting whims
Your deceptions, their countless victims

I could be wrong, I could be senseless
But within my heart I feel defenseless
There might be something wrong with me
But I truly love your flawed beauty.

Marshmallow-roasting. While untwisting the wire can be tricky, the rewards greatly exceed the inevitable poking and stabbing.
2. A bow for your pretend arrows. Especially handy for when those pesky backyard monsters are after you, and your pretend gun is out of bullets.
3. Beating up your little brother when he refuses to give you one of his animal crackers. Truth.
4. “You lock your keys in your car?”         “Nope, just washed it. Hanging it up to dry.”
5. You know that impossible-to-reach spot directly in the middle of your back that itches constantly due to Murphy’s Law? Well not anymore…
6. Perfect for poking air holes in the shoebox where you keep the pet ladybug you found at the lake. What, like you never did that?
7. A pirate’s hook. Isn’t that what they were made for? Just clip all that pesky “hanging” part off the bottom.
8. A necklace. Okay, not a very pretty necklace, but I’m running out of creative ideas here.
9. If you make a particularly large sandwich and a toothpick simply won’t do, straighten out the coat hanger… three feet of wire may be big enough to hold your monster meal together properly.
10. Pierce your tongue with the pointy end. Hey, I didn’t say these were good ideas.
11. When you see a member of the opposite *** you find attractive, “accidentally” catch the fabric of their shirt in the curved end as you walk past them. They won’t think it’s weird at all that you like to carry coat hangers with you.
12. Instant toilet paper hanger.
13. Oh wait, you can actually use it to hang coats in your closet, can’t you?

Somewhere, Mother Nature’s breath floats
Under a patch of crying sky
And a sunset’s crayon box is reflected
In the aviators of a thousand clouds.

Here, the mind’s altar chooses
The union of human thought and infinite atmosphere
And a blue field pretending to be heaven
Turns mortal vision into kaleidoscope dreams.

Somewhere, love is worn not ragged,
But on the skin of a body that knows the touch of life’s electricity
And chocolate kisses melt on tongues
In the mouths of a thousand faces that refuse to turn away.

Here, the body’s compass creates
Direction and vision rather than following it
And glowing heartbeats bound in red ribbon
Are cast into the wind and caught in old jam jars that illuminate with their fire.

Somewhere, a beautiful stranger’s thoughts are woven
Between a street performer’s nylon guitar strings
And the space around a piano key
Ripples with the color of a thousand unspoken wishes.

Here, the soul’s music dances
In the kingdom of the sound
And expression overflows into a single note
Because conversation is too light to bear the weight.

Somewhere, butterflies fall
Into the ashes of burning desire
And bitter secrets burst open to scream
The harvest of a thousand agonies.

Here, the spirit’s window shatters
Into infinite jagged shards of jealousy and greed
And no matter how soothing, the dark of the night
Never sings them to sleep.

Where angels make conditional love
My mind makes chalkboard scribbles
And sepia dreams flood through the skylight of my vision
And I wake up to a world where
Love is real
And pain is proof
And lukewarm living is not an option.

Here, the world’s seven wonders are immeasurable
Tiny explosions called happiness and freedom and peace
But the human eye is blind to this miracle.

Give me something that’s in my nature to love
Something to drink that’s thick and sweet
Something to listen to that’s ridiculous and beautiful
Something to preside over disturbance.

Give me something to turn plastic poetry to risky lyrics that fall off my teeth
Something to shove my tongue into that’s warm and receiving
Something to send a shiver through my subzero lungs
Something to stir my personal life to keep it from burning.

Give me something sensational to breathe in when the oxygen is stale
Something to wrap my arms around when they’re screaming
Something to lick that’s delicious and crazy
Something to stop my mind running and allow it a place to rest.

I’m asking this of you because
I’m torn between caution and cupidity,
Trying to maintain the majesty of whatever moment we’re in,
And my fear cannot be remedied by your silence.

While you sit still with your lanky arms crossed and your wet lips together
I’m busy fanning fate’s flames because I care too much.
While your depths prove endlessly interesting
Your eyes do not shift, they do not express, they do not think.
My loneliness is clinical, quantifiable, combustible material for tears.
I’m sick of making love on triviality
I’d rather be ******* over by passion.
My back aches and my tongue is thirsty and my heart craves everything
And each of them has been given only enough to sustain, not enough to thrive.

Thank you for the sepia tone dreams
and the coffee burns
and the splatter paint wars
and the red raw bite marks all over my neck
But I know I’m not being felt the same way that I feel you,
Caring for every inch of you, your heart and your body.
And I can’t take the one way street anymore.
This is the sound of me crashing as I wave goodbye.