I just wanted more than drunken decisions and
Poorly-lit mistakes.

Or at least a better soundtrack.

Or at least,
a killer budget for special effects.

We could have made this a masterpiece of collusion;
rockets and robots with lazer eyes,
A daring chase scene;
one of us in the shower, the other,
knife in hand, or watching as someone,
knife in hand,
ruined the (nail-biting, will-they/won't-they) romance.

I can hear the critics now,
“The acting was terrible but there were some
amazing explosions and I sure loved the location.”

“Their chemistry seemed a little forced,
Am I really supposed to believe
it was a lie from the get go?  I just don’t
know if I can stomach the clear and unfortunate selection of that
leading lady,
of that leading man.”

It could be more than love in a cold night
Always searching for destiny,
Chasing after December.

It could be dark falling asleep
But nothing matches the mystery,
Of dreams and disaster.

Would I know the truth
As a ruse, to excuse
Intensity?

Telling a day to break the light
So sure of being left behind,
The pressure of treasure is
So hard to find.

And so the flow takes the tole
And a mind unfolds,
Within immortal skies.

To each his own,
His curiosity lies.

I've been told
by the lighthearted
that it is called the present because
it is a gift
but I still find myself with crossed fingers
hoping for a receipt at the bottom of the bag

But we still reference The Office.
It makes us feel relevant, like we belong to an idea beyond ourselves.
Some 20-somethings’ movement where
We set today’s standards.

We sit and drink in the corner booth at the same bar.
We watch
Everyone else as they take pictures;
As they choose the next song on the jukebox.

Criss cross
Applesauce
Spiders running down your back
I climbed out my window
and jumped
I acquired a few bruises
but not from the fall
His breath reeked of stale beer
The first time I had no where to turn
The outcome of abuse and soft kisses
a mean look in your eyes
pumpkin pie
I hope you survive
quite whispers of melodies
your mother used to sing
salt water tastes like childhood
Cool breeze
Tight squeeze
Now I've got the shiveries

My brain's a victim of my heart’s beating
It’s the only way that I can reason
Being blinded by all this red I’m seeing
It must be soul hunting season
My survival instincts go crazy
My pulse quickens its erratic pace
The howling wind blows ever more strangely
However the blood falling from my face
Makes my outlook kind of hazy
I'll never see the end of this chase
Many demons now plague me