Seek to always be true to your Self,
both when it's easy,
and yet more so when it's neigh impossible.

The Friends you make living Life that way
will blow your ******* mind
and last you a ******* lifetime.

Classical Music and Metal Music
are a Father and Son who usually don't speak to each other.

We were like the sun,
A nebula of broken words that led straight to warmth.
Your hands were mine to hold,
And rub.
They look
Colder and shadowed purple
From halfway across the room.  
Your eyes, a swarm of bees,
But your taste buds are no longer satisfied with honey;
They crave something greener.
We smiled at each others flaws,
And skipped stones to maybe one day glide across the water,
without being scraped by salt.
Your forearms healed each wound inflicted by burns.
Hours spend straightening your shoulders
To walk among a rare breed,
As connected to the fire as you.
Close to the brim,
Bursting with love,
You must have looked back and fallen in,
To the smoke your lungs couldn't deny.
But don't deny me,
the right to love you still.

Say and think what you will, but beware;
the Natural World cannot be fooled.

You linger
as I lurk,
and we tie a bow with our thoughts.

Cuidado, cuidado!
A man so rare,
with lips so near...

How could I --
What could I do?
Cuidado.

You underline the thoughts I speak,
and sense the rancid smell I leak,
and climb the trees I once resided in.

Cuidado, I say,
But correr, I do,
It is not easy, when there was one, and now two.

I feel just about ready to
burst
with all the love
and kind words
and stroking of the cheek I have ready to offer.
But nobody wants it.
So should I just burst,
splatter all over a canvas and create a sick sort of work of art,
leaving me a let down balloon, a broken shell?
Or should I leave it to decay,
to slowly eat my insides and eventually fester out of my
ears,
nose,
mouth,
into something bitter and spoiled.
Or should I just keep growing
and hope I find you?

To the boy I saw at work today,
the one so beautiful,
my heart
stopped,
what happened to our fairy tale ending,
the part where you give me your number and sweep me away?
Maybe I was just so
blinded
by your watercolour eyes,
of blueish grey,
your large, steady hands that brushed against my own pleading two
when you payed for your drink,
that brushed against my bare back,
against my stomach,
against my cheek
in the very same moment,
that I saw the stars that you didn't.
I was sure I saw something buried in the creases of your smile,
something that said
"I'm yours."
All
mine.
But something told me otherwise when you walked away,
blessed the rest of the room with those watercolour eyes
and gave them all the same promise.
To you I was just a
faceless vending machine,
to me you were
everything I've been longing for.
My pathetic
pictures
I paint with people like you,
like the boy at the bus stop,
like the boy in the cafe,
like every boy who ever took my breath away,
are as realistic and accurate
as the finest Dali or Picasso.
But to me,
you are all more real,
more beautiful,
than any work of art.
More even than my own
pathetic
paintings.

I finally did it.
With a deep breath,
and a little help from my friend Mr Alcohol,
I conquered the dragon.
But now,
despite the heroic gesture,
the sword held high in the air,
it seems the real battle has only just begun.
The day we have decided on
looms
like an execution date.
How do I pretend
that I'm confident?
How will I manage to,
dare I even say it,
flirt?
I feel the raw sensation of panic
creeping up my throat,
a lump that tells me I'll have to choke out my words
to even communicate with you.
I'll be so red you won't be able to tell if I'm embarrassed or sunburnt,
I might shake so that I spill my drink,
it's likely that I won't be able to look you in the eye,
I'll probably keep making frequent toilets breaks,
but if,
if,
you can like me,
even through all that shield I hold up,
I promise you,
I'll wear a suit of armor so strong,
hold a sword so surely,
that no one,
especially me,
will ever hurt you.
I'll slay your dragons.

"How was your night?"

Drinking,
as usual,
to numb the constant,
dull hum,
of emptiness,
crying by myself,
at the back of the club,
watching my beautiful friends,
with the perfect faces,
find somebody to hold
and love for the night.
Going home by myself,
staring out the smudgy window of the taxi,
wondering if I'll ever make the journey with somebody next to me,
a hand to hold.
Getting into bed as dawn breaks,
just as my heart does the same.

"Fine."