when we kiss, it's filthy
exchanging sensual spit
mine tasting of strong alcohol, hints of strawberry
your reminds me of cigarettes, addictive like nicotine
together we are a walking mess
addicted to abusive subtances
addicted to each other

i don't scratch my skin when it's dry to try to tear the surface to cause myself to bleed
i don't have nightmares where your hand touches mine and you're instantly disgusted
i don't scream all the lyrics to songs that make me cry because I relate too strongly
i don't write poetry because i can't find myself expressing my words
i don't scramble my sentences up so i can hide my anxiousness
i don't avoid eating because i'm afraid of weight
i don't do my homework because i've lost motivation

and i avoid admitting the truth.

Barnaby hands me my daily
  cup of coffee, but this time, it's night
  time, and the coffee reminds me of the war
  but not the allies annihilating the Germans or Japanese
  but the war between me and him every time
  he confesses his love to me, the words pierce
  through my heart
  I will never love him as much as he loves
                                        me, I'm disgusting
  like the taste of the coffee
                                        just beans in water.

we have that kind of love
but i never thought about it as love

we spend countless hours together, jokingly insulting each other, pushing each others buttons, talking about the reason of living, revealing sinful kinks, our favorite thing about this expanding universe we look up at, how all the stars are dead when we see them, and wonder if people will find us beautiful if when we are already dead.
we talk about the boys at school, and the young men in our friend groups how they are so corny and cute, but have that cute boyish handsome charm to them, each and every one of them, and sometimes we joke about dating them, but it's really scary if you imagine it.
i find myself in you and i wish i could be more like you, while you find yourself in me, and you aspire to be more like me, yet we are never happy being ourselves but being each other, and being each others.

and i think that's why it's love.
that kind of love.

my mind is like a keyboard
too many options and full of secrets

if you press the right simple combination of keys, i'll speak a phrase

if you type the correct complex code, a beautiful noise emits
                               incorrectly though, i scream in agony

sometimes my keys pop right off, but you can always put them back on easily. i forget about the whole incident even occuring

other times, my keys just get stuck because you spilled something bad there, and the memories get stuck there, and they won't go away no matter how much we try

you could always get a new keyboard or
                                get a new girl, like you always do.

i just wanted to be in your arms tonight
but i wasn't
and i never will be

because we are miles on miles apart
and even
further apart physically

its the time of year
where when i pass off
my mask to another me
it is not questioned
i can push myself deep
into the concoction of
the new year's drink
forget myself
but create a new me,
approachable and talkative
a real catch
the girl i wish i could be

then after the ball hits the floor
polluting the party
exciting the people
the new 365 days arrive
i'll be me again
until next year