it seems to happen
late at night (or
early in the morning
whatever you
want to call it)
i wake up with a
feeling of such loneliness
such depression
after i call your name
because i can't get
the image of you
holding the door
for me
out of my head
i can't stop dreaming
of your words
"i
      love  
             you."    
or a simple
"you're
              mine."      
and how that was
once so normal
and now,
i haven't even heard
a
   "hello."
in one ******* year
because i don't even know who you are anymore.

if I should sleep with a lady called death
get another man with firmer lips
to take your new mouth in his teeth
(hips pumping pleasure into hips).

Seeing how the limp huddling string
of your smile over his body squirms
kissingly, I will bring you  every spring
handfuls of little normal worms.

Dress deftly your flesh in stupid stuffs,
phrase the immense weapon of your hair.
Understanding why his eye laughs,
I will bring you every year

something which is worth the whole,
an inch of nothing for your soul.

listen
beloved
i dreamed
  it appeared that you thought to
  escape me and became a great
  lily atilt on
  insolent
  waters    but i was aware of
  fragrance and i came riding upon
  a horse of porphyry    into the
  waters i rode down the red
  horse shrieking    from splintering
  foam caught you clutched you upon my
  mouth
listen
beloved
  i dreamed    in my dream you had
  desire to thwart me and became
  a little bird and hid
  in a tree of tall marble
  from a great way i distinguished
  singing and i came
  riding upon a scarlet sunset
  trampling the night    easily
  from the shocked impossible
  tower i caught
  you strained you
  broke you upon my blood
listen
  beloved i dreamed
  i thought you would have deceived
  me and became a star in the kingdom
  of heaven
  through day and space i saw you close
  your eyes    and i came riding
  upon a thousand crimson years arched with agony
  i reined them in tottering before
  the throne and as
  they shied at the automaton moon from
  the transplendant hand of sombre god
  i picked you
as an apple is picked by the little peasants for their girls

it may not always be so; and i say
that if your lips,which i have loved,should touch
another’s,and your dear strong fingers clutch
his heart,as mine in time not far away;
if on another’s face your sweet hair lay
in such silence as i know,or such
great writhing words as,uttering overmuch,
stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;

if this should be,i say if this should be—
you of my heart,send me a little word;
that i may go unto him,and take his hands,
saying,Accept all happiness from me.
Then shall i turn my face,and hear one bird
sing terribly afar in the lost lands

Lust
       On
            Fingertips
                      Is Better
            Than
       Love
From
        *Lying Lips

We talked
I listened

We loved
I cared

You got mad
I got upset

You yelled
I was cornered

You slapped me
I was red

You pushed me
I hit the wall

You hit me
I was bloodied

You said I am sorry
I didn't believe you

You said I love you
I didn't believe you

You said never again
I didn't believe you

You said Please come back
I left you for good

When the morning light comes on as surely as the night has gone,she's left and I am laying here
with pins and needles in my legs,
I fear the day.

She says that she'll come back to me
but all I see is endlessness,
the more I see the less I know,
why did the lady have to go?

I look into the mirror
see the shattering of temple urns,
my eyes turn inward, so I see
the image of the man I'll be,

I close my eyes and see no more.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. She wanted to hide. It was the Wikipedia man. Oh, god how he'd tell her how this band first wrote this song, and then it was developed later. And she just wasn't in the mood for Wikipedia man. The man that never let her get a word in edge wise. It exhausted her. She wanted to lay down and take a nap after she closed the door, and he left, with his cheap coupon chinese food. He meant well of course -- he just wore her out with all his words. She'd rather write them down in solitude by candlelight. With no interruptions. She had enough thoughts running through her head. She found comfort in the quiet. The stillness.

Another thing - it was just that he was always so broke all the time. She'd rather watch "Girls", and eat popcorn -- alone.

I mean, I own a library card. I'm not from -- Kansas. Not that women in Kansas are lame. That's not my point.

I know lots of things. It's just I don't need to hear them from Wikipedia Man.

I'm going to go write a novel now.