Little girl in that
wonderful glass world
she tells me
                                                                ­                         How
wonderful her world is.
and how I                                      
                         ­                                                                Could
live there with her. All
                                                             ­                            I
would have to do, is
**** her, and
                                                                ­                         Hate
everyone in the world
i already lived in, then
i could live there too.
but i told              
                                              ­                                            Her
how there was so many
                                                            ­                              That
i loved. she told me
how i didnt have
                                                                ­                          Much
to live for.

*

Anyways; i broke open her glass world.
She painted my hands red.

i could believe in the mouth of others



                                       honey, you both got chemistry like sugar and ice.



i could believe in my own little brain

                                      


                                  tell me what is so wrong with me..                                                

                                                               ­                     



tell me why..




                                                            ­i could kiss your lips

                                                               ­     with o p e n e d  e y e s ,


                                                     but i cannot bear to look at you

                                                         when you are embracing me






                                 i could confine in the quarters of my heart.


(since when did the fact that I possessed such monstrosity come into acceptance?)                                                     ­                                                     

                                    

                         ­                          inside the four rooms




                                                       ­         portraits of your face

                                                           ­                                  lingering  
                                                     ­                                            vanishing  


                                                       held up by strings of infatuation,



                                              
              ­                                       making the walls






                                            collapse      ­                                            condemn
             ­                                                constrict                       collide      
                    
                                     carress                             consume                     crash    

                                                      ­crawl                                            curse


        ­                                                      cannonize  ­               corrupt

                                                        ­                  
                                              ­                                  crave




                                                            ­                   floating          

                                                               ­                                     down
                       ­                                                                 ­                      

                                                               ­                                                down
                                                            ­                                                  
  
                                                             ­                                       down.    

tell me why..


i could write so shamelessly  that


i need you                              


                                                      i adore you          

                                  i miss you                  
                                           ­                                                      i   l o v e  y o u                          
        
i want you                                        
                     ­                             i cherish you
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­              
                                                


                                                   six thousand and eight hundred times.





    

but i cannot tell you that  " i want to see you so much it hurts " .
                                                                ­                                                                 ­                   

                           it doesn't quite matter.                                          






it is only a simple act of
attempting to balance the sanity
of a toothless adoration
with blinded self-proclaimed
masochistic interpetations.
                                                 ­                     


                                         ­                          it is only the veil of an apathetic shell
                                                                ­   to fortify monsters
                                                                ­   laced by the maddening hormones of
                                                                ­   teenage mediocre oestrogens.


it is only bruised knuckles
wrapped in cheap bandages
in the futility of closing wounds;
as there is no such
blood in the world that has not yet
been tainted by obscenities.        






                                      ­                       it is only the fact that
                                                             i have a tendency to stare at you as if
                                                             i could stare right past your flesh and
                                                             bones but i forget that your skull is
                                                             just too ******  thick.                                      




it is only a masterful literate
who can comprehend the laws
of sentence structures but refuses to
write the word " you" and " me"
in fear of establishing "us".


                                                  




                  it is only my heart that you hold, bleeding in your clenched fists.




       the more i think : the more i hurt.

i.

  truth is clever
  when you underestimate
  him,  the moment you
  are sober he will
  excavate the flesh
  from your
  fingernails, grazed
  out with
  his fugly ones,  

  and while you wail
  in this agony,
  this soundless saliency,
  you will seize
  only for
  this fragile moment
  and only then will you
  cultivate what is true,
  the truest and the truest
  fallacies.

  it is only
  like this  
  when it hurts.



ii.

  i like the smell of
  rain because it smells
  of absolutely nothing,
  and it reminds me that
  nothing
  can really be everything
  because nothing is what is real
  and nothing is good,
  and nothing is better than
  happiness,

  but really, nothing is
  the only nothing,
  the nothing that
  can surrender
  this theoretical emancipation,  
  this sugar that tastes like
  cardboard and crack,
  this chemical that
  is white enough
  to bleach away
  sins with cold
  fire.  



iii.

  i'd rather believe
  in the bruises
  around my neck,
  lynched by
  the metaphysical ribbon that
  ties me to reality  

  than to believe
  in the bruises
  that appeared
  on my brain,
  raw from the world that
  is fabricated by a
  *******logical
  malice derived
  by a mind  
  like yours.



iv.

  am i merely a nudiustertian,
  and the monsters before that
  and the carcass after

  or am i simply a demonised mother,
  of 'duplicity' and 'profanity'
  or any other piece of lexicon that
  defines a rapture between
  the word 'human'
  and the word 'sublime'.

All you

Are an octave without lines

                                                                                     Synchronicity

A treble-clef tattooed upon

                                                                                     the skin of my heart

Notes like

                                                                                      bloodcells in my veins


                                          **I.Can.Never.Play.You