The bloom of bruises
laid across your lovely bones.

Your Shoulder Blades.
Your Collar Bones.
Your Ribs.
Your Hips.

Rip you asunder
under the covers.
I will tear you apart if you let me.
Fervent flesh.

Slash your heart into pieces
that will fit in my pocket.

I'll take the pieces out later
Viscid blood
pouring out my pocket.

To remind me where my own heart is.

how does autumn feel,
you asked.

it feels lonely here.

crisp
and yet
                 the air is

                          suffocating
                                            me.

bright
invigorating
fresh

and yet all the cracks are visible

                       glaring
                                at me.

i don't want to talk to you.

Blurring the lines between the real and the fake.

Paint

(Puffy Paint)

Neon.
On me, an inspiration I'll never recall.
Maybe it was your face.

Time

(Time Release)

Exaggerating every finite speck of emotion.
Tearing us apart
only to sew us together, mixing up our parts
intrinsically linked.

The Park

(I Love You)

*******. I said that?????????????
I meant it.

Each time we touched back we remembered:
Sitting on the stoop and realizing this is that feeling.
A vague cloud, huge and looming
Constant.
Let's keep describing experiences as positive or negative.
Keep learning with me.
Flick, Flick, Flick
Another thought lost to the rest,
memories gone, but who cares if they are stored
in the first place
Just to be pushed out and replaced with a surge of new
Clouds of feeling.
"The world,
I toss it to the side and look at you and it doesn't matter."

You had to sleep on the couch and I slept on the floor next to you
because I kept falling off.
And I knew you were tired.
And I knew.

I had 5 cigarettes this morning.
I saw you off and sent you one for the road.
And I knew you were happy.
I knew.

Do you want anything?
How do you feel?
I want to know.
Tell Me.

I'll never make it up to you.
You know what I did.

I know what I did.

Remember that time you cried?
I know.

I didn't mean it.
I only meant to say,
you complete me.

More like an eating disorder maybe.





That is my comfort zone after all.

You are the most and the realest I have ever had.
You treat me so tenderly, lovingly, meaningfully.

And yet somewhere in the back of my head I say,
"You could be doing this with anyone."

Why did I send you home?*

I'd rather be
wandering your body.

But instead
I'm wandering the internet.