I saw the streetlights light the fog
And for a moment, my world was gold
A late Friday night was something to behold

The world, it slowed as my night shone
Like fabled cities of ancient times
And all was composed within these eyes of

missing you hits me in waves and right when I think I'm swimming I drown again

the shadow picks
a nice path on your face;

across planes,
                        in wells
I never drank from,
                        on a pink bud
from which I stole
sugar
        instead
of
tasting.

Where words slipped
I thieved, not
                       kissed.

shadow hovers
as a bee
             searching
for pollen
in darkness.

It loves all
the places
                I missed

because

I substituted French phrases for
your limbs;
spoke to your
light
in a language I didn't quite
know yet

but

sounded
         like
              like
the poetry found

in light's absence.

Do not choose the girl who is battered and bruised,
the girl who always lost.
Do not choose the boy who is hurt,
the boy who never knew how to care.
Do not choose the girl with fears,
the one who never lives and is always scared.
Do not choose the boy with scars on his wrists,
the boy who has only one friend and that is his blade.
Do not choose the girl with a fake smile and drowsy brown eyes,
the one who only gives love but never accepts it.
Do not choose the boy with a loud laugh and a big crowd,
the one who has loneliness tattooed near his heart

Do not choose someone  not "normal",
by normal i mean someone with no flaws.
Do not choose them if you know you will constantly hurt them and learn new ways to tear them down.

Do not choose imperfection if all you wanna deal with is perfection.

I always said that I could never fall for someone in one night
But that night I fell for you
Your wide brown eyes
And your mouse brown hair
Softened something within me
Sadly,
You wish I was older
And I wish you were younger
Then we could have fallen deeper
Into each other
The way we want to
To feel a love so pure
It would be impossible to ask for more
But now we have parted ways
Never to cross paths again
Still I think about that kiss
And the butterflies that fluttered within the cavities of my body when you held me
But age isn't just a number
It comes between
I wish it didn't
But it does

Do not abort words from love's womb;
she will choke herself
because she could not be a mother.
Stitch lips together. Let silence,
nothing,
be purity.

Words end.
They
are hot and furious, oozing
sores relishing in their own
blood.
Organisms,
dull black embryos, eyeless
until
roiled on red tongues;
spluttered, screamed, snaked
out into being.

They heal themselves to death by the hemlock of Time.
Dying is a definite thing - words are not
immortal, not greater than us.
Not love.

Autopsies reveal varied, unwanted truths:
either
heart splintered too swiftly
or
poison turned flesh to gore,
cell by cell.

Do not abort words from love's womb;
you are wrapping the umbilical cord
around your own neck.