Baby piranha
Achoo! Bubbles in the sea.
Bubbles in my heart.

Forgiveness is the perfume a flower leaves on the shoe that crushed it.

There's something especially painful about being in love with what you can't have,
And it's another entirely to see and not touch, when missing someone has never hurt so **** much,
To remember your lips but never feel them again,
To catch your glance but always refrain,
From admitting I'm in love with the very poison that put me down,
But if being with you meant always falling then I'd never want to touch the ground,
What we had was a moment, a couple thousand seconds at most,
But you made blood pump through my veins: you brought to life a ghost.

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Like Some Old fashioned Miracle
When Summertime is done—
Seems Summer’s Recollection
And the Affairs of June

As infinite Tradition
As Cinderella’s Bays—
Or Little John—of Lincoln Green—
Or Blue Beard’s Galleries—

Her Bees have a fictitious Hum—
Her Blossoms, like a Dream—
Elate us—till we almost weep—
So plausible—they seem—

Her Memories like Strains—Review—
When Orchestra is dumb—
The Violin in Baize replaced—
And Ear—and Heaven—numb—

Death,
is not distressingly beautiful
it is cruel and tiresome
there is no peace in the act of dying
there is only pained loved ones
who tire of wishing for your release

I fall
For people with whom I've hardly exchanged a word,
Let alone a sentiment

It's a real problem, you see
Because when I fall for someone
I spend so much time dreaming about him
So much time sliding down the slippery slopes of affection
That when I try to speak
I realize he's still at the top
And I can't get back up

I'd like to be your space between starting a new sentence and picking the words up from behind dusty knocked over shelves

I'd like to be abstract in the way that you can cut me apart precisely and place me in misunderstood misplaced directions and give me the power to be able to yell at the top of my lungs and call myself art

I'd like to be a thousand miles right of where I am standing because home is the breath where you gather yourself up and home is when you have to stop dancing because your laughing interferes with your drinking and home is this song over and over and over

I'd like to kiss you a thousand miles right of where I am standing but what I am boxing up and categorizing as pain is not unique

it is just pain

I'd like to erase you from me and reach inside my head to free my brain from your rose thorn words like what I need to hear is the only airsource wonder of your distorted reality

I can't tell if I want nothing to do with you or I want everything at once because love is this song and that space and the way I stop from laughing and drinking and dancing love is this homemade pain and love is this art love is every mile

love is all of these indistinguishable thoughts my pain is not profound but I will yell whether the people who have cut me apart view
me as art or not