oh won't you look at that?

(don'tlookdon'tlookdon'tlook)

another sting that hurts in that place
i've already tried to convince myself that
doesn't hurt because it shouldn't hurt, it
wouldn't hurt if i wasn't such a liar.

It’s the quiet, quiet  light that makes me despair
Interesting, your eyes they seem to stare.
And – no.
You don’t love me.

there's a car not drifting by, there's a voice
not being heard.
there are steps not being taken
outside on the dark street,
but then again that might just be me.
as the silence fills in, i try to inaugurate new ways
to neglect that it has even been here,
has ever loomed over my soul
(i pretend
and fail to accomplish, but the mission is just too
difficult for my childish hands).
and i read over all the things i have already read
tonight, as if the answer for my prayers could be found
in the words of mortals, because if they are, i have
yet to find
proof

that one day, oh maybe for one fleeting second
you ever thought i might just be
the answer to your calls and quests, the ideal
of something that no one can ever quite match,
the epitome of the longing imaginarium that you
carry inside, like the rest of us, just flesh and blood
mortals, the one vision, incubus of ambiguous substance
that your heart can't deny itself.
call it noble, call it gallant, but love has never
interest me.
the songs it sings, the blood is rushes, the
the hearts it steals, the dreams it envisions
are just a new form of  destroying whatever
rationally brings.
must we forever suffer this burning *****,
with such bittersweet ache?

With all of the things that I have learned,
I intend to not use them until I am old.

I will try to let experience not run me down, try
And make misery stay underground, by the roots
That I am trying to escape, through memories that
My heart conceals so I am never too late to see,
To touch, to catch all the breezes, the opportunities I
Would miss if I wasn’t so silly.

So, I write it all down, in hopes that they’ll leave,
Aspiring to never let the ruin bring all the melancholy
Back home, back to me.

Tribulations and curses that we all mask as omens,
Trying to tell ourselves that no fate is ever written
In stone, and alas, we keep swaying around in the room,
Where we all simply imagine who we’d like to be.

Is there a life elsewhere to be lived, distant
From all the things that we have never sinned against.

From all the things we hoped never to have, indeed, sinner.
A epoch of stillness, a generation of no wars to fight,
All the campaigns have gone, now we’re left with just light.
But light, what is light, it’s no absence of dark.

Today all the dusk is from within, so I struggle with
Phantom’s what could have been, and the most cruel
Wraith’s are the ones we create, with mixtures of guilt
And dreams, showing us what could never be, for now
Time for that journey has long came and gone, and
What ever is left, but the hope to move on?

So, I still preach that silliness is the path that remains,
The innocent ignorance to never think.
So, bring me forward those unblemished worlds, those
Unexplored promises, I shall use them as such,
For they will never have expectations, and thus never failed
Promises.

It’s the dark marks you left after you bit me.
I’m not doubting your soul, I’m just wondering
About its location, and
I’m warning myself
To once again, to once more
Not throw myself
To the dogs
To not jump the shark, hit the ground.

You always liked pop culture references, love.
Can I swear? Can I hate you when your fingers
Are touching me and when your skin flirts with mine?
Can I break down on my knees
(I bet you’d like that)
And start screaming, with all the rage and all the ******
Love I still, always, feel for you, as it rubs off all my
Confidence, as it rips apart, ****** inch by ****** inch,
Every part of my stomach, and every part of my not
Yet fully mended soul, as your fingers follow the trail of
Sin and pleasure, up and down, in a deaf rhythm, my limbs.

Can I, fully aware, relish in your touch, as your fingers
Trace every scar and every memory that your presence
Has left through the years on my skin?

Do you know how all the teeth marks on my shoulders
Remind me of a night? Not just any night. A night where
I counted stars, literally and in the abstract, as I sat down
And forgot how to use words and the sinking feeling of knowing
That not even beloved poetry could really give the feeling
Of how beastly I feel nearly you.
Oh limbs, that cry for touch and strength.
How can I make justice
From you?
How can I possibly honor the feeling of hungry need?
As it beats, craves, screams it’s eerily war cries.

Despair is my nom du guerre.
Oh, how reason has deserted me.

hands that sizzle against skin
fingernail markings
and angry pink marks on my neck

a thumb pushed harshly against my lips
but only slightly

fingers, not tracing ,but hungry
following familiar paths on strange
bodies and the urge to just shut me up

or argue on a different plane

the look of victory on both sides
neither willing to compromise but
aware that the sheets are the white flags
not so much swaying but rather tangled
and pushed aside for peace talks

lingering looks over half filled glasses
whispering when you don't need to but
just to know how it feels to have your face
on their neck and letting them know
you're thinking of it

pulling back at the last second,
let the moment before the kiss last
as long as it can possibly go on for

watch your arm break out in anticipation,
******* hard against soft fabric and
wondering if you're also thinking of
my clever mouth against your skin or
your face between my legs

staring at you fingers, i wonder if they'd
slip in smoothly on the first attempt and
i watch you fidget with your belt

and wonder if you're thinking you'd like
me to be there to carefully and attentively
undo it while i tell your foreign policy
seems to be lacking

your drunk, nibbling on something sweet
and your hands move in circles
i wonder what you're thinking of
as i nibble on a pencil

seven hours and i wonder if
conversation would last that long
were we sitting in the same room

we talk culture clashes and imperialism
you say i'm a perfectionist and
i say you don't think things through

and the morality of *** lingers on our tongues

like pebbles

we make the mountain crash in slow motion

every time we decide that we should step further

it just drags us closer