The laments of little men, little hearts
Ashes to ashes, lurk beneath
Fear of breathing supersedes
The joy of longevity
The madhouse is filled with them
With these little men
With endless dreaming
With fumes of kerosene
And unpleasant breathing mouths
And uncouth, torn linen clothes
In dreams of dying with hopeless love
With promises of dreary kisses
The laments of little men, little hearts
Dust to dust, float above

Faltering declarations of love
Floating like incense on our fingers
Like slime on moribund monuments
Like filth lingering on the dead
Like wasps on an infected wound
Like babies of bats
Kissing your gangrenous feet
Like hollowness of two hearts
Enclosed in a horrid infinity
Like lungs filled with black water
Like bones intertwined with each other
In a discomfort so immense
Like a cat choking on her mother's milk
Like a scar that heals and still exists
On our bodies like a curse
Like an air balloon that bursts in our chests
But doesn't **** us
And still the pain of our dying love
Is greater than all the ghastly metaphors
And we know we can't save it
So we have to let go of the dead fishes
We have to let go of the dead wishes

This ceiling that I keep staring at
Has a sickly charm to it
And my words are infested with
Perpetual nausea

You make me feel the plasticity in my blood
It resonates through my words
It resonates in your world
It resonates in your fake convenience
And if I could, I would run away
From myself, farther away that I've ever been
Farther than your touch
Farther than your "I love you very much."

I don't know about your convolutions
Neither you do about mine
But we came this far, we did
We conquered, we lost, we forgot
While reading Frankenstein
I built you in the snow, I drew you in the sand
We saw construction and destruction
Walk together, hand in hand
You think the wind moves on when it blows?
But when love blows and dies, where does it go?
Does it emulsify in my heart again?
I wouldn't ever know
Why not be grateful for this evolution?
For it brings just another poetic revolution
And you know you don't have to
Compliment
Compliment my ****** poetry anymore
Or my face that has vaccine scars
Or my hair with split ends
For we are split too now, like two dead stars
Things that make me sad: permeable curtains
The rusted hooks on my fairly old Brassiere, hair fall
Not using conditioner, slowly losing it all

I stand quietly
At the precipice of this world
Questioning how thick the
Abstract existence of these clouds is
I looked at the possibility
Of touching them
As if they were tangible
Corporeally soft
And then I looked at you
As if you were my cornerstone
My valley oak
Every fragment of meaning
In this corrosive place
And I was scared to say the words
That cancel out all that is ephemeral
Words like forever, always, eternally
Words that mean nothing
Cause we haven't felt them
Like we couldn't touch the clouds
Like we couldn't touch the soft breeze
And I was terrified
Of what I felt
I was terrified of feeling nothing