"My God,"

he whispered with his hands tangled in her hair, a hitch in his voice, and a spark in his eye.

"I want you. With all of my being, I want you. I want to trace the shadows that play on your face, and I want to thank the sun every morning for accentuating your slopes and angles in such a way that destroys my ability to breathe."

My heart is ruined.
      Aching.
A stomach at 4 AM.
      Regurgitating.
The pain is unbearable.
      Excruciating.

Trees shed leaves
We shed clothes.

November winds yearn for stark branches.
I desire bare skin.

Darkness unfolds.
Eyes never waver.

The cold brings a chill.
You make me shiver.

If love could speak,
its sly voice would slither
up your spine,
promise tomorrow's sunrise,
and gently cut off your blood supply.

I wonder often if there is something wrong with me. I give and give and give. I love so easy, so freely, and quickly...but I haven't found anyone else who does.

I fall in love in a matter of moments. I am so tired of worrying about everyone else. At the same time I could never put myself before anyone.

No one ever proved to me that I was important. So now I go through life looking and hoping for anyone to just ******* love me.

Not only that, but love me like I love you.

she tells me that i lack a little something
to be her perfect man.
it's such a pretty way to tell me that i
will never be him.

I thought before this writing I might
tear out this paper & roll up
give me some numb for the numbers &
no one is asking how I've been sleeping but
my words caught my urge mid-rip & said
You are so sad and not even you know why.
Blisters on your tongue from bottle-bottoms
chasing a rising air bubble running for life.
Copperhead, half-thing,
whole-brain, funnelmouth,
throwing bricks from bedroom windows hoping to
hit my head at the end of flight, free-fall.
I forget a few times daily how much animal
seeps past this face & I have not been outside this head
since who knows when & I just want it to—
Candy canes for teeth and I am indifferent.
The television smiles for me, red-white-mint lit
in the faded glow of almost-morning.
They would almost certainly mourn for me.
I have to keep believing that is true.
I am funneling and it will not stop.