you're sitting across from this sharp-tongued old lady at the breakfast table,
she has odd clothes, a double chin and boots that squeak.
You don't like her much, but she doesn't like you either.
It's a mutual annoyance.
You're sweating a little because she makes you nervous,
and you forgot to put on deodorant before leaving the house,
and she's scrunching her face up and sniffing loudly to let you know that she can smell you.

You watch her as she eats, slowly, as if she'd never eat again,
crumbs from her toast sprinkle her face, you want to reach out and brush them off for her,
but you're afraid that your fingers will melt into her butter-like skin.
The thought was real, and unconscious.

The sort of way a boys thoughts should always be, if you ever get one like that,
keep him in that state as long as you can.

The mild interest has burnt out
you're on the floor, blacked out
too high to lift a finger
you lie there with no regret
feeling the waves
and sinking into the couch.

relaxation, calmness, peace.

Breathing life into yourself
you let it out and pass it along
you see their faces
stare into their eyes
and get lost in the moment.

wonder, amusement, curiosity.

Tap your fingers with anticipation
your body sways side to side
foot tapping to the beat of the rain
fiddle with the light switch
and pace to the door.

excitement, hope, anxiety.


Touching her skin, but not really
every inch you move forward
she moves ten back
so you just sit there
and amuse the thought.

inane, joyous, free.

Tape the memories to the wall
paint a picture that shows it raw
give them their story
adding your own tunes
and then live your own life.

taken, full, complete.

It's a sad life when you spend your childhood licking knives
and you wait in the rain for hours, and you always get hurt,
and your moms dead, so you live with your dad,
but you can't afford band-aids.

I've been keeping myself busy lately so that I don't have to think about anything,
I've been thinking too much,  and that doesn't get me anywhere.
I made some money the other day, I still don't have a job,
but it was good money, and I bought some more books,
and I got a new journal.
I feel like writing in it again, maybe if I get my thoughts down I wont be thinking so much.

I've been avoiding other people lately,
but the loneliness is starting to get to me,
there's this point where it begins to eat away at you like the delete button, it's terrifying.

I was looking at the moon last night,
and it was too bright for me to handle.
I kept thinking that I wanted to sew my eyes shut,
and I wasn't wearing any underwear,
and I was really hungry.

I've been feeling so old lately.

I've been clipping my nails in bed,
and I haven't vacuumed since you left,
but I never did anyway, that was always you,
same with the dishes.
I ended up breaking those,
I think the song I was listening to was too sad,
and it took control, and I lost myself.
I'm sorry, I hope you're not mad.
Would it be weird if I started to cry?
I think I might cry.
I'm happy though, I swear I'm happy.
Oh God, I hope I'm happy.

My hair is longer now,
I've been too tired to cut it,
and a little scared, because I know you like to cut hair.
I guess you could say I'm saving it for you,
even though I didn't save some other things,
more important things.
I keep remembering all these lies I told you,
and I've been writing them down,
trying to figure out how I could make up for them.
I guess I can't.
Okay,
I think I'm going to cry-

I tried to read your pretty words,
but I was too distracted by happiness.
I wanted to take a picture,
but they don't sell my size film anymore.
And as I listened to the songs you shared with me,
I realized that anyone could like the same ones,
and that I was silly for thinking I was in love.

It made me think about that night with the guy I just met,
how his car was cold and I kept shaking,
and the music was really bad,
but I kissed him anyway.
Then afterwards on the way home,
I kept thinking about how beautiful you are,
and about how I wanted to see you that night.
How I still haven't gotten the chance to see the color of your eyes for myself.

I wrote some letters this week,
I want to write them to you too,
or maybe I'll call you,
I haven't heard your voice enough,
and I've almost memorized what I've heard already.

When I saw you drawing that hand,
I wished it was my hand,
and I wished you would reach out and hold it
as if you've held it a million times before,
but it meant more than anything to you,
and I wished that you would dream about the softness.

I feel like I should be embarrassed,
but I doubt you even check these anyway.

bye.

I told you:
she died to the sound of *** in the room with her
to the sight of nothing but a glowing screen
conscious through the mist
hollow bones screeching as they grind
pulling at each others laughs
can't see anything at all but the fear
slicing through the distance with the suspense of open water
illogical maps traveling through your mind
like a field of naked boys, dancing and singing,
going on rides, sending out signals,
I want to say more things that end that way
suspending in air with a mustache
your large bones are experienced
tripping into the silence
back to the point of:
I don't care.

I can't touch my face because my hands smell like popcorn
and I can't paint my nails because the smell is too strong.
I keep dancing with my arms and my head while I sit in my chair,
and I keep thinking it's okay, but I know it's not.
I want to paint a picture and tape a cats head onto a humans body,
and I want to light it on fire and take a picture of you naked and send it as a postcard to my best friend, (that I sort of have a thing with).
I'm not sure how many times I've called you this past week,
probably none, considering I don't like talking to you, (especially on the phone).
I'm not even sure if I remember your phone number or not, the numbers just keep mixing up in my head and then I end up calling my hair dresser or the pizza place down the street, (you know the one, with the salad bar that we never eat from).
I don't want to have to keep this up any more, I just want to put white out on those things I said and write over it with something funny or beautiful.
I don't want to have to worry about making the bed either, because it's really hard when you do it by yourself.
So please don't make me leave another message,
pick up the phone and tell me you love me already,
wait,
I don't want you to say it unless you mean it,
so just,
call me back.

It looked better in your head,
it sounded better, too.
You were out of breath and restless,
but that didn't stop you from making a fool out of yourself.
The shooting stars, the baseball field,
everything was perfect for closure.

When you got home and cleaned yourself off in the candle light,
you couldn't help but stare,
the people looked so scared,
you could feel it in their gaze,
it was like they were burning it into you,
almost as if they knew you could understand.
It made no sense
because you were alone,
and you went to the doctors,
and you got the medication.
You hadn't seen them in years
but they somehow broke through that strong wall of chemicals,
and here they were,
staring back at you like nothing had ever happened.

You sunk to the floor,
wrapping your arms around your head
trying to block the images,
they were hungry and you knew that they always would be,
it made you sick,
it made you shrink.

the only reason she wanted to see you
was so that she could dance in the streets.
she wanted to live forever,
breathing through her nose,
too fat to see her toes.

that's why she was always home,
she was busy eating your weight in butter creams.

she stared at the painting for hours,
wondering why it tried so hard to be serious,
she had spent her life trying to do the opposite,
it was as if they belonged together.

she laughed at the men
with their hands in pots,
and frowns on their faces.

her favorite was the one washing the plate,
he looked so happy with that rag
she wanted them to be wrestlers,
so she could feel adrenaline like she used to,
but she was always asleep when the stars came out,

so she just keeps dreaming.

I want to melt into the speakers
dance in the fibers of the fabric
that layers the plastic,
like a small child would with make-up
at the age of seven,
there's no such thing as too much,

Never a chance to remember,
all the time in the world to forget,
everything is perfectly fast:
in the moment.

Imagine living like that,
the sting of a bee on a young girls foot,
the screams
and the tears running down her confused face,
her eyes ask questions to the sky,
to her foot,
to the crushed remains of what caused her so much pain.

Then,
the kiss of a freshly peeled band-aid,
almost as soft as a mothers kiss,
almost as soothing as her cold hand on your forehead,
almost as sweet as the lullaby she would sing before you'd drift.

Always trying to fall asleep with your eyes open,
trying to catch every last inch of the sky,
counting the stars through the ceiling,
slowly falling asleep
without even realizing:
you're waking up.

I would love to find someone with the same stack of books on their bed-side table,
the ones they should be reading, but never do,
they're just too busy,
and they keep buying more,
adding to the stack.

I wouldn't mind drinking tea from a jar everyday,
the kind that you'd set in the sun to soak the day away.
I'd watch you from the window,
you'd smile and wave,
******* kisses,
the kisses that made me feel ***** when I woke up.

I would watch you fold the laundry
with your delicate hands,
all the time wishing you were folding me,
not caring about the neighbors,
or that the blinds were open.

I wouldn't dare give away those books,
the ones that we read together,
but I'd sell the ones you let me borrow that I never read,
I'll stuff them in my backpack and sell them for a buck a piece,
I bet you'll be sorry you left,
when you're missing those books,
those quotes,
I'll bet you'll be sorry,
when you're missing me.

I was riding home in the car with my child,
coming home from what seemed to be a robbery.
The air blowing on my face kept jumping temperatures,
I didn't mind it, except it made me sweat on my favourite shirt.
My mom kept trying to start conversations with me,
but I was too busy imagining beautiful boys in the cars that passed us.
I started to drift off as the car sped up (I'm pretty sure she had to ***),
I felt like the car was a bullet, and I was inside of it,
the road was like sand, and we were riding it like we knew it's name.
It seems like only seconds ago,
but now I am sitting in the remains of a good night,
wondering,
when will they wake up?

I'm in love with a balloon
who's always confused
we blew him up with our mouths
so he just rolls around the floor
I used to think we were good friends
but when I left he stayed
I tried to keep in contact
but he never had anything to say
I knew the weeks would pass
and he would slowly decay
but I still can't help but miss him
Francios was his name

The woman on the corner forgot to shave her legs,
but  men are only interested in  soft women,
inside and out.
She couldn't  go home, or call,
because she didn't have a phone.
So she sat on the corner
with nothing to keep her warm
except the hair on her legs.

A man walked by who wanted her service,
he had a bag of lemons and an old watch,
she noticed he was wearing shorts,
the amount of  hair on his legs made her feel better.

you always said smoking would **** me,
but I never knew you meant it would be karma for stealing cigarettes from my mom.
I cut the pizza into thin pieces,
so I wouldn't feel bad when I said I ate three.
I was going to rhyme home with phone, but they don't rhyme,
and I was going to quote some famous person,
but I don't know any famous people,
so I couldn't ask permission.

Last night, you said you would call,
but you didn't.
I feel fine because I didn't feel like talking anyway.

So, uhh, when you get this,
just know I called because I knew you were gonna call,
and I wanted you to know I'm not mad.

ok, bye.

I guess I left because I needed to be depressed somewhere else,
I wanted the chance to forget everyone I knew so that I could find out what I wanted.
For a while I liked things, then I thought they were okay.
I got really into it for a while,
then when I stopped liking it:
I said it was interesting,
trying to avoid any real answer
(or commitment).

I got really sick of looking in the mirror,
but I couldn't get rid of it,
so I bleached my hair,
which was a waste of $13
because I cut it off the morning after.

I was really embarrassed when your friend came over,
he was cute,
you told me there were clothes in the trash bags he carried.
(apparently they were for me)

I decided to clean the kitchen for a few bucks
so that I could get a wig at the local thrift store.
(I figured he wouldn't want to date me if I was bald).
When I got to the thrift store it was closed
and there was a drunk man passed out by the front door.
I thought about waking him up, but I was too shy.

I ran home
because it was getting late
and I'm afraid of the dark.

The first thing when I got in the door
I went to get a glass of water,
the sink was full with all the dishes I just washed.
(apparently they weren't good enough)

I never realized that hot water could whistle,
or that it could hurt so much.
I washed through the pain.
When I got to the silverware
it reminded me of a conversation
that I had with some close friends.
One of them told me they put one between each finger
like a claw,
I tried to do it
but my impatience got the better of me.

We're romantics,
pretty gossipers.

We try as hard as we can to escape the world with pens,
and we soak page after page,
imagining the ink to be our tears.

We're depressed,
lost travelers.

The words; each hand picked to portray something only we can understand.
Our desperate search for empathy is sickening,
and yet it continues.

We're sweet,
helpless lovers.

We fall in love with every person we see with a symmetrical (enough) face.
Picking up habits that we've read in books,
or saw in an old film.

Why are we poets?

I've been pretending to be a pair of legs,
making the rest of my body disappear.
Too bad I just covered the top half of my body in mud,
leaving my skin dry and cracked.
I got sick of waiting for someone to walk by,
so I went into town to look for a friend.
It was too dark for me to see,
and I couldn't turn on a light if I wanted to be invisible.
someone saw me, and they tried to steal my hat,
that's when I killed them with my nail clippers.

The day I learned what zero gravity was,
I went to the fair and I rode all the rides,
and I followed people that I didn't want to be with.

We all ate the same food with the same forks,
spinning until it hurt our cheeks to smile anymore,
then we tried to walk, even though we knew people were dying for our country.

When I got hurt you gave me two generic band-aids
and they wouldn't stick onto my ****** hands,
the shaking might have had a little to do with it,
but not that much.

I'm sorry that I got the phone wet when I was shaving my legs,
I just didn't want to stop laughing,
it felt too good.

So, I hope you get this message,
okay, bye.

Harolds rootbeer was warm but he was out of ice.
Josh said they never had any to begin with.

Harold searched the freezer desperately.
"I'm so ******* thirsty!"

Josh took out some popsicles and dropped them in Harold's glass.
"Problem solved!"

the awkward moment when we made eye contact
I laughed and coughed up my milk all over you.
the embarrassment hurt worse than the choke,
but it was sweet because you smiled at your drenched shirt,
"I was just about to transform and rip this to pieces anyway,
I'm glad it was put to use."

I love you number 8, your bug eyes,
sure bug guys,
****,
it's just so ****,
when the camera zooms in on your face,
and you've got the ball between your legs,
I know you're looking to score a goal.

Coach, you can teach me how to play,
mmmm.

You've got your pads,
like I've got mine,
but only when it's half-time,
****!
commercial.
I guess I can go ***, and eat,
but I must hurry,
cause I don't wanna miss a single move you make.

what the **** is up with spain?
using their heads to score,
as if that even feels good,
use your ******* feet!

iFUTBOOL!!

The hole is so small,
I'm not sure your key would fit.
I guess we could try and jiggle it in,
I just hope your key doesn't break.

that would be horrible.

she sat up, screaming, singing her songs
the magazine glued to her face
she wanted to know everything,
she couldn't help being curious;
It's interesting stuff.
She wanted something from everyone,
but it always seemed to turn around on her.
She was upfront about ***,
and her alone time.
Laughing at what the doctor said,
and yelling at the people on the streets.
She'd never believe how fast it went,
her adolescent years.
Her expectations were too high to match,
she was out of her league when it came to those sorts of things.
When she did believe in something,
it was something she made up,
or that you showed her to her face.
She's the kind of girl,
that needs to see it,
and touch it, and feel it.

All the coins in your pockets,
everything I've ever given you.
in the washer
in the dryer
burning in the back yard,
like those notes,
and the pictures.
subconscious attempts to hurt you
the attempts of escaping everyone else: equally beautiful
until you looked away.

Don’t leave things alone for too long
or they'll begin to rot.
It took three years for you to give up,
and now your over bite clenches onto your bottom lip.
It looks painful,
but you're always so calm.

I can never tell where you are.

I feel ridiculous asking you questions
that I already know the answers to,
but I can't help it:
I love to hear your voice.

When you came home drenched,
spinning dizzy,
you laid down as I gazed at the wreck that laid before me.
You were in another world, and I didn’t want to follow.
Your golden feet could take you anywhere your heart imagined.
(I guess that was part of the jealously).

I want you to tell me about your childhood,
learn what made you the way you are.

Back to the photographs:
You looked so fragile,
so small, (breakable).

When I saw you cry for the first time,
the comfort in your grasp gave me the confidence
not to panic.
I stared at the bruises on your body,
knowing they would never heal,
knowing that you liked it that way.

I know you never understood how special you were,
that you never would.
I was scared of the things I knew,

I knew I had to leave
before you woke up, and,
walking with the faint shadow
of sleep behind my ears,
itching at my scalp
from the inside:
I took notice of your car,
and the bird **** on your windshield
                                                   reminded me that we were the same.

He grabbed at the fat on her legs with his tongue,
and his teeth.
He was going to devour her,
like the dinner she made earlier.
All he thought about was ***,
his friends all called him, "Caveman".
It turned her on
(especially when he left the lights on).
She was obsessed with the heat,
in her room, in the kitchen.
When he cut off the circulation on her wrist,
it made marks,
(she loved them).

Sometime's we expect too much,
but we think we deserve it.

She kept talking about the blood,
how it fell, how it wouldn't stop.
She believed in it so sincerely that you could feel it in her skin
and the way she held your face so that you couldn't look away.
It scared you how she could speak so beautifully,
how easily she could persuade you to follow her,
no matter where she went.

In her dreams, nothing could be more real.
The sarcastic smiles, casual conversations.
Everyone she touched, someone new,
someone she'd never seen before.
Never bothering to learn their names,
they weren't as important as their bodies.
It was alright that she acted this way,
she never pretended to be something she wasn't.

The dirt underneath her nails,
that filled her pockets,
was from the beach.
She was always correcting him,
"Not sand, *******."
Always with a smile.
He would stare at her, and she would try to read his mind.
She'd tickle him, but he'd shake her off,
she'd try to hold him, but he'd slip out of her grasp.

Anger: consumed.
She grabbed the broom, tied a shirt to her head,
jumped onto the table, (knocking his breakfast onto the floor),
"My dimples are waiting!" She screamed.
He stared at her like he had never seen her before.
She'd never gotten that look, not even the first time he saw her,
he'd always known her, (somehow).
Her face dropped, as did her body.
(and the table shook as he watched her fall).
He stood up, expecting something.

Indifference: something terrifying when it comes to love.
They kissed as though it would be their last.
She was social, he liked that, and he tried to escape himself,
(she encouraged it).
They loved each other, enough to forget the world,
(but not quite).
They laughed together, so much that their ribs cracked,
(like his voice so often did).

It seemed like they were lost in each other,
and they were.
He would ask her questions,
but she wouldn't always answer.


Confusion: it's something they hated.
She spread her body on the table, and he undressed her.
(with that same expression)
They had never done this before, but they kept at it.
(he left the shirt on her head)
He made no move, he washed himself with her image.
(she loved it)
Sweeping up his breakfast, his eyes fixed on her.
(as always)
They both loved it.

You wouldn't believe
how much effort I put into
shaving my left knee.

It's impossible to breathe
at this height,
but I'd rather not
fall asleep.

My skin is moist
with conversation,
and sticky sweet
from an earlier time.

Strange,
it's barely a memory now.

The looks I got
when my skin started melting,
only if you knew,
or understood.

The words slurred
from everyones noise holes:
calm.

When I noticed one
of the lights were out,
I felt like apologizing,
or leaving; but I didn't.

I never do,
it's just not appealing
enough.

Even if I started screaming,
or threw away my barriers,
it wouldn't change anything.
I'd still be a slave
to dusty ambitions,
a slave to my heart.

Some attempts proved them
to be worthy,
but the faults ruined
so much more.

Truth isn't
as scary as it seems,
the hurt only stings
for a little while.

I pretend to be a doctor on my free time
Delivering free pizza to house wives

Playing games on my calculator
vs.
Arguing with the math teacher

Receiving a letter, spreading butter, taking my birth control.
I draw an animal poorly, and a corn dog.
Bottle rockets and fire crackers.
Steroids and M80’s.
I love life,
But not really,

‘Cause I have 18 kids.

Aching,
pain seeping,
seeking,
sinking
into my soul.

Forcing me
into a nightmare
of all my mistakes.
Forcing me
to remember.
Taking away my will
to let go
and create
a better me
free
of confusion
and hurt.

I’m tired of bloodshot eyes
and tear stained cheeks.
I want to tear it down
and scribble out the past.
I want to burn it down
and start all over again.

To escape these ruins
and create some sort of paradise.
Without the whiny,
needy, hurtful people
that get in my way.

Throw away
the things I’ve done,
the words I’ve said,
and the emotions I’ve made,
the expressions I got,
the people who hated me,
pitied me,
loved me;
throw them all away.

They don’t matter anymore.

and now that its flying away, we see its wings, and all the beauty we missed before.
magic bulbs flash new ideas, abandonment, isolation, you sit in the corner, had no sleep for days, you're afraid to shut your eyes, afraid to lose it, but now you've forgotten your original thought, perplexed with that beauty, caught in their eyes. fix your gaze on something much too bright, now wait, and it will pass, the world stopped spinning as soon as you began. give up, give out, sit down, relax.

Intimidation consuming me into thoughts of you
wanting the intimacy
searching for your face in my mind
in the crowds of people who don’t matter
I’m tired of these cold nights with scratchy sheets
there’s mold on the wall and a toxic gas seeping through my pores
infecting my heart and mind
I don’t want to forget your face
just scratch the thought of calling you
creating different scenarios of what could have been
I cant stop wishing you were here
that I never met you
There’s a note on the door
it doesn’t say much
keep out 
go away
don’t know
just walk away
****** knuckles in my face
I know its mine from the taste
I close my eyes and plug my ears
try to block it out with my tears
the ground is cold
my body aches
wincing as my bone breaks
screaming
searching
seeing
sighing
superstitions become reality as my face smashes through the mirror
just another seven years of bad luck I don’t need.

Everything’s become so tasteless as I realize
My whole life’s been wasted
I want to fold upon myself
Put my pieces on a shelf.
All my worries spill and scatter,
Just in time for my heart to shatter.
I feel on my finger tips what my eyes will never taste
The throbbing in my head moves to the traces of our last embrace.
I know that some day  I will die,
But until then my life is a helpless sigh.

I wonder what you taste like,
I can't help it.
It doesn't matter how many times our lips touch,
it's not the same.
In the morning when you make me coffee,
I wonder what it's like to be beneath your skin.
While you drink your cup,
and smile,
I secretly want to drink you,
but I smile back instead.

I've been reading your poetry lately,
wondering if it's about me.
I've been crying lately,
because I'm in love.
I've tied myself down with wishes,
all of them are about you.
I've done a lot of things,
all of them were for you.

When I wake up next to you,
it's better than any cigarette.
I try not to stare,
afraid you'll wake up.
So instead I stare at the ceiling,
the one I've memorized.
I hope the addiction isn't obvious,
although, that would make things easier.

It's hard to tell someone else's lover these kind of things,
it's inappropriate.

No matter how much I love you.

I've been kissing a man with yellow teeth,
the neighbors frown when they see his car in the driveway.
They called the police on us, saying it was a crime.

I woke up in a metal room with fluorescent lights,
screaming, "What's my crime? where's that love of mine?"
They answered with screaming lights in my face,

"We hear you've been eating cold toast!"

Walking down the stairs with a Jello stuffed bra.
My sister told me it was a good fashion choice,
all the men smiled, and so did the women.

I went to the coffee shop, and ordered juice.
The waitress looked at me, then sat down.
Complained about how her fingers bled,
how she never applied for the job,
and about her weak knees.

She cried enough to relieve my thirst.

I'm tired of saying, it's almost beautiful
The streets are cold at night, even though it's summer
And when I look you in the eyes, it's like their painted on your face.
I can never tell, which direction, they choose to fall.
Sweet kisses, those were the times.
I cut off my hair when I heard you were sick,
I figured you would need something to look at.
It's like I found a dream, except I'm not asleep.
Some intentions are too concentrated,
they'll dissolve if you get too close.
We're growing, too fast, in different directions.
Remember that night?
I was so nervous that I ripped apart her favorite book,
I wanted you to forget her,
all of her.

I want to break your arms off
I want to see the pain in your eyes
every time I look at you
I wonder what you're thinking
the pen in your hand never seemed so slow
the blood in your veins never seemed so dark
the matches are wet and useless,
like
you
are.
Now that we've gone so far away
(from home)
I need to tell you about the scars,
The ones on my wrists, the blood on my fists,
it's what you've asked for, it's what you needed.
You wanted me dead, you wanted me gone,
but now you see me every day,
and now you give me all your pay.
You are my mother, you are my son,
you are my love, the only one,
for
me.
The lessons you learned, were,
useless.
The things that you loved, were,
lies.
Even now I want to puke,
the burn is here,
the fear has gone,
did I mention,
you're the only,
one
for
me?
The arrows on the streets are fake,
the maps have blown out the window,
into the night,
following the wind,
oh so cold,
the air.
Your skin has gone red, but now that I'm dead,
I cannot,
kiss
it.
What a shame, to be soaked with shame,
oh that blame, oh so tame, oh so lame.
It's time now,
to get your bruises,
whacked.
We're going to hurt you, make you wish,
say awful things, do awful things,
oh the pity, in the back,
of their heads.
It's seeping through their hearts,
oh the attack,
the silent attack,
of pain.
Don't you dare cry, it will only make it worse,
your ribs will be cracked,
oh so cracked.
They will rip you to pieces,
they will burn you alive,
rip out your hair,
until,
you, have none.
Don't you wish now, that you had stayed,
that you had listened, when I said,
"I'll rip you apart,
I'll ruin your life,
I'll steal your soul,
I'll make you feel,
real,
pain.
If you make me sob,
I will make you sob,
(so much more).
So I would think twice,
please,
take my advice.
Before,
you ruin,
your life."

If you're going to touch me,
do it slowly.
Your body is what caught me,
and that candy coated kiss.

Our teeth were like cages for words,
and the windshield wipers
killed the static on the radio.

We walked fast in the dark,
afraid someone would **** us.
You disappeared like the whispers
collected in my hand.
When the sound slowly seeped through my fingers,
I realized you were the milk in my bones,
and that death is better if you can't see it.

I just wish I could force you to feel what I do.

It's like we're allergic to ***,
and addicted to *******.

I will sit next to you on the plane
I am your priestess
I will relieve you of your fears
I will drink your thoughts
I had a dream of lemons in my tea
I looked in the cup
and I saw you staring back at me
it's strange, how easily you consume
I want to leave
I want to breathe
maybe someday I will look at your picture
just not now

The sound of your voice makes me feel so real,
to become deaf is my only fear.

I'm all alone,
but I'm in the mood to feel.

"You can't stop can you?"

I've been staring at a reflection of myself
that's been staring at you.

"Where do you come from?"

I don't know

"It's obvious you don't know where you're going."

I can feel your spine through the storm,
It's like we're screaming at each other with our bodies.
my nose is clogged with *******
and it's spilling out of my ******* into my child's mouth.

The radiation is burning away our love,
and the nitrates are making my scalp bleed
with images of your face.

It's torture.

My veins are bulging,
threatening to explode
and drain my heart
of its only obsession.

Addiction has always been a threat,
but at least it kept us warm,
if only for a little while.

I'm not myself today.

You always stand too close to my back
and your breath gives me chills.
If you don't want me

go away.

We look good together
and our smiles have the perfect frames
                                                     for kissing.
Since when did you get so thin?
and
your hands
are exceptionally soft today.
Your jokes  
            are so funny,
                                           and that's perfect,
because I've been looking
for an easy
way some to burn some calories.
Your *** is so good,
                                           and that's perfect,
but for different reasons.

Now that winter's over,
I feel heavy when I hold your  hand,
and the pressure of summer is hot,
and you're sweating all this                      hate.
I've got the feeling that
                                                             you want me
to
go
away.

And now that it's over,
I can look the sun in the eye,
but only because

("we're all stuck on our toes")
and

I'm stuck on my toes.

I've found myself lost in a world of text and fake memories,
realizing that I shouldn't have showed up so late.
I heard they learned,
that even if you stop,
the world keeps going.
That you shouldn't go to bed hungry
and expect to wake up full,
cleaning isn’t productive,
feeling like you’ll come home tomorrow doesn't make it true.
That your beauty’s like a wish and it grows with each flash of your historic smile
and your teeth are the presidents
and they're falling out one by one.
The rain doesn't change you,
it just leaves you soaked and chilled.

electric wheel chairs and electric wires in your brain,
blood filled clouds shower on the insane.

unfinished projects pilled in your garage,
the pain in your spine could use a massage.

ribbons glue head to neck,
they connect like a child's
cheek and a mothers' peck.
tiny hands
full of life
and unstructured strokes
soon to be a house
full of unknown smokes.

these lights are painful,
                                                 like cold sores
and it hurts to kiss,
                                                  and it tastes like dirt.

I've read your books and I know your worth,
but now you're discolored, and your heart lost its beat.
and you're freezing, slowly, and becoming a piece of this earth.

I feel so alone, and I miss those beats.

Is it sad
that I can still smell you in the sheets?

You were just standing around
waiting for me to forget my own tricks.
It's not like I was in the best state of mind
to be remembering them anyway.
I was holding my hands and bending my knees.
Swaying from side to side.
Watching a broken television from 1999.
(Wishing something good was on).

I know **** is artifical
but I still like to repeate it when you call.
I'm comfortable enough to *** infront of you,
but I'll never tell you those kinds of secrets.

My face is numb with fat
and whenever I try to talk,
my jaw breaks.
I can smell your gum with my eyes,
and it's delicious.

I'm screaming about religion
and telling you I'm gay.

Nothing is accepted,

and insults are just words without real meaning.
Sincerety isn't in the tone,

it's in the meaning.

I want my ideas to stand out
but I hate reading in italics.

Things are changing
and old feelings are fading.
Dying quietly in the corner
so as not to make a scene.
It happens to everyone

if you know what I mean.



I forgot how to write,
I forgot how to think,
I'm surprised I'm alive,
I forgot how to breathe.

trying to avoid the rain on a sunny day
but there's a comfort in this tragedy.
my closet has a bag of ******* the size of a child's body.

You're still wearing all black and it's hard to see you in the dark:
I smash my face against the window to try and see you closer.

It's useless.
I know,
I know.

Our laughter is the closet we'll ever be
and we're both funny people
but panic consumes even in light.

If I can stay longer then what's the point in leaving?

The forest is frightening
because of all the birds
that live in the trees.


It's useless.
I don't want to,
I don't need to.

Stop calling me the real one.
I'm nothing but a pile of bones covered in slowly rotting skin,
some painted and some that's out of my reach.

Those birds are going to get me
and when they do,
I swear you'll find nothing but cotton and dirt.

The ache for meat from a starved vegetarian
and the life flooding from a dead mans eye sockets.
Images that blind you and burn you,
like an itch under your finger nail,
out of reach, deep beneath what hurts to break.
I'll give you the benefit that I always loved you and I'll pray out loud,
even if my teeth are clenched,
tongue bleeding,
barely breathing through the pain.

A million words wouldn't cure this silence.

This silence is dead,
cold,
rotting,
and yet it stares
with a contradicting smile
and it breathes, continuing to ****,
soaking deeper like memories do.

Understanding the nature of your actions,
                                                          reactions,
                                                          emotions.
You're my paper man.
Your strings are slowly breaking.
One day they'll be gone, and where will you be?
You don't believe in anything.
You're an agnostic piece of literature
that's collecting dust in some old building
where there aren't any people, and if there were,
they wouldn't understand your language,
or your face.
They would fear your hands,
and your eyes,
and your finger.
The finger that pulls the trigger,
that cuts the strings,
their strings, and your own.

There's this certain emptiness that comes with death at ones own hand.

I can feel the colours running
I search for the right words but nothing's coming.

My face is clear,
apart from the burn of a cigarette
and the traces from your finger tips.
This is relationship terminology
and it's tearing a hole inside of me.

Perfectly painted fishes that line your bathroom walls
and the cold yearning of a sinking ship calls.

Now I'm alive,
but some thing's never change
and what I have is incredibly strange.
It's this smile,
it shines and it aches.

Let me run until my feet begin to bleed,
because I have you and that's all I'll ever need.

I don't need something to believe in,
because my only belief is collecting dust,
and the second you cry is the second you start to rust.

We call them lies because they were never true,
and now I'm soaking with the fact that my 8 pound head
is full of over 100 pounds of you.

you listen to the music that I am now and you are here and feel like I do.
we were kissing and loving and sharing our beauty.
you are the fire that burns my lips, my tongue.
I stare into those eyes that morphed my thoughts and sent me to that beautiful escape we like to call home.
I feel your paralyzing touch and sink into our boundless love.