and I kept a box for your anger,
something to remember you by.

I placed it right next to the objects of your desires,
and the shelf of your lies.

we talked about love and leaving,
and how you were more of the leaving kind,

and its *****
because I'm the lover, left long, lone to die,
you whispered about forever,
knowing well the cowards lie.

Left uninspired
getting tired
So tired
Can't think
down I sink
Towards the depths
The depths of hate
Hate that is laced in to my fate
My fate I can't controle
Of that, you cannot console
We all have a role
mine just happens to be
Less than that of
the world
because it still twirls
without my words
tripping on the herds
of hate
wait
forget you
and I'll
**Dominate

Don’t watch the people,
Watch the patterns,
The habits, the gestures,
The shared reactions.

She says roses are red,
And violets are blue.
But she can't tell with her eyes,
That are all askew.

Her sight is blinded by the truth,
Which is lies that hide,
The pain and scars,
Behind her deep blue eyes.

I might not be a straight A student

Sure, I can always get the perfect grades you want me to get.

I understand you're trying to make me do what you didn't
so I have a "better life" or whatever....

But so what?
Maybe I am just like you were
And you turned out fine
You have a good job and a big house

What's one grade going to do to my life?

What if I don't want to go through med school like you want me to?

I honestly don't care what you think,
8th grade isn't gonna **** the rest of my life
If I get one bad grade

He seems obvious to the note passing,
To the eyes spying and the paper ***** flying.
He sits at his desk with a meek expression upon his face,
Not quite staring into space, but a place.
I can tell by this clean features and his put-together attire,
That he acquires to be in a position higher with such desire.
That he's dreaming of a place that doesn't require baby-sitting hormonally deranged teenagers,
It's a place where maybe he's a manager or somewhere fighting potential danger,
The bell rings above his head which shakes him back to the present time,
He adjusts his jacket and looks around like he committed a crime, then he smiles goodbye to his students like they were piles of grime.
I creep up to his desk and tell him,
It's not that grim, remember, the glass is full to the brim.

It starts
In the pit of my stomach

Roiling raging roaring

Noxious
Overtaking thought-stragglers
Forgotten words
And half-remembered smiles
That stumbled too slowly
Down the road to Rational
And It swallowed them whole
Before slithering forward
Searching for prey

It feeds
In the depths of my conscious

Eclipsing encircling engorging

Bittersweet
Splish-splash-splattering
Viscous globules of poison
And turning the knobs beneath
My television-eyes
Until everything around her
Is of the deepest green

It beats
A pulse beneath every word I speak

Replaying recreating reminding

Me
Of every word and move
She makes
Her hands on his shoulder
Her voice in his ear

It paints
Her

In shades of
Emerald-forest-field
Until her skin
Matches It

And to me
She is the color of the
Lime-green curtains
In our window and
I cannot see her
Through the verdant haze
Or speak because
My voice gives me away
Every time

As

It consumes
My thoughts

Instigating infuriating

Little red ant
Crawls over my heart
Hiding from
Rationality
In a cloud of olive-dust

Little blood-spark

Sticking stabbing stinging

My bitten tongue

Longs to be set free
From Rational
Longs to be controlled
By It
Longs to ask her
Why exactly she’s

Playing performing pretending

Not to know
When she should
That he’s

Not hers...


He’s mine.

Leaves     rustling       in             the                 wind
rustling    makes        quiet        noise             ominously
in              quiet           motion    they're           moving
the            noise           they're    making's        everywhere
wind        ominously  movi­ng  everywhere   possible