This year will be bigger and better and involve less time in bed or possibly much more and this year will be loud and there will be bright lights and high heels and there will be hand holding and so many ******* hugs and I will eat pasta because I love pasta and I will not feel bad about that and I will make plans and then not cancel them and I will show up despite the knot in my stomach and I will laugh way too loud because I can and that is a beautiful thing and I will treat new acquaintances like old friends because people like it when you do that because it makes them feel good about themselves and I will make people feel good about themselves because that is a beautiful thing and I will feel good about myself because I deserve that and I will eat three meals a day and exercise and sleep eight hours a night because I deserve that and I will buy an unnecessary but adorable sweater every now and then because I have earned that and I will tell people I love them because they have earned that and they deserve to hear that and I will mean it when I tell people that life is great because I deserve that.

Pale body, blue eyes
Dark haired WASP;
adopted.
Cigarette burns
Cigarette breath
Black nail polish;
worn like her gaze.
Plump lips;
Tastes like
*******
and
"he left."

Milk body, brown eyes
Blond haired voice;
accent consumes.
Diseased brain
***** like a parasite
Blood-shot red nails;
scratching at life's surface.
Chapped lips;
Chews on them
like a blown tire
dying between metal
and the road.

Our bodies shifted in and out
like an ameba.
Suffocated by lost teenage years
and daddy issues.
Riding my knee.
On my face.
I want to disappear
into outer space.

Skeleton ***;
our corpses mix.
Sweat stained smiles.
Soap smothered tiles.
Showering with two souls
as lost as mine.

what is it, exactly,
that you're doing?

I'm talking to you,
universe

how am I to take
what's happening?

I bare crooked teeth
still through all

I feel so warm &
wanted

yet so wholly
rejected

I need whispers
in my ear

sweet messages
to hold me

when there's no
refuge near

what at last is
the scheme here?

there's a rug
somewhere,

set to be ripped
from under me

but that's how
these things go

like spring snow

the way that the
wind blows

all of those
spectacles

into observable
formation

I want to understand

I'm not ready yet

what a time to be alive

you see me licking my wounds
& I see you creating new ones

what incredible timing

drunk on company, on beer
and the "holiday cheer"

but that's not what it sounds like

we all got pretty ******,
it's a surprise I didn't *****

the room kept spinning

it was the holidays, though
and there was certainly cheer

my ears were ringing

oddly enough though, I
accepted it as a blessing

I can't fight against time

time is beautiful in the way it indiscriminately destroys

I'm not one to resist beauty

it's so chaotic and it makes
absolutely no sense at all

but it takes you places

I couldn't find the sea and
beauty led me there

even though life is loss

you get used to it and those
terrible beautiful things

can fill the cracks in your being
if you let them seep through you

There is a clock resting above a fireplace that hasn't seen a fire in twenty years.
It is fifteen minutes slow and it has been for quite some time.
I used to take it off the mantle and manipulate the dials so as to allow it to correctly display the time.
And my mother would turn it back again.
I never understood the reasons for this,
and I still don't.
And god ******, this clock has no significance and this metaphor slipped my mind as soon as I thought of it and I can't think of enough ways to say I'm sorry.

I am consistently amazed with my ability to hurt.
The ones I hurt are the ones I hold dearest.
The ones I hurt don't deserve it.

My hands are rough and scarred, they are flawed.
My hands can create and they can ****.
My hands have created and they have loved and they have taken what doesn't belong to them and hurt those who trust them most. And they are controlled by my mind.

All my life I've chased happiness through herbs and manufactured substances.

Occasionally the touch of a womanly body would spark life in my heart.

And six months ago to the day I asked you to be mine and you gladly accepted.

I got clean (I used by choice and not habit, I can honestly say) and I loved with all my heart but not all my mind.

I am not a body, I have one.
I do not have a soul, I am one.

And I'm thankful I continue to collide with you, no matter how seemingly hard I try to ***** it up. I swear, I've only ever tried to bring you happiness and you have no reason to believe me but I'm happy down to the very core of my being that you do. That you're trying to.
And that you return my love tenfold.

Timmy got a bike,
Timmy ******* died.
Timmy's mother drank,
Timmy's father cried.

And it rained.
It rained for five days and six nights,
and although it stopped raining on the sixth day, the sun did not shine.

It's the movement,
iOS7, download tonight,
Timmy's bike was red,
his friends thought it was tight.

Timmy got a bike,
(Each day we all feel a bit more like Bukowski, a bit more cynical)
Timmy ******* died.