Do you remember that night out by my car.
Daddys Caddy,
bright in the moonlight.
A home for our words, carefully choosen,
sometimes not.
A mutual ground.
A safehaven for thoughts too bold for sunlight.
The darkness helped us, I think.
Protected us from seeing too much,
when too much was being said.
Maybe I was a little drunk.
Thats all it took, some liquid courage,
for you to know that I was sorry.
You touched me then.
Not a "I just want to *******" touch.
You felt me, deep inside.
You knew the claws of a beast were tearing me down.
Not one that could be tamed,
and could only be suppressed for so long.
He was there and you saw him,
clear in my eyes.
Usually gaurded, fighting him back.
But there he was,
pompous as any.
Jabbing me in the ribs,
"I told you I would get out"
There he was teeth beared and all,
ready to rip me down
right in front of you.
Right in front of my Daddys Caddy.
Claws, teeth and lies.

Your hands are posed up in front of your body,
as if you are warding off bad things.
But your face is waiting.
Fingers come up to meet yours,
weaving themselves around you.
They are my own.
Our palms press against each other,
a fire igniting beneath us.
The white blue flames licking our toes.
How can a simple touch
feel so rewarding?
I lean in so the tip of my nose grazes the stubble,
stiff, but I can still feel the softness of skin
below your jaw.
I want to take that skin in between my teeth
and ****
and make you want me more.
But this isent about ***
No, this is so much more.
I inhale that intoxicating scent.
A scent that can't be described as anything but you.
Just a simple smell, so intense
that it wraps its self around my chest
and squeezes, until I release my breath.
Unable to hold on to it any longer.
Your arms move around my waist
and they are pulling me in closer.
But im drifting.
Blackness is consuming you
while my ears are perking,
ajusting to a horrible high pitched noise.
I roll over,
shifting under my stiff cold sheets.
A green 7:00am flashes in the dark
as I embark on another day without you.

Swallow that lump inside of your throat
Open up the closet and push aside all the clothes
You believe, and never needed more to be said
To leave you scared of that little gap between the floor and your bed
So you jump, leaping over all of your options
And retreat right back to that bed we call a coffin
To sleep, never actually getting a wink
Due to all the little devils that dance around in your dreams
And attack you, pull you under the bed with their hands
And take away the chance of you ever making a stand
And if anything actually ever went as you planned
That you could retrace the steps that you ran
But only if it hits, if it speaks
You could fight it to the death in the streets
You'll grip those sheets in attempt to hide
And figure out that you've been running from the feeling of never leaving alive

So there is this pyramid.
We learned about it last week
This guy, his name was Maslow...is Maslow
maybe he is still alive. I'm not sure.
I don't even know his full name....I''ll probably do really well in this class, by the way.
So, Maslow, he came up with this pyramid.
A pyramid of physiological need. Ineresting right?
I think it is pretty interesting.
The bottom of the pyramid, the biggest part, contains the things you need the most.
Air, water, food, sleep...you get the idea.
The next part says saftey and security.
In order to live a fufilling life you need...
air, water, food, sleep, saftey and security.
Pretty simple
Then, this guy Maslow, he throws this ******* into the mix...
on the next level of the pyramid he puts love and belonging.
Love and belonging?
A necessity?
I have only lived about 19 years of my life
and I think it is safe to say that I have never loved.
Not really loved anyone.
I love my mom, I love my dog.
I hope that is the kind of love that Maslow is talking about or else
....I am not fufilling my physiological needs.
So I'm a little ****** up, yeah I could belive that.
To top this **** off.
Maslow throws Esteem and Self-esteem on the tip top of this pyramid.
Well now Maslow...hes really making my day
I got none of that either.
So here I am taking some notes in class and
Maslow makes me realized that I'm a pretty incomplete person.
Right here, in the middle of my Psychology lecture
surounded by at least 300 other incomplete people.

My thoughts so scattered
like body parts strewn across a silent battlefield
beaten, ****** and tired
unable to withstand the power of opposing forces
I crumble under the weight of my own mind
My thoughts are so alive
yet so broken
they think but they don't understand
whatever is in there, cradled in white bone
protected and treasured
it thinks
but it is not ready to understand.

It drives right to the core
like a stake to the heart

My insides clench
and my chest is full
I'm gaping at the world
pure ecstacy runing through my blood

Intoxicated by the melodies
moving and feeling
and sweating
like the beats are tangible
and seeping from me
not just my body
but my being

It's not just dancing
It's making love

It's not just music

I know the truth.
I guess that is all that matters.
That white one shouldered dress,
that clung tightly to my hips,
like a woman to her lover.
I know the truth.
Maybe that dress had been removed,
but nothing was given away.
Dispite common belief.
Even through a thick haze of drugs and alcohol,
I know the truth.
"It doesn't matter what anyone says
or what they think"
That's what I tell myself.
But I know, with the wholeness of my being,
that I care.
I am not a ****.
I was younger then, not by much,
but younger.
And I didn't know that you could turn
me into something used and tainted,
frowned down upon by others.
I didn't know that your few words and a mischievous grin
could turn me into something I am not.
But I knew the truth.

The spark of the lighter,
a noise forever ingrained in my mind
and dear to my heart.
It warms my fingertip as it will soon warm my lungs.
I bring the flame up to decorated glass.
Swirls of pink and blue,
sparkling under the dim light.
They look as if they are tangable,
like I could reach in and pick them up
and feel the softness of the colors in my hands.
Cradling the intricate designs,
as the designs cradle the green that brings ease to my mind.

I inhale.
Burning from green to black before my eyes.
Heat in my throat.
Burning so good,
hitting deep in my chest
and everything that has run wild
finally falls into place.
I exhale.

We rest on porches,
stay wraped in the protection of backseats,
or let the manicured grass hold us as we stare up into the unknown.
We are facinated by the unknown,
That of the world and ourselvs.
We explore through a window newley opened,
savoring every second of the breeze that we have discovered.

You may read this and not understand
but I guess that makes two of us.

I have this impossible need to cry.
I want to cry and I want someone to see.
Maybe if they see they will understand.
They probably wont understand.
I have no words for this feeling that burns inside me
without words,
crying seems like the only way to get it out.
I want it out.

If I tried to give it words,
I would use,
drowning and suffocating and trapped.
But thoes are just words
and they do not prevail what is pinning me to the floor of my soul.
Its force is unyeilding
and I endlessly long for a way to express its power,
but it seems that a power so strong cannot be expressed.
Not by words and not even by tears.
But maybe if there were tears
someone would hold me
and lie to me.
Tell me that it's all going to get better.
Thats what people do, we comfort each others sorrows
even if we don't posses the sorrows of the other.

So maybe I will cry.
And maybe someone will care.

Humans, creatures of affection,
we crave the touch of another being.
The blood that pulses under the finger tips
of another like us.
Minds that wander, learn and
create, like our own.
We yearn for
that rush you feel inside
when your soul fits with another.
Like leaves falling in autumn,
landing softly in the outstretched palms of the grass.
The knowledge that somone
understands
and feels the things we do.
That knowledge is what allows us sleep.
That knowledge,
that hope, is what keeps
the lonely
going.