I want to sleep forever and reside in my dreams
           To frolic through a collage of different spectacles and scenes
                An escape from the insufferable, cruel world at large
I want to sleep forever

I want to sleep forever so I can live in my dreams
           The ruler of the lands, the queen of all kings
               With nothing to fear but the darkside of the conscience
I want to sleep forever

I want to sleep forever and fight my inner demons
        Provide peace of mind for all bothered and exhausted
              Float on utter bliss; those monsters, I'll never miss
I want to sleep forever

I want to sleep forever and never show sadness again
        Bright, long-lasting smiles on weekly sullen days
             Created and maintained in a variety of ways
I want to sleep forever

I want to sleep forever to erase everything
       I want to sleep forever and feel warmth again
           To bathe myself in content that won't ever end
Let me sleep forever

You can’t have your cake and eat it too. Not for long, anyway. Cake doesn’t settle well when it’s all you’ve had to eat. It’ll churn like butter inside you, and creep up your throat to project like a cannon, barreling through a wall. Cake won’t sit right with you anymore. At the mere mention of cake, your insides will crawl with disgust and an association of icing will replace your taste buds with *****. You will never be able to enjoy cake—at parties, as a delicacy, with ice cream—because you got greedy and wanted to eat your cake first rather than save it for such an occasion. Now all the different kinds of cake you fantasized about trying—black velvet, coffee cake, buttercream pound cake—will only be a reminder of your pitfall that led you to make yourself sick with desire, for cake. You can’t get the icing off your tongue, the smell of batter baking has festered in your nostrils wired to the pungent taste of red from between your teeth. But it’s all you can think of when you’ve been wronged by your favorite dessert. What sort of chemical reaction in the bowels of your stomach caused all of this sorrow? What rejected the cake? Your body has a way of telling you things—we should listen more. Cake is not sustenance, it has no value as a nutritious food. It doesn’t help, only hurts.

Warm laundry gives me the
fuzzies, makes my hands grasp
   majestic purple soaps
to cleanse away the ***** wails
compacted under fingernails
A selection of smell good things
lotions accompanied by fuzzy things
to rub away and radiate the aura
of calm, balance, and tranquility
Lavender is condusive to many
different uses, inhaling the graces
of herbal essence, soothing said coolings
inducing mood peelings of layers of grime
a skin liberative—figuratively speaking
Flowers of passion brew thoughts into actions
silent buds permeating scents
   so invigoratingly innocent

Why waste all these
words on you when you can't even
open my snapchats?

Punctuality

is my selective forte

Again, forgive me

The future is a sparkle
a firework feeling in my hands
that billows out and expands
to flash multicolored wants
       while crackling needs
I hope it blows our minds
    exploding blissfully
before our eyes
painting the sky with
our names in starry white;
Innocence revisited,
awakened by possibility

When times get rough, we try to break and run
There's nothing to fear but fear itself
You can't succeed if you don't try
Positive thinking will work wonders

I can't help but make things awkward
I'm unsure of how to act
I still perceive you as mine
It's hard letting go, I'm slipping off track

It seems solitude won't help us grow
It obviously hasn't worked before
Why not depend on each other?
There's always something more

I believe we can do this, together
Join forces, slay our demons
A change is gonna come
Let's sail through this stormy weather

I'll be your crutch if you be my sight
I won't give up without a fight
I implore you to reconsider
I can help you see the light

Take my hand, teamwork never fails
I promise we won't lose each other
We'll discover all what this entails
And experience happiness within ourselves

All of a sudden,
something is aloof
The air becomes stale,
like the bread of sourdough;
you refuse to walk through
the garden overgrown, infested with
insecurities and a plethora of doubt
           I  believed you to be
           a recipe I figured out
I'm left teetering on my toes
as vehemence in me grows
and the mystery within you
is unfortunately never shown

Riddle me your chivalry's
whereabouts as of late
You're good at concealing
all that you're feeling
I remember when you were sweet,
     like the aura we would create
           like the donuts you brought me;
           a dozen sugar-coated holes and
           one lone blueberry
My insides have been fried
in a hot mess called love,
and a dozen-sugar coated holes
from you my dear, was
considerably enough

So numb
and heavy,
eyelids flutter shut
turmoil within my gut
peach scented tea
howling for me,
wafting my way
all thanks to you

Breakfast is important
that you've taught me;
It vitalizes me, your

      favorite kind of day

thank you dear for coming my way
I appreciate this sweet gesture,
you are one too kind;
won't you bring me donuts every day?

          *For you, I don't mind

I crave you
more often than I
crave delicious fruit
I always want my citrus
thirst-quenching juiciness
but I’ll take vitamin D over vitamin C
and save ripened tangerines
for when I’m feeling a little weak
in the knees after squeezing your
blooms—good enough to eat

Picked freshly from the
garden of my newfangled
burning infatuation for you,
a fine blanket of lettuce,
to suit my modest request
This evening holds meaning,
accented with wine of white
over candlelight,
delicious Italian dining tonight
You do me well,
you know you do

Scorching days
turn to chilly nights
We are but two spoons,
failing to convect heat
to warm each other’s souls
and hands, which I kept
moisturized, for us;
scented fingers of vanilla
caress uniquely speckled skin
Genuine fascination
in everything
that is
*you

Early afternoon rain
crusted eyes cracking open
at the trickling sound of
pattering puddles

Moisture conforms you
hugs dry skin tight
frizzing stray hairs
leaving them a flight

There is peace
tranquility in this moment
Waking the mind
resolving the heart

I do not like this scene
or this chapter in my book
My fingers have failed me
as my thoughts evade me
I can’t write this for you
though you’ve done so much
You’ve written me into existence
and I want to edit myself out
It’s easier to put words
on a page that you can rip out
than to speak them to you
and watch the venom bleed
through the cracks of your tired skin
I’m so hurtful, like the edges
of dry, fresh cut paper—
sharp enough to cut,
too dull to scar—
only ever thumbed through
never perused—yearning to
be read and understood
and remembered

Redundancy.
I read my words
and I’m sickened,
that you had this
effect on me. I read
them and I’m fatigued
by the redundancy.
I have nothing to say
that hasn’t been said
in the same way
only reconstructed
to better play the illusion
of new ideas and
some sort of change.
There is always the basis
the substance of being
the substance being
my overactive feelings
and constant repression
of what makes me alive—
this feeds the depression
and I cry when I think
and I’m dead when I don’t
I’m lying when I speak
and lying when I don’t
I’m fighting every day
my feelings when I
have them, and finding
every day, I have more than
I can fathom, and I can’t
always put into words
how or why I feel things
so I tend to repeat
what comes naturally
and when I reread
I am exhausted by
my own redundancy.

Exhausted
from feeling
   reeling
peeling away my exoskeleton
of mossy vehemence

Disgusted
from festering
pestering bacteria
leeching my energy
depleting my senses

Desensitized
towards romance
no chance
for me
Sinking
in a swamp
instead of grasping
for relief

Ashamed
for allowing
disavowing
natural instincts
Crying
   dying
internally invaded
by poisonous neglect
  Suicide
by choking on
your spoken words
I kept

all day on the brink
saline hinging on lashes
reading minds far away
fortune-telling actions
and overgeneralizing
filtering the nonsense
to make room for the
  nonsensical
minimizing positivity
maximizing black and
white negatives
focusing on despair
internal anguish;
vicious cycle of
irrationality
automatically
a day in the life
inside of me

True colors have been reflected
like glossy panels of deceit;
A palette of mixed aggressive tones
to paint a hue of hate;
****** images depicted,
displaying a forgotten world
of an imagination still sputtering on
A heart scarred for disbelieving the
truth with each stroke;
Empathetic swirls of long repressed
feelings, staccato marks the untraceable
A blend of emotions that leaves my gut
reeling, like pigments of color circling
a water-filled bowl

Your beauty is unmatched
your essence unscathed
you could wrap me in your curls
and leave me bound for days
The thick bristles on your face
resemble a forest to discovery,
your mouth a cave to explore
lighting the way with electricity
generating from our rapport
Sweeter than a glob of icing
on the last slice of cake—
Your twisted expressions
make my chest quake
You’re a lot to take in—clean cut nails
and pasty speckled skin; the
trail of hair on your belly and
your form soundly sleeping
where our motions had been
Now you are far a fields away
frolicking in colorless grass,
lost and in denial of what
you could have made last.

Silence is golden;
Communication matters.
Find some middle ground

I remember at the party
as blurry as it all was
when you kissed me through my tears
and startled me
I was angry
angry because I took the blame
for the tickets we all received
and you kissed me
I was too blinded by *** to see how romantic
and how sweet your gesture of sympathy
really was, objectively;
internally I was not ready, for reasons
unclear even to myself
(to sum,
I was young and dumb
and frightened of affection)
but even now, a year or two later
I think about your eyes, sparkling
and wired, intimidating and intriguing;
I think about your posture, your wit,
your cyclist thighs,
and wonder why I didn’t think
you were a catch of a guy

Have you heard about your hands,
how they’re the devil’s play things?
When entwined with my fingers
we cradle til numb, fine friction from
a twiddling thumb; graceful extremities
fondling every surface covering,
generating and extracting energies

With a hover they raise the dead
cells on my flesh and walk the sacred
space of nerve-endings with a trace
and trails of my racing heart
They’re smooth and soothe wounds
that can’t be spoke, knocking at
my teeth to wrestle my tongue
seducing me from the inside

Your hands are the tools
of your trade, skilled to persuade
and bade time--for it doesn’t exist
Unable to resist your palms upon me,
pockets of warmth radiating heat,
I relish in the sin of wanton skin
waiting to play with fire again

Passive-aggression?
I'm withholding feelings I'm afraid to mention
You'll judge me with your intellect and wit
I'll deal with myself how I see fit

I'm comfortable, yet always on guard
This isn't how things are supposed to start
I only care to please you
But I've failed myself, and can't help but continue

I've put you on a pedestal, despite your flaws
You're everything I want because you're everything I'm not
I seem to be losing confidence in myself
Constant contemplation, refutation...

There are so many things I wish to say
I feel the opportunity continues to slip away
I'm too slow to grasp the concept of initiative
So this passive, ambiguous life, I'll continue to live

I dip my head
to avert your eyes
every time we pass
I hold my breath
to prevent from speaking
and proving myself an ***
I pretend I know
what you think of me,
that I’m strange and unappealing
I fear I’ve blown
any chance at knowing you
and sharing these feelings

Please, oh please
can you spare a drop
of the liquid flowing through you,
dripping down your sweet ****?

I am quite parched
I’ve been barren for months
Please can I drink in
your billowy lumps?

Pour into my crevasse
Make me bloom with life
Moisturize the cracks I’ve earned
from loneliness and strife

I’m a desolate island
desperate for nature’s touch
but too far from land
for one shower to be enough

It's shedding season--
a time for growth and flaking
away dry, dead cells.

The time is nearing
and I keep hearing your name
flashing bold and white in my head
Oh, I never want to get out of bed
unless your smoke's in my fire

The time is coming soon
I'm still stuck in my room
scribbling down words I can't say to you
Oh, I'm not right in the head
I cant leave my bed because
your smoke's in my fire

Clock is tick, tick, ticking
I'm terrible at picking up
on inconspicuous cues
The wick is slowly burning and I'm
quickly learning your smoke's in my fire

  The time is now
I'm flickering toward you but the
draft from your presence puts me out
I'm smoldering, embers circling
the smoke coming from my fire
You're the smoke of my fire

I never thought the two of us would be on this plane
Here we are, diving headfirst into a charade done in vain
Loosely tidying up encounters we remark back on with scoffs

Fun times they were, those sudden acts of lust
If this be another, you will have demolished the last of my trust
There’s nothing worse than the feeling of being used
Manipulate me again, I’ll find another muse
And what we have just done will be another addition to our plain of “fun”

Something consistent is all I desire
Even consistently fondling carries some kind of longing acquired over time
To be longed for, to be desired…

I’m oh so tired of being devoid of the wondrous sensation that fills one with absolute joy…
to where one cannot think straight or hold responsible their foolish acts because it’s all in the name of love

That single word holds so much power, so much meaning, yet is tossed around left and right by those who deserve nothing of it and leave those who possess sincerity to suffer

But there is a lesser form of love; an equally complicated form that has touched me often, yet leaves the ground beneath my feet shaken only temporarily

… except for those Irish eyes…

Now, you have been here before, capturing my eye
Bluntly you can see the spark, yet I’m amazed to know you noticed and didn’t completely fade from my sight
I seem to humor you with my timid presence while you humor me with your strange persona
Typically not a perfect pair, but ultimately compatible

You never cease to amaze me
The words that drip from the ink you hold
to the beautiful arrangements of notes your fingers unfold
Your passion for such an art that moves others in various ways intrigues me
I’m a bit envious, really
I wish I could possess the commitment for something I adored

And the way you convey your thoughts on paper sends shivers down my spine
You were always someone I admired, though I never imagined you wanted to chance your time
Things have changed, we too have evolved
Maybe now nature will make the call
And set the sword in stone for the two of us to pull free
You seem careless now, but what does it hurt to try?

Try me.

I no longer possess the will nor train of thought
to focus on education or socializing
And whatever I manage to write
has already been written by this hand
in different variations but with the same emotional ailment
Lethargy lies under my skin
a blanket for my still blood
I cannot shake it free or shrug it off
I have to make an incision
but I cannot make this decision
because procrastination holds the scalpel
and after it keenly sterilizes the blade
and tends to the many precautions of this surgery,
then inevitably becomes distracted by its other senses’ desires,
my disease will have won

These days drag on
while I drag on my finely
rolled cigarette of relief
But the relief is only a hazy
mask, fading with every lash
that falls on my cheek
My hair is too weak and
unkempt, for days spent
inside enduring darkness
take a toll on one's
mentality and physicality

I am a shell of who I used to be
Lips stuck together, crooked spine,
fingers jammed from carpel tunnel
Apathetic eyes grow weary from the
vast toxins that reside behind them
seeping through like an absorbent napkin
and rung out with listlessness

These days drag on and on
I hear the same songs
and make the same motions
I miss the fresh air and
the sound of the ocean
I almost miss the faint
smell of burts bees on
your lips--I'm sick with
nostalgia and dying for the future,
hating the present, wishing these
days would drag to an end

You are all hollow bodies with vacant minds

I sadly continue to waste my time

Ignoring my instincts, complying with you

Such a fool I am to disregard the obvious truth

You’re all designed for social situations, never obligations

Engineered for leisure, whatever is easier

Too blinded by toxins, too apathetic towards authority

You are the majority of this dispersing minority

"...And out of nowhere, she got sad and anti-social and wanted nothing more than to leave. It came out of nowhere, as it often does, and takes a while to leave. It especially likes to appear when certain depressants are involved, and when the memories of a better time begin to play in her mind.

The sight of them makes her stomach churn and all of her emotions turn sour. She then longs to find something -- anything -- as a distraction; she begins thinking of excuses to depart the loathed scene before her.

She pities herself, for continuing to feel hope. She dislikes herself for feeling misogynistic. She so desperately wants what she can't -- and seemingly never will -- have again. It kills her deeply to still feel these feelings after all this time.

Said feelings were supposedly detachable, so why not detach herself again?

It's always easier said than done."

There’s something about your pale skin
blanketed with thin hairs that makes
me care to become closer, to massage
your ache, to make you quake with
relief; despite your disbelief
about my interest in you, I really do wish to kiss
your manner and bathe in the
cool vibes you emit.
I want to hit my brain for
silencing my heart, for halting
its beats when my eyes meet
your sweet and enticing
form; It’s hard for me to say
if I’ll feel the same as yesterday
in the future, for fickleness
has been in my nature,
though it is an unattractive trait—
indecision and impulsivity;
Contemplation is a proclivity,
a natural occurring activity that
sends too many signals to my mind
and I waste all of my precious time
deciphering true feelings from
conditioned expectations
However, I cannot deny the tingly
sensation my body rides when I look
into your mind
And I’m quite curious to find
out everything about you while
keeping my own mystery unsolved

Procrastination
the greatest motivator,
eventually.

Insignificant this day has been,
which I predicted far ahead
So why do I still hang low
my soppy, untouched head?

Expect the unexpected, and
you shall never be surprised
How does one not expect what’s
expected to save one’s cries?

My expression dismayed,
my heart flutters not
For on my day of birth,
my mother has forgot

I do not deserve a celebration,
I have come to understand
Those close in relation to I,
I failed to grasp their hand

To take hold of what is false,
my importance and existence
If thy blood shall not think of me,
why exhibit anything but resistance?

What is this hold upon me?
It constricts and stifles every thought that appears,
with a chloroform rag drenched in discontent
Mild perfectionism, if such a thing, and procrastination leave me
frequently wondering where the time went

The questions I ask myself repeatedly
never receive answers with credibility
A rhythm with no rhyme; a melody in offset time
A misty meaning behind glossy eyes
that I’ve tied together with endless lines
of verbose attempts to explain my mind

No feeling is palpable, no imagery fabricated
Only an idea of what could be,
of what I cannot grasp,
and what I cannot convey

So I’m left with this clouded mind
jostled by ambivalence
(this word ceases to elude me)
on a maladjusted playground,
teetering and tottering on the fine edge
of sanity in this bleak reality

I know you
I observe you
I see you glance,
ignore, set down
your phone
your instrument of connection
I see you evade certain conversations
I know your game,
your technique
I know you
I don’t know
however,
why you tell me things
of great magnitude
if you know me
and how they resonate
and stick with me
I’ve confided in you
my most vulnerable moments
you had a spotlight shining
on my every detail
and used it against me
my skin made of braille
I know you’re not
conniving, just thriving
for the human experience
but I ask, will you think
with your heart
and save room for
a fresh start
rather ******* ****
romances for the last bit
of bitterness
when it’s nothing sweet to
me or you?

Inspired by light
and a likeness between us;
No shade needed here.

Orange sun shining—
pastel petals drip
weeping for warmth
beaming ebulliently after a pour
breathing the scent of petrichor
  blushing sweetly, like after a kiss

Absorbing all the moisture I can
blooming when I'm nurtured
and fertilized just right
  Detoxify my root,
     Oxidize my bliss
   Spreading seeds
semi-annually
and flowering for you

Above and beyond
you soar, rejuvenating
yourself and others.

It travels to my toes and
  tingles my extremities
It’s the peak of an early morning stretch
  the last sensation of a sneeze
It happens when you laugh or
  when I envision your face
It matters not the time or place
I’m left staring at blank walls
  just to picture you
I could write a book of all
  the feelings I want to spew
I anticipate an eruption
to happen rather soon
I fear I may smother you
  in my molten affection
and you’ll run for safety to a
far place for your own protection
And only I, because I too strongly yearned
  will inevitably be the one burned

I dreamt of slow-dancing
and we waltzed until I woke
Hazy scent of desires unspoke
I, mangled with your absence,
breathe a mere thought of
reality's biting grip and rip
the blanket from my bones
Naked and exposed, more
vulnerable and assured
than ever to disclose
those tender tickles
I feel when in repose,
visceral and verbose
I spew black for it's
pronounced and bold
amplifying the dark hold
melted to my frame
Bursting free, finally
with a pounding chest,
primary shades to express,
and fear tentatively at rest
Your hand in mine gives
a soft and slow caress
and I exhale our dance
of coalesce.

God, I miss you
  I miss you!
(You miss me more)
but I highly doubt it
Does it ache in your chest
when you think of how warm
my breath is on your lips?
Do your knees tremble and buckle
beneath you after imagining our last kiss?
Do you find yourself squirming
giddily in your seat when you
recall something sweet I said
to you when we were in bed?
Does your skin crawl with
anticipation for our next encounter?
Do your fingers fidget when
the urge to divulge emotion is so
strong you want to punch things?
Do you fight yourself daily to just
keep yourself at bay in fear
of smothering me? Something tells
me by your delay in replies
and your nonchalant guise
that you don’t miss me more
than I miss you.

under the influence again
just so I can stop thinking
about the emptiness I feel
like it’ll completely wash away
down the cold steel drain
and flush out into the abyss
of the rest of the world’s pain
I cannot understand the flightless
fears and insecurities that are
bound to the entirety of me
and why I’m crying without cause
when I should already be asleep
life is as real as the concept of you
and it’s happening now, every day
I awaken in the afternoon because
everything is frightening to do
I’m not ready to be a failure again
still recovering from you and hoping
to meet someone new so it’s easy to
***** a good thing up for myself
life is relentless, happening now
I’m under the influence

Summer loving
Ice cream shovings
into dripping mouths;
a melting cavern,
chocolate pools bubbling
under tongues suppressing
   mundane topics
let's get a little gay
take off my top and
         lay on top of me
**** the chills
with your bikini thrills
refocus your scope sur moi
  basket case weaving
  message receiving
southern comfort relieving
   excavated sediment
sentiments circulate
agreements perpetuate
a consistent blend
of froth and forthcomings
  remember to remember
one's habitual shortcomings

A burning desire for change;
A lack of courage or will
A loathing for what revolves the world;
A face printed on a pine green bill

A fixed way of life;
A reoccurring depression
A longing for something nonexistent;
An evolving experience to teach a lesson

A loss of interest;
A depletion of confidence
A slew of captivating faces;
An overactive conscience

A bond lost to dishonesty;
An end to faith in humanity
A new outlook, new perspective;
A bundle of positive thoughts collected