I've seen the tell tale
bite of your lip
Your hands meet one another
Twisting fingers
Eyes quickly squeezed
Tightly shut.
You open them again
This time hardened
Staring up
**** in a breath
Then back at me
Straight in the eye
Lips stretched
Over a gleaming set of teeth
You tilt your head
"I'm fine"

I don't even know
What to say anymore
I don't know
What's the matter
But just know that
I'm going to stick around
And I can't make you tell me
So I'm going to wait
Sooner or later
I wish you would confide in me

Is it wrong of me to be sexually satisfied,
merely by the expansiveness of your mental capacity?
Intrigued by your complacence.
See, at first you were just this figment of my imagination.
But now you've transcended,
into this complete sensation.
No matter the misconceptions that others may have about you,
I could never replace you.
I could go on and on about the metaphors
that compare you to the sun,
or other gleaming objects.
But really, my attraction for you is far more complex,
to just subsidize you to comparison you probably already met.
I no longer base my relationship on ***,
I now seek intelligence,
an intellectual, oratorical genuis - one who knows what the birds say,
why the ocean waves, why society emphasizes self-hate.
And ever since I've sought all of those determining qualities in you,
I've since, loved you.

The taste of cigarettes has become a trigger
tugging on my memories of intimacy with women
the mere thought alone of smoking is ***
I smoke a lot
lighting that cigarette with fire
inhaling that smoke
that sensation tingling through my veins
exhaling then inhaling
again and again and again
sometimes inhaling deeper
and exhaling slower
I love to watch the smoke plume out of my mouth
and linger in the air
it's such an intriguing contrast
between the oxygen and smoke
though sometimes I get lost in it,
this cloud of death
and see it bigger than it is
sometimes I forget to breathe
this is a habit of mine
pretending that I don't need air
I sit there motionless
as the veins in my neck
begin to protrude out from under my skin
and my head becomes heavy,
too heavy to keep up straight,
and my mind becomes light
then, as always, I open my mouth
and voraciously inhale some oxygen
I guess there's just something in me that wants to breathe.

A beautiful woman walks across the street in front of me
***, ignite, inhale, exhale
I turn up the music in my headphones
then, she makes eye contact with me with this look in her eyes
it was deeper than what was in between her thighs
and as if she could hear the music in my head
the flow of her body as she walked away swayed to its rhythm
this seemingly insignificant moment turned into something beautiful
it was euphoric
this simple acknowledgement of exsistence
of which I had experienced so many times before
had become enough to distract me.. . to distact me. ..
to distract me from the cigarette in my hand
which was now ashing itself
there was nothing ****** about it yet the after effect felt just as good
but it was a different kind of good
a good I could only feel from that moment alone
I looked down at my cigarette, now half gone
and contemplated on whether I should finish it or not
I stood up and walked to the edge of the sidewalk
and as I threw the un-finished cigarette down into the gutter
I realized that

Life is ***
there are so many things out there to ****
so many thoughts to ****
so many vibrations to ****
and I would like to **** for a very long time.

When my mother weeps at my books of poetry,
when my father denies ever having a claim on me --
that's when you'll know I was a black sheep.

The rooms -- grey, filter-feeding off my teetering sanity--
shrivel with my crippled ambition,
I've seen the backrooms, full of aching flesh;
I've seen the bathrooms, full of ***** and proud boys,
I've been the "self-proclaimed ******* of my generation";
I've driven women to the same ***,
but all my memories burn madly --
their lessons
turn to smoke,
kiss my nostrils--
leave me alone just long enough
for a therapeutic winter --
full of wine and an earnest-eyed love.

When my lioness needs to roam,
When my best friends turn runner-up --
that's when you'll tell me, "you've done this to yourself".

The fields -- flattened by snarling winds and preying beasts --
provide a place to lay my head,
I've wailed at the wall;
I've murdered the crying crow,
I've been Delilah'd;
I've driven to the dark corners -- hiding from illuminating eyes --
but time reoccurs like a small town parade --
the old men become cartoons in tiny cars,
the beauty queens never age,
the horses always **** the pavement,
and we ignorantly track in it --
bringing it to the heirloom rugs and beige carpet,
only to spend the rest of our lives cleaning.

I used you.
You were just a ****
I pulled you along by the hair
Of your hope
And whispered nice things
To make you trust me-
To make you ******* bleed.
**You can bet I ******* loved you.