You left earlier,
And now I'm left with the worst of it all
And that is the silence
You leave in your wake
And the whisper of I love you
As you walk through your apartment door
And I smile through the bitterness

Goodbyes seem permanent,
So I always go with a "see you later"
After you agree, you walk away
And I hear you sigh
Because we both know that
Neither of us want to leave

When I get home, I lay in bed alone
and think about the time we've shared
It's been eight months today

I'm mising the feeling
Of you playing with my fingers
Until you fall asleep
And I miss the inconvenient locks of hair in my face
That I try to breathe through and ignore

I want to bury my face in your neck
And hold you through the night
Keeping you safe from any danger
That may lurk in the shadows

But I'm in bed by myself
Without you to hold on to
Those "see you later"'s
Only get harder every time

I sleep, restlessly

invigorating punctuation marks via diacritical appellation of c# / ć comparison... how the ( ) can act as a semi-colon (;) - or how the colon (:) can act as both italic text, and a cascading postponement (cliffhanger). - musica est omnis - music is all. - as does the hyphen predate the paragraph... linearly, a paragraph within a paragraph... among other uses, notably in Irish or Polish texts, looks more like an authenticity of an author, who didn't say: he / she said, i.e.:
- i thought you were talking (boris)
- let me assure you, i wasn't (dalton)...
in english it would have been read
                   "i thought you..." boris said,
       "let me assure you..." dalton said.
and i know i shouldn't begin a sentence with
a conjunction but i must add:
              what's with words being isolated
   in inverted commas?
is this some ****** of idea
                    keeping thinking open to
speaking, or speaking open to thinking,
  in an ambiguous sense of tasting the freedom
and leisure of an aristocratic demand?
                      please, tell me,
                             you farting... or sneezing?

there's only one cure to jerking,
you actually reach a point
that you're simply "exhausted"
tugging a limp, ******* of a "glorified"
marble effigy of a *****,
that always seems to be mising
in greco-roman statues...
    an effigy of a ******* amputee...
****** don't help either...
       i can only imagine
Michelangelo sculpting a *****
like he might an urn...
         probably the best hand-job
in the world, ever...
              jokes are cheap,
keep the tap water running...
ever notice how men without ******
hair produce the most
  female offspring?
             just a wild guess that's
also a question that's also
in the wilderness of preferential
questions being asked
      of could possibly un-domesticate
a man,
   and find him re-emerging
                  from 100 years into: now...
and run amok in a frenzy
of ******* pride, and testosterone
     hummah hummah hummah -
boobbie boobbie clone wars...
                         me? as a man?
i retired from the ******* arguments
of english existentialism...
             i can't stomach it simply
because i find the french finding it
easier to **** in a cafe than an englishman
having a date...
                    but of course some people
will continue the legacy...
   but it's still going to be:
your genes... my ideas...
           i simply can't conjunction
a fathomable take on the necessity of
passing genes via conjecture...
                 gene what?
                            **** geneous?
             men are devalued for a reason
that a tissue exists, and the toilet...
      it really doesn't take scented
candles to march off into the sexless
wilderness as equating
  taking a **** with the "pleasurable"
rascal...
                   the english version
of existentialism has simply turned
into a feat of desperation...
               if you've read some german
or french existentialism you'd notice
that: the whole ******* universe needs
saving...
                i'll endure profane not
for reasons of respecting "etiquette" -
but because i like it...
           been sold **** all day,
might as well spree on ushering some **** out...
nonsense belongs to the youngster
brigade...
                   i'm a 31 year old
no-nonsense granny... trapped...
                  transgender being involved!
- i love, because i hate with a passion...
only because love is no *sorry,
anemic apologists, take a breather...
          - and what better revenge than leaving
a woman impregnated with
your spawn, after she did you ill?
                 then again,
i was always going to play an imitation
role of some, family member...
namely my father's mother,
who is less of a ghost in the memory
i have of my mother's grandfather,
who's a shade to me,
   in that one afternoon i spent with him,
he playing the piano, me playing
a mini-piano...
                    like **** i'm playing
a piano no...
             i graduated to play past
the diatonic alphabet...
i'll far and you'll whistle, ******...
   A B C D E F G...
seven! seven ******* letters to write me
some prokofiev!
              it's almost unbelievable that it
has to be enjoyed so much.
- ever read that one about
the beast of: lust, gluttony,
               greed, sloth, wrath,
           envy and pride?
  that hydra?
              my my,
                    the beautiful: parallel.