I believe in something greater than I—I believe in probability.

My mom gave me $30 for a taxi as a plan B
in case you couldn't drive me home if we drank.
We drank and I stayed the night—
but I still used the $30 for plan B.

I still find the taste of you
(both name and skin)
hidden under my tongue.

Being half-happy reminds me of you
When we'd talk on the phone and I'd write you poems
Comparing you to the pills I've never done
and the powders you described to me

i've got 99 problems and
they're all different
ways to spell your name.

You and I
were an amalgamate of
two forms of hatred,
sixty shouted swear words,
seven hundred kilometers of happiness, and
one thousand reasons to wake up,
smiling.

"You don't think it's bad, do you? That I keep
Finding myself in the people
I find in my bed on Saturday morning?"

When I was young, my mother told
that "Gods are born in iron molds"
Peers caught hold and then controlled,
they told me I was only stone—
cold.
But I see the now—the lies they hold.
The skies turned yellow for all to behold
and I was born
from liquid gold.
Living without a form to hold.

I sit on a long wooden balance beam
Asking *"please, just give me a break."

On the first time I walked your bridge.

He had one foot holding the chapel door from locking, but the other was in my direction. I know you wouldn't have taken two steps towards me, but we both agreed it was fun to imagine that which we didn't believe in. We didn't say goodbye—but I heard a door close.

I cough—and crimson flowers bloom on my palms
faster than the atom bomb can fall
As roots grew out from cells—you were yelling at trees—you couldn't move—you were just yelling at trees—yelling at trees
"Because that's all we really are! Just a different combination of the same thing. Like padlocks"

and it's not oak trees, but it's sapplings—and that's a start to a something we don't have a name to. You plant the seed of insanity into my mind,

I wish I could skin you of sadness
and offer you more than just
two arms
a shoulder
a heartbeat.

4:59 in the morning and
my mind is a mix of
You, dreams and 5am-
All of which, I
have yet to receive.

The proof is laying next to me in the morning but
I still find myself wondering
If September 2nd ever existed at all

your lips were the softest thing about you
swapping stories, passing lines—
i would rather talk to you than close my eyes.
we waited for the sun to come up
sitting naked wrapped in red velvet curtains
i told you i loved you.

*SHUT YOUR MOUTH YOU LITTLE ******* ****
FULL OF HIS *** I BET YOU ****** HIM WHILE I CALLED YOU
IF NO EYES WERE WATCHING I WOULD ******* HIT YOU
YOU WERE THE WORST THING IN MY LIFE
AND I WANT TO BE THE WORST IN YOURS
TAKE YOUR WORDS AND SWALLOW THEM LIKE A *****

One day I will
Publish ten books of poetry and
Burn eleven of them.

you loved me good, but
he hated me better. i'm
a sucker for passion, oh,
the thought of him still
bites.

are drugs lips? wit. harem. ember in glore

a red rug slips with a remembering lore.

They say there are more stars than grains of sand
and I hope that does not likewise apply to time
I sit, drop sand, count grains as seconds, and wait.

the memory of you is a warm comfort
a sunday morning community chapel
preaching your name so loudly
you'd think i was possessed
the sun sneaks through my windows
i'm alone in bed

Even though I had lied many times
and there was nothing which you could offer my youth
to make it take you back—
we still both agreed:
for the first of March,
it was a cold day
with colder air—
the freshest kind of close.

[poem]
W0r1d1y th!ng5 are f1337ing.
          
[/poem]

drawing parallels between perpendiculars—
every love i've ever had was born under the sun
but never lived to see the light
drawing parallels between perpendiculars—
stuck in the september,
we only existed in the fall
i only wanted to erase you

Love is the death of man and I,
I am coated in a lacquer of immortality.

i want a christian boy
to gift my skepticism
a rosary

If I could travel through time,
I would go back to when I first met you.

If I could stop time,
I would stay there for ten years,
     Thinking.

If I could control time,
I would have never met you,
And still have grown up in the process.

It was the brightest side of your clever mind
That, with mine, did intertwine.

It was the brightest side of the sun that sways
The grassy plains in which we lay.

It was the brightest side of your darkest day
I saw your sanity slip away.

It was the brightest side of my heart that died
When you left.

love a bit
love a bit

you look so good,
look so good,

the eyes relay to the mind

I waited forever, but there was never a "right time" to tell you.
I think I found the wrong time, however.

There are two of me.

We are twins,
me and her.

Same body,
Different soul,
But combined?

Two parts but still the same.
Dual songs, one unsung.

I am the snake's forked tongue


The only thought
both minds share freely:
Who am I?

Who am I, really?

there's no one true love—there's five of them
there's fifteen of them. there's zero,
and that's the hard thing to figure out—is if you only
love one person for four years, you could miss out on meeting the person you could have loved for forty. but you'll never know how long you'll last with a person until you've reach the end of the forty.
there's no one true love—there's only ever standards reached
only ever standards lived up to, only ever standards broken. new chances taken and old flames you wish you still had
(but only to light a cigarette with)

One day I will be six-hundred and four,
and you will be two-hundred and fifty—
but that is okay, because
you will still call me and I
will still have the memories of our memories.
*"He spoke with
a russian tongue—blue, snowy, and
cold.

I am not mother, just lover,
to legs never met. Housewife, I once dreamed
of sweat over ovens, oh only to love in,
places I was told not to go. I am wet for another
touch, weak knee for ****, low self esteem,
I am student supreme.

The sun sings, "Why the winds do blow
across the planes of the earth,
I shall never know."

The planes of earth
the never knew who to look up to
finally fly up in to the sun.

The sun sets on the worlds below
The sun sets on the clouds to know

"why the winds do blow
across the planes of earth
I shall never know
for I
for I
can never rain, can never snow
Can only warm
surface below."

I love you no more than I love
my credit card and left nostril.
Not a single gram more, but
not a single gram less, either.

i only wish i could esc the thought of you

Sadly, an
"I love you"
and a look into your iris
isn't strong enough of a cure
for this virus.
I would rather you
hit me and make
me realize
that the only way to fix the problem
is to revise my mix of overwhelming
string-of-something-mood-swing so
I am sorry,
Kyran King.

I've always hated how
love can sting.

We were walking on the lake
trying to get to the mainland—
(Your cabin had burned down)


*"the road home
isn't paved
but the highway to your eyes
is."

I write about the world.
The world does not write about me.
The world does not write at all.

*The world spills ink.
We form it into letters