I notice the way
lovers linger at each other
for two seconds longer
you mumble along to that tune
escaping from your right earbud.
The gallery cafe holds
artists in a room full of art
and I feel as if I'm
I'd frozen that expression
portrayed by his features-
glowing when she'd
tucked it into my bursting pocket as another stolen moment
and I think
is a funny thing.
and I wonder why he
had eyes for her
and how long they'd last
or how he'd chosen
that particular song;
lyrics involuntarily memorized
for what other reason than fondness;
or how after knowing someone for longer than your memory can recall
that the creases in their index finger
is as familiar as the back of your hand;
so can all these emotions
be classified as love?
I think it can.
// Is this a milestone or ongoing progress? //
numbers don't define you they scream
stitching price tags on my limbs like what I have to offer is paper based?
so tell me really,
how much does a soul cost?
telling me not to worry;
do what you do best
but what if cold sweating
is the only thing I'm good at-
escaping whatever fire you passed down from centuries ago
// the elephant in the room isn't me //
throw those numbers in the fire; watch them burn, watch them burn
oh better not say that
mind of hell
tongue of heaven
better not think depraved
veiled demon, licking ******* for car payments
what will people think
am i good person
shut eyed stiff
not dangerous, like a gun in the face
did i say the right thing,
cypher of morality
the knot of good, a slow strangle
a frightened worm
wont risk tears
here come the scissors
technology brains wired like weaponized monkeys
eater of crumbs
heatless heart ransomed for the ******* rent
can i evaporate
like a dead cat in a black box
better then tripping all over my self
strings attached with hooks
on shunted limbs
a relic of modernism,
talking scapegoats hissing
always haunted by what's missing
guts spilling through clutched fingers
apologizing to a faceless crowd of sea shells
and bagged heads
minds like the small screens
sitting all day
frenetic fingers and burning eyes
there's a part of me thats been crying since birth
what you do
in the land of the free and the brave
You wrapped me up in crazy
And stayed for quite a while
You tucked me into bedlam
And I slept on your beguile
The comfort was in knowing that
Your thoughts they made no sense
And I could not tell if we were present
or past tense
It was a sleepy fantasy
where it really didn't matter
If your thoughts transmitted energy
Or your brainwaves were ashatter
The chemistry I felt for you
Was such a mad desire
We could have burned out together
In an everlasting fire
As I curled around your sanity
And flirted with your brain
For a while I was so happy
In the nightmare called insane
I'd never have to understand that we were born into equal sized roadways-
another unwritten rule suspended in the air
amongst the somewhat unnecessary details we'd 'forgotten'
to mention over the past few years.
But that was okay right?
I mean you'd found your direction
and accelerated ahead of me;
thinking you'd see the world differently from there?
Sure, your perspective involved hues that I was blind to but
I'd found this gem within the shadows of all these cars
(Shh! Don't let them know you're catching up!
This highway was ruled by colours,
You just couldn't stay within your own lane-
oblivion muddled with reality
blurred my blindspot
so I advise you to swerve out of my way
unless you want to get hit
(accidentally on purpose.)
You'd always remark that I could handle the wheel,
ever so sweetly,
is what you implied?
I knew it was all too much,
trying to balance everything
(Shh! My plate was too full,
each nutriment colliding with another-
the chocolate syrup painted ice cream
enveloped half my dish,
intruding the space against her wish.)
You always seemed to have the cleanest looking plate,
however you continuously allowed me to spill over
onto the rim of your
pristine porcelain, as if
watching me overflow,
You never did anything about it,
never cleaned the dishes,
simply watching as various delicacies drew fantasies
Though those weren't even
to my fantasies.
You dream of candy floss nests and gumdrop buttons
whereas I dream of freshly cut watermelons and berries
(please do the dishes
// riding shotgun was the sweetest thing
you said we'd done
right before I floored the brake
and more than sugar
went flying out the window. //
stay in your own lane.
Always calling me sweet
as if my name somehow tastes pleasant
when you attempt to form sentences powdered with more
Listen up honey,
you're well aware of the outcome of this prolonged sugar
so swallow your
(unless toothaches are your thing.)
// if anything, i'm
With open minds and eager eyes,
We think naïve thoughts
And read cliché quotes.
But our thoughts are troubled
With damaged dreams,
And heavy hearts.
Nothing seems demeaning.
Everything looks sensualising.
Yet, only a few of us are dominating.
Those familiar hallways mean more than you think.
They say we don’t know real pain,
That our life is merely a game.
We are teenagers.
Our game is complex and cruel.
They wouldn’t stand a chance.