Your heart is like a candle
Slowly I drip in your love.

Your smile is like a fragrance
These butterflies won't stop...

My hands won't stop shakin,
Your eyes make me melt.

Your hair looks amazing
I'm in amazement.

I truley adore you,
I lose myself in that.

I couldn't stop tomorrow
believe me I gave it a try
turns out all those moments, are what made time go by.

As I took it all in
the voice inside
fell silenced, content, but extremely alive.

I didn't get enough time within those deep blue eyes
engaging me to want the pleasure of calling them mine.

I'd walk all those miles if it meant I were to see you tonight.
It may aid this determined desire just to stand by your side.

In your arms, my heart must have stayed
because in your arms is where I wish to lay.

I still feel the permanence of your kiss on my lips
I beg that I feel that kiss until the next one I get.

If all I feel is real, can I ask you this one time...?
To keep me within your heart, within your mind
Until our goodbyes turn into only goodnights...

Because life is hard, baby
And if you get it all down in writing
You'll never forget the lessons learned

You ever want to **** someone so bad your stomach hurts? I counted to seventy eight in between when the shuttle took off and arrived and I got off to get distracted by hunger. Maybe I’m a ***** but it’s hard not to want. I smoke my cigarettes so fast I get light headed. It’s the only way to know I’m killing myself.

                                             **** yourself with
                  your last cigarette only almost broken but crumpled
                               it’s more comforting than love.
              Always call your last match false hope when you’re alone.

                                                                                    The days are gruesome.
                                                                       The trees get green then naked.
                                                       The women in pulp paper backed books.
                                               The woman in my pulp paper backed book is
                                a portrait of you, with your mouth open that felt *****.
                         I licked my fingers to smudge the shading on your tongue.
                                   I licked my finger to smudge a poem on the ground.
                                        A poem is a tree punching through the pavement
                                                                                    into the toothy ground.

                   The ground is the trees that tried and died before.

          Before is the whiskey in my cup I have to drink to waste it.

Waste is whole and even. I feel best as an odd number, as a single or a third, as one of those unrelenting fractions always braying to be torn apart. Whole is useless, whole is having nothing to give away, whole is to be a hole you’ve filled with yourself and no part of you sees day or the flowers that pile up from the corpse of accomplishment.

I’m equally heart and
head and **** and their
all digging for clay.

“I’m   sick    of     you


always
trying tobe a poeton
a balcny in the moorning
at


4
with-nough
whhiskey in your gut to **** a mule the size of a man twice yours”

Metal tastes the way beer does when your can is filling in the cut it opened in your mouth.
The same way words do with meaning.

“You don’t like
it?twhat’s         the matter?”
“It’s the word
mainly, listen to the sound,
ppuuuuudiinngg.
It sounds like the sop
from an unkempt venereal disease.”
“You ,
your fuckinwords.”

PlllaaassstiUc,
sounds like rain on a bucket with holes below the line you need it to be whole for, to work for collecting water
when you slap the bottle from my hand.

“Plastixs
cheeprthn
glash you devil
bitsh”

Off again into another night on may be the same bench till may be rain or rumble or a lack of water find me in the morning.