"Rip off it quickly"
they all say about the band-aid
"It won't hurt as much"
they supposedly claim

Of course it won't hurt
when you're the one tearing

You're not the one who healed
Protected
And saved
Precious dermis
embraced with a sticky strip

The blood ceased to flow
and the slivers faded
While what covered you
absorbed the pain

But, once you're healed
it holds no more to you
and what was your cure
is poisoned by your absence

Stories always seem to start in the summer
Not as in
"begin"
or for the first time
be conceived,
but when they live

Winter is dormant,
all the laid groundwork
beneath frozen grass,
yellow-green ice shards
protruding from their
chandelier garden

Hopes and
wishes and
dreams and
sadness and
loves

Pent up
for the past 9 months,
emotional gestation
released in
a bacchanalian
of shameless
feelings
and ritzy wine-coolers

Drink from the goblet.

Fear of the Kool-Aid
has past.

It's immortality.

I am beyond what I see and am what I feel.
Flowing to the sea,
bring me back to you.
Under the stars, dreaming of the shore
The way he looked
as he walked across the bare cement floor,
basement near done, but that was close enough,
his footsteps become my ****** pulse
Tobacco between his teeth,
No look to me, none at all, but we all knew we were there
Someone lit the fire
I know who,
we all knew we were there,
though
when I think of the one with the rolled affection,
everyone else melts into a painting on the wall
Shadow puppets gaily riot
trapped by the blank stare
a dance of their own

his dark curls are his most obscuring feature, but they lit up the basement that night
He lit me up
Like a cigarette that would burn at both ends
taking life away twice as fast
giving thrice the reason to live
making me fall infinitely more into him
all while knowing
I can never have him