She's a bit smart and a little in pain,
so she takes her pills at dawn when everyone is dreaming
- while hers translate into crosses on her wrists for the loves she has lost,
and straight lines on her thighs as tally marks for each joy unaccomplished.

She's a bit ugly and a lot of beauty,
so she stares at the nothingness that she is
before any clothes, before any thing
- but how can that be, to be less of a person when nobody even said she was one before?

She's a bit honest and a whole lot of truth,
so she speaks censoring every softness that is of her heart,
but launching every thorn that ever struck her inner flesh
- it's for security, she says, and self defense...of course.

The Great Queen isn't everything that you see.

I've got nothing but words to make you hear me.

I've got nothing but words.

I've got nothing.

I'm sorry.

There's an anomaly
in my body.

I move so softly in the face of things,
but I'd like to move in nature;
it makes me a wild bird lost in the cryptic love for
thought,
kinesis,
and flight of the universe.

It makes me as fragile as the tides,
similar to an ****** prose - moving in its poetic ways.

There's an anomaly
in my body.

I say let's crawl inside the sheets together.
Let our hairs go wild, and our knees touch!
Here I go with a wink of an eye, and you kiss the other.

I say let's talk until our neighbors hear us.
Our arms can touch each others until the clock strikes us asleep.
Here I sit with one leg on top of the other, and you trace it with one finger at a time.

I say let's lock your door inside out.
We can hope no one will ever knock to wake us from the fantastic slumber of passion.
Here my heart is tugging on your sleeves - to peek, to understand, to see what I mean.

I say invite me for a sleep over on a lazy Friday night; you won't regret it.
I'm an artist when it comes to building fortresses, and a lover when it comes to you.
Here I observe the corner of your lips heightening into a smirk.

I say close your eyes and do not over think.
Your imperfections orient me toward you only more and more.
Here I say we should spend every day together until forever after.

My hair is blue from swimming across the ocean, sir.

Sometimes, you need fresh air,
and beyond the curb of ignoring an annoying party-acquaintance,
you step outside to feel the briefly welcoming air;
you think you'd overcome the standing hairs of your neck,
but you don't and you stay.

Sometimes, you need fresh air.
Slowly, after that last awkward smirk from your blind-date,
you reach for your cigarettes and head outside into the rather stark breeze of night,
leaving coffee for smoke, intertwined with the thin ice, that is breath.

Sometimes, you need fresh air,
and it's cold, too cold to leave the room,
and it's dark, too dark outside,
but you leave anyway because whatever stands inside is a spoiled pique unrelentingly trying to get you.

*Sometimes, you need fresh air.

How do you come close to an idea?

There's a path, but you're not sure where it leads you -
or maybe, how it will get you there.
Where?
Anywhere, really.

You look up and all you see is darkness -
no light, no stars, no supernovas
in the distance,
just complete isolation from the universe.

But you hear things.

And you wish you could understand this foreign language of whispers,
the kind that raises your awareness of your surroundings.
They raise their own decibels as you walk more into the path.

And suddenly, you see.

It isn't a light.
You still wish to see one,
but instead, you see the ocean - the echo of all living things.

Water. It was the water that has been speaking to you.
The waves congratulate you for your bravery to come to the end of the path.

You turn around to return, but the path has gone.

So, like a wandering child, you patiently look at the sky to dream;
a staircase falls upon the curtain of your vision.

You step up, but you are reluctant, scared that the path will disappear again.
Or that you can't come back down.

Retreat.
You retreat and rewind.
You settle down.
You close your eyes.
You lie upon the soft earth to listen to the steps you've never taken.