The thought of seeing you again- makes my heart beat faster than it does when I'm in bed with him.

The scars
On my legs
Are now white
...
And I'm
**Glad

I write this down one last time, to let you know.
To right what wrong I did, before I let you go.
To have you believe me even though you don't.
You'll be the most perfect, love. Even though I won't.
.
I literally want you to trust me when I ask you to love me.
I want you to realise that there's nothing that we can't be.
I want you to see the beautiful stubborn girl that I see.
I want you to feel what ever is this feeling that I feel
.
.
You can call it love,
While you leave me here in pieces.
You might try to push it away,
But it'll keep on increasing.
the night calls it passion, this
Thing, it doesn't ceases, love.
Cuz Jesus, that's just how it is.
- Aks

Zinc is needed to help support the body's immune system, as well as encourage human growth, meaning that without it, defenses and growth are stunted

I met a boy named Zinc
correction
I met a man named Zinc
correction
I met a man who called himself 'Z' even though his parents still called him 'boy' and named him Zinc, because Neon
was too flamboyant and Iron was too tasteless, and who on earth names their kid 'Oxygen', right?

ANYWAY:

It's worth noting that Z liked everyone, meaning A-X, and I was left wondering why he seemed to like girls who waved with the backs of their hands and not the palms, and why the only time he spoke to me was if I wouldn't leave him alone, and why it's obvious to those around him that lights are flashing in the eyes of 'why'-
correction
-'Y'-
correction
-ME when he noticed the stars I stole from the night in an attempt to spell his name out for the Gods but he was too busy hoping to catch the attention of the Devil and I hope she breaks his heart so he knows what it's like to wake up feeling empty because you gave your all to a person with a gambling problem, and I...
...don't make sense anymore.

ALRIGHT

I met a man who called himself 'Z' even though his parents still called him 'boy' and named him Zinc, and he didn't like the chain around my neck, but he let me wear it because it reminded him of hope, which he had lost when he was young, but had vicariously experienced through me. Just kidding.
Her.
Capital 'H', lowercase '-er', silent 'she's not going to love you like I will'...

I LIED

he doesn't know I wear a cross (or used to) because he's too busy falling in love with the fact that she's got daggers in her eyes and she knows how to dance to all his favorite songs, while I only know the lyrics to them all, and maybe she won't break his heart but she sure as hell won't be gentle with it either because girls like me write about girls like her and girls like her burn books about boys like him.

I'm not sure what this poem is about. Or why it is the way it is. That's a lie.
I know, but I can't say I want to anymore...

TO BE CONTINUED...

I'm restless and *******
but ******* isn't even really right
because I'm not angry,
I'm just not remotely content.
Frustrated, but it's more than that
and I'm unable to put into words
the inability to fake more
enthusiasm or happiness.
I'm not ok with where I'm at
not just in life, but literally,
geographically.
I want to pick up and run,
run far away, fill up the tank
and drive until I'm on empty,
and I'm not sure if I'm referring to gas.
Where would I end up
and could I find some semblance
of an adventure there,
something to kickstart
me back to life.

For what it's worth,
I love you,
yet you are the fish that will feed my soul,
and I only have a spear.
So here I am in between a rock and a hard place,
as I debate on whether to capture you just for me?
Or will I be generous and let you be free..?
In the end, you swim away,
so I will stay,
and keep on fishing.

Her voice would cleanse me, but
Her voice-mail popped every last
Bubble in the bath water.
Her phone rang and rang.
Wringing me out.
Leaving each ring
In the bathtub.
-
I thought you were still in the shower
but I found you in the sunlight that the patio keeps.
I missed the tightening of your skin as it dried.
Then it loosened you in its warmth just to
Show me the sweat beading. Growing wherever
Like seeds let go from the wind; held no longer
Than they should have been.
-
It was a careless orchard.
Rowed haphazardly.
The organics of now
Fruitful and ripe
But only for that moment.

I have a sad soul
I'm on a sad path
my mind eats itself
surroundings around me have nothing to say.

I am not cheered by good fun
and there's no fun in good cheer
my eyes are grey.

Feeling may be well enough deep
but my voice is monotone
there's not a charming bone in my body
I might as well sit on some old stump
and rot there with it

The upward contours that my mouth form into when socially acceptable feel as phony as I just described them
And I pray that I would be convinced
that a good night out
is a good thing

I'm not claiming that God makes mistakes
but life's maimed me
and left nothing but dry bones
and sometimes I think God does make mistakes.

I'll just shuffle along
with my dry bones and sad soul
until my next mental breakdown
until I am insignificant enough
to finally disappear

To write praises to God
that emerge from within me
is the ideal not being presently accomplished

Forgive me if my words are forced and shallow,
but help.