i don't want to know your name
nor do i care who the ******* are, what makes you you
and i don't want to know that you can't eat spaghettios anymore because they made you throw up one time a couple years ago;
i'm not curious about your little secrets
and i certainly dont give a **** about your family tree

and i'll gently hold your face in my hands one more time tonight,
but you shouldn't expect to pick apart my brain after the lights turn on and the music stops playing  

( i watched my sanity drop like a disco ball onto your cement floor into ten million little pieces while the cats licked them off the ground and i just sat there and watched, i couldn't even move. )

Scratching
Screeching
Scheming

Hellish boys trimming their blades
Sliced by nights eyes

Callous carefulness

Calamity in the Mystics eyes  intricitley cutting silver pences
Crying their breach

Rubble toes and hardened minds
The kind one can't contain

Blaring the shrieks of a litten mouse
Holding up high
Flying high
Can not find stable ground

Hellish girls grinding their teeth
Strapping their ties
High and tight
Grading their hearts

They both want to
To be carelessly bad, free and rash  

Terribly so,

So much so - without a cause

She was his flower
So gentle and pure
But only for an hour,
For he could not
Hold her too long.

just like I promised I would.

I found it yesterday, in the
beginning pages

of this journal you gave me. There was
a scrawled note under the only line,

with a careless rectangle drawn around it.
I must've written the note quickly,

a few days after you dropped
me off for the last time.

"I'm sorry I never finished it,"
I wrote. And I am. 

I'm sorry I never finished it for you
to see. I hope this one will do.