**** all artificial lights
no natural causes but
natural darkness
fake lights for true dark
blackest of blacks
like charred tree bark
leave but one imposter
glowing in the gloom
just pale enough
to write onto
and that's my door to you

I could have any kind of conversation
With any kind of man
But the ones we want to talk to us
Never, ever do
They all stop in the end.
They all vanish like it was pretend.

I'm still here,
waiting for your reply.
It's been months, hasn't it?
This conversation's never gonna die.

In the midst of conversation A question rose out of the blue,
What would I do if such opportunity were to arise.
In a conversation about long term goals without hesitation or notion
Without any specifics given to her question I asked what opportunity.
She laughed slightly and repeated the question.
This time reaching inside of her chest and pulling her heart into a closer view.
She waited for reply.
I wandered around the look in her eye glancing back down at a now throbbing heart.
She said well, In a topic of long term ambition show me that I am not wrong about you.
I trust you well enough to do exactly what I know your about to do.
She stated nothing further.
With that being said I'd like to think that I made the right decision.
The openness of conversing about any and everything, the hint that actions speak louder than words.
I did what I suppose any sane man would do.
I flung myself into her chest and landed dead in the center of her heart without fear of missing.

'The biggest problem with communication is that we don’t listen to understand, we listen to respond.'

You trace my bottomless eyes to the pit of my stomach
You stare at the tip of my tongue,
With that sordid tang on it;
Reassure me now,
I am not the cause of it.

Taste, but not too late
The stuff of which
I am made.
Never think
I would clean the bottom
Piety of your sink

Would you hear me?
Muffled in a crowd?
Where my delusions
Of your confusions
Are shrouded

I smell repugnance
And make nothing of it
O the fancies of tongues
Bowed, I make nothing of it
In the crowd I hear your sound
I make nothing of it
My rejoinder blaring loud
You make nothing of it

The boil of the grey water
Murky glasses unclean -
Silent unorderly

I make a run for it.

"I love you, a lot.
        Don't break my heart, please.
                It ***** when people do that to you.
                        I did it to someone else to be with you so
                please don't do it to me because
        that'd ****, a lot, because
I love you."



It’s a two-way street, love.
        I won’t break your heart if
                you promise not to break mine.
                        You see, I’ve broken and been broken, so
                I know. But how you came is
        how you’ll go, so excuse me
for being cautious.

With a much more serious face nowadays,
Deeper in tone. Quick in wit.
The question now is what's wrong.
The deep thought that plagues a curious mind.
Am I wrong for smiling at such a question,
The fact that something appears to be wrong.
Thus must be it.
In fact nothing is wrong.
Just a random impulse I suppose.
To reign in as a material savior,
Something seen in flesh. The curve of eyes.
Everything would be better now, right.
Supplying you with a simple answer that appears to be solution to your unjust problem.
To what means dictates that I reveal every thought.
Just because you ask of it.
Single bodied to one word.
By then would you be justified leaving me empty.
Outside appearances are indeed deceiving then, right.
Making assumption to problematic gesture.
In the end should we both then be disappointed.
The promise of a future with no past.
Decorative in a sense.
Made to fill the gaps of silence, 
If at all it eases your mind.
No, nothings wrong.

 

The mere fact that I like that your leading me on
Reveals a lot about how I feel about you, continuing to sit here.
Such abuse.
In fact, I implore you to continue.
Tell me more of your infectious lies.
What do you really think of me.
Fill the gaps of my curiosity.
The single body that you speak of contains more than one word.
Educate me on the subject of your well being.
Am I worth touching on in thought.
Do I bore you this much.
Don't speak, I fear I know the answer already.
I've become immune to your poison.
I adore it so.
Outside appearances are deceiving.
Quite so, point of the matter.
You were waiting all along for me to ask you

She said,
Falling in love isn't the dream you think it is

Now I'm just stuck with thoughts of being everything in your Knightmares.

In most silences there is a hint of regret
One not easily overcome.
The awkward silence of not knowing what to say.
The fear of rambling about nothing as most times
It's better to remain silent.
The after thought of finally finding the perfect thing to say,
Always after the moment has passed.
Random references, awkward stares.
I hate mental blocks.
Especially when it comes to someone that you've been thinking about all day.
Of all things in the world why is it hard to find that one perfect thing that won't
Succumb to the peer pressure of finally arriving at the moment when thought becomes
Action.
That one thing that won't make you appear completely insane to a complete stranger