It comes in waves and surges,
aching in my bones and coursing through my veins,
and I wish I could hate you and curse your name,
but at the end of the day it is I who takes the blame.

I wish I could rewind back,
think to myself stop and think about what is wrong,
because I would see it's not us or you but me
and I could apologise and cry and tell you how much I am sorry but now when the moon is in the sky and my only companions are the scabs on my arms and the ***** burning in my throat my words aren't so clear and my message isn't so simple and I just wish
I could hate you and curse your name,
but at the end of the day it is I who takes the blame.

Well now I am aware
Of the newest anarchy towards your reasonings
An enterprise of not feeling anything
This practise of not making a sound.

Even the hollowest, little laugh, catapulted up
Through the roof of your mouth, and reflecting
Off the top of your tongue, can still be too much.
In earnest, even if it's an eighth of a sound, its apex
Is too much to drown out, I hear it everywhere that

It throws me towards. Holds me by the throat and it
Knows me now like it wants me to find out but then
Hides itself, like the chime of a bell, ringing off the hem
Of the dress you wore on October 30th of 2012, it is a
Sound that'd I'd never be able mute out, that comes
To me unexpectedly, and it takes the rest of me to keep cool.

Now the inches grow, and the moon men climb inside of
My mouth. I want to yell. Scream! But I can't even shout.
The words inside of my hands write, but the ink has dried out.
I wasn't sure but now I'm sure that the time has come and
That time on the clock is now. Call up the whales, undress for
The moon, I'm making Rice Krispies because the penguin girl

Is coming home soon.

Dark of skin
Tall and beautiful
Looking is impossible
Stop staring as well

Such a silent method
Such a cruel thing
Just a glimpse is heaven
A word is paradise as well

Brown sugar she smells like
Brown honey she tastes like

And mine, just mine.

im lost and comfused. i dont know what to say i dont know whats wrong inside me. Questions and fears repeating on my mind like a dejavu. Regrets and agony in my chest and burned inside like a ritual crest. Lies with a sharp toungue but with a heart filled with stitches and cuts. Telling a girl lies saying its love but truly i just see it as lust. Why do i play this game if my heart belongs to one? You cant replace a girl you gave your heart to . But its harder to forgive yourself knowing because of you. You lost the woman of your life all because you dint know how to say no and wasent selfish for your own. There aint a day i dont think about you. There aint a time where i just lay down and remember every little thing about you. All i can truly say is someday. I hope you can forgive me.

The clock gets me.
It comes to me in the middle of the night
Pulls back the sheets and says, "Hey fucko."
Then it lifts open my sobby wet sand-encrusted lids,
It knows when I'm trying at sleep, pumping quarters
Like I was swallowing yawns, sometimes I try to squint
Harder and take a dream to the next level, whatever
The next level is. It's like Friday night when I wanted to go
Out to do something, whatever something is.
Because I know that if I don't I'll miss that thing that's so
Important that if I were to miss it the clock wouldn't come for me

Again.
And on Tuesday's when I'm knotting a dream around 2 o' clock
In the morning, my web-footed adventure, say, killing your

Boyfriend, say
Fighting the Nazis, say,
Rediscovering that you sent nudie pics to
That rando guy we met in that club that lives
in Prague-
I throw the clock at the ******* wall.

Because who knows, I make the bed wrong
Or maybe I don't cook right, or look right, or
Smile the right way at the right

Time. And you start thinking that I have to die.
The bane of my existence is an imagined feat in your
Walnut-sized brain, slowly numbing us while we're
Supposed to be, say

Listening to the rich, Oxford voice of
David Attenborough.

Instead you're thumbing through that index
of CVS cashiers, just trying to find a scruffy face
To flip your digits to, your homemade justification. It becomes
A feat, an unjust cause of mine to

Get it right, that imaginative and artificial bit you've
Been sewing up Monday twilight.

That's when I go out and jaw your sister, somewhere between
A smirk on your face and a bit of anger at the end of your sentences.

He weeps his heart, and hangs his head,
He doubles back, and follows her back to bed,
She says, " Some homes are towns and lives, while others wear their homes inside." And he keeps up though he's kept out, the volatile, the sudden frown.
She makes up the cupcakes but they're never vegan are they? No they're never vegan are they?

He makes a gift, and wrings his thumbs, the bubble bath, the tepid tub,
Outside where the rains have gone long, something gives him something strong,
And he picks up where he had left off, the trouble is he doesn't know when to back off, and the cupcakes aren't vegan, sweet and such spectacular, but they really aren't eaten, now that they've been made with eggs. No the cupcakes aren't vegan, though they are quite delicious. And he loves her forever, though he never eats again. No he never eats again. No he never eats again.