If I had gone home with you,
like I so badly wanted to do,
what would have happened?

Would you have continued to whisper
your go-to lines to me,
the ones I'm sure you use on every girl you meet?

Would you have touched every inch of me,
or would you have stayed clear
of the parts that have too many inches
that aren't worth touching?

Would I have felt safe or afraid
or guilty or wonderful
or lonely or at peace?

Would you have asked me to stay?

If I had woken up
early in the morning,
like I always do,
would I have woken you up, too?

Would your arms have been wrapped around me,
as you did all night,
letting me know that, in this moment,
I am yours?

Would you have felt my body shift
searching to find the perfect location
and would you have wrapped your arms tighter
or would you have rolled over,
giving my skin the first taste
of the cool morning air?

Would you have woken up
wondering who I was?
Would you have been pleased to see me
or disgusted
that your drunken eyes have much lower standards?

Would you have kissed me as I left?
Would you have said goodbye at all?

Would I have spent the rest of the day thinking of you?

They have their inner beauty
I know what others say
But for your sake only
I ask just this: Lets pray
And when they sudden reach you
Nothing could bring you back
Cause when they sudden reach you
The rope is on your neck

I singe my hair dry
so it stays perfectly straight
even as I toss it over my shoulder
pretending I don't care
about your overused compliments
and your cinematic lines

I fill up my pores
with liquid lust
so that when I force myself to turn away
my skin glows with the kind of confidence
that can only be bought
in drug store chains

I rip every leg hair
from it's follicle home
so that when you graze my knee
with your lying fingers
you feel my vulnerable skin
and touch my soul in a way
that freezes my body to stone

I pull on the tightest dress
in hopes that it squeezes out
my crazy, romantic thoughts
and leaves nothing but the curves you desire

I speak perfectly chosen words
that I barely hear
because they are not my own
but they will win you over

I do all of this
just to come home alone
at the end of the night
and crawl into my bed
and think about the guy
I would rather have performed for
during this production

In his hands
To see if I might find my freedom
In his heart
To make me believe in love·
Sometimes we just forget about all those who cry,·
But in our dreams,
They never die

There’s this guy that tells me that I’m beautiful

There’s this guy that tells me how he wants his future

There’s this guy that holds my hand

There’s this guy that kisses me tenderly

There’s this guy who knows me and all my craziness

There’s this guy who likes to show me funny things

There’s this guy that has the cutest messy hair

There’s this guy who I could see myself with in the future

There’s this guy who knows when something’s wrong

There’s this guy that has the most amazing smile

There’s this guy that’s strong

There’s this guy that I can tell everything to

There’s this guy who thinks I’m hot in just a t-shirt and jeans

There’s this guy that passes me notes

There’s this guy who has a really big heart

There’s this guy that makes a lot of tyops

There’s this guy that knows almost everything bad about me and still loves me

Most peculiarly of most things was that I thought all of this very fishy, daudry, drab, and boresome. This is where I turn on the second table lamp...

In a muster I arrived to the home of my aunt, where at once she drew me into the back of the house, down a flight of stairs made of tusk and bone into a catacomb where she kept a alive collection of wooly mammoths. She said the upkeep wasn't awfully horrendous as she had an invisible backdrop which led to a lion, a witch, and a wardrobe sort of thing. I stood in the gangway behind 10 foot high thigh bones waiting for one of the monstrous red beasts to come greet me, but what arrived was a very large elephant with longer tusks than usual. None of the red sillyness which I had dreamt of seeing in my previous years.

She could see I was not that impressed, and so I was led to another part of her home. Around the corner walked in my uncle in is superb and luxurious dress, reminiscent of 18th century British military fatigues. He said, "I bought the E.T. ride from Universal Studios, but as bringing the whole ride to my home I had them adapt a more suitable version to fit the property. A hangar opened and inside there were four chariots of orange and blue, diamond shaped school buses with their undersides aimed at withholding a V-shaped street. Then in two and two single file order all the classmates of my K-12 years arrived and took seat into the strappings of this 'ride' we were to take. Music played, John Williams even was produced by hologram, and after the ups and downs for several minutes we arrived to what I thought would inevitably be the forest, but rather was what I perceived was a Finnish town. The chariot I was in was stuck in the street, mud, rain, and soot entrenched us. I unbuckled the polyester straps and when I stood I realized that though the seats had built in urinals and toilets they were utterly noiseome to the senses. I followed a local girl to a food mart where I asked how I could find where I was but no one spoke a drop of English.

I corraled the group and told them to wait for me. I followed this girl who seemed quite younger than I to a small apartment in the uppermost floor of a very unsturdy chapel-like home several suburban blocks from our ride. She immediately removed her pants and I saw with my very own eyes that she was hairless and nubile. She insisted that we have a ****, and after I caressed her and complained too that she was far too young, she insisted that the age of consent in Germany was actually 13 yet she was 16. I remember it clearly. The most gigantuous feelings of pleasure as I mended a studio closet for my dining room furniture inside her ripening channel. Eventually after an hour we finished, she offered me a towel and some biscuits, which I consumed joyously.

Upon leaving her home I remembered that she had said we were in Germany, and so I produced a measure of Deutsch that I had been saving in my repetoir for the right moment. As Finnish is not my strongest language I was pleased of this and became instantly popular among the other candidates of our journey. This  E.T. ride is far different than  I remember it having been. Moments later I awoke quickly, a tuft of her black hair on my eiderdown comforter and a veil of tears from the merriment of glee shrouded over my face. After I rolled and balled into the soft feathers of my bedding, I twisted myself again into a knot, and allowed myself to rejoin the soporific treatice I was aiming for.

This is now where I turn off both lamps and go on watching films of a similar style.

Wishing You The Very Best,

Sir Martin Narrod

I keep my family of conscience
I shred my folly of heir
In case of torment or fondness
I never wear underwear.

I know, I know
I’ve been told so many times to give it up.
That what happened when I wasn’t there
Was what made her the girl I loved
But the problem is, now that we’ve moved on
She’s still the girl I loved
She’s still the girl who is liked
And I’m still the guy who is not.

You can’t necessarily turn feelings off,
I mean I have, but it wasn’t good
It kind of ended in misery, to be honest.
I think thats why she’s gone,
In a way I mean, on top of disasters past, and
Mainly because of everything we said to one another.

It kills me, you know, knowing she’s fine
That she’s probably gone on and found some other, new guy,
While I sit here at night, writing line after line
Of sad poetry and lyrical lies.
I’m sure he’s taller, of course, she likes that a lot,
She always wanted love taller than 5’9”.

It kills me, you know, knowing she’s fine
While I’m sitting alone at home,
Cooking dinner for one over an open stove.
Writing these god awful, sad sappy poems
That no one will ever even read.
It kills me, you know, knowing she’s fine
All the while I’m sitting at home
Slowly burning inside.