ideal: a person or thing regarded as perfect.
perfect does not exist.
perfect does not exist.
I stopped believing in the concept of being perfect when I started hurting myself while trying to literally squeeze into  the mold of the so called shape that was viewed as “perfect”.

damp roads at night pushing and pulsing light
whip soiled water onto pack and *** from back bicycle wheels rotating furiously out of purgatory out of bleary eyes of incandescence and towards the same eyes lit by patriotism or in another sense incarceration
wheels spinning straight and directionless
sore legs denying illusion of purpose purported by a between eyebrows headache only achieved through a blindfolded walk down memory lane keys jingling from a carabiner and a misplaced confidence self corrected before it was too late to realize that reality is difficult to handle with all 5 senses and a distinction between right and wrong and being left handed but not leftist because the only thing worse that being dumb is being spineless invertebrate vampires killing sheep in the prairie and funding proxy wars while fighting for who?
wheels spinning round and round keep insisting on idealism

I still don't sleep well at night sometimes. I miss you, whoever you are, or maybe I just miss having someone close to me I can put all of this love into, an outlet for my affection. Whatever the case, I spend my waking moments wondering where you are and my moments asleep wondering when. It's honestly getting harder to tell the difference between the two, the two infinite worlds of possibility where wild, unexpected things happen. Or don't. Sometimes the reality is more interesting than the dream.

There's a certain sense of tranquil quiet when you're lonely that I can only appreciate for about 5 minutes before my heart grips against its iron bars, looking for a key or a file or a spoon to leap its way out of my chest to freedom and adventure. It writes Morse code letters on skipped heartbeats to you, but I am a miserable translator and I'm sorry. I'm sorry for my past, for all the wrongs I've committed in the nebulous black leviathan night, the almost-nightmare state of bleariness and hypnotic suggestibility. Clarity only comes when you spirit your marble curved likeness in the warm wooded embrace I do so long for in waking life.

I ramble and you float away, O kind angel of faint hope, white stone wings beating tremendously in sync like the buzzer of an alarm clock, striking me asleep again for daylight, somnambulating across the barren black-tar desert in search of water and finding only more black sand.

The nights have become more torturous without your colorless gaze. Please get here soon so I can tell you about how I've known you all my life.

With fondest regards,
Alex

I can only touch you
                                                           if I close
                                                          my eyes
                                                    you materialize
                                                        you are not
                                                           just a prize


you are the lie


                                                         I like to hear
                                           like you're near
                                                  like you're here


                                                  my dear




       by 12:00 you are mine

                                             let's get this going
  before the alarm rings

I need to be there when she sings

                                                     my name

on her lips

   my breath on her skin

                                           in the dark we're alive

                                                 at the break
                                                    of dawn


                                                       we die

for

                                                   you are just a  lie

Take everything you've learned, and know about yourself, and ask yourself a question:

If you had a chance to do it all over, knowing what you know now; think about it, and realize - would it really make a difference?

*I didn't think so...

he watches Her because she is one of those people who demands attention
She is wild and bold and sarcastic
he sees, though he is blind to Her insensitivity

she stares at Another because He is one of those people who sits at the back beautifully
He is good and charming and kind to His mother
she sees, though she closes her eyes to His cowardliness

he longs after The Girl who is taken because She is one of those people dreamt of
She is polished and pure with a bright smile
he sees, though he is oblivious to Her vanity