I guess you could call me
a people addict;
I live for the exchanges,
momentary or prolonged,
the satisfaction of smiles substituted for
verbalized salutations;
the how-you-do's and hello's,
the pleasantries of chit chat,
talk of my oh my, I am not ready for this snow
and how was your holiday?;
catching a supposed-to-be-sneaked glance from that tasty
stranger,
allowing your eyes to meet for longer than
you meant to;
a compliment that drips off the lips so sweet,
its nectar invading the taste buds for hours
on end;
individualized or multiplied,
I relish in the conjugated haze,
in the gazes and the giggles,
in the potential formulation of inside jokes,
in a have a good day to a grin I will never see again,
the whirlwind of vowels and consonants,
of coincidences and sarcasm,
of the impressions we may leave of which
we will never be aware;
I crave the mundane,
I get high off the monotony,
I am swallowed by the simplicity;
Yeah,
I guess you could call me a
people addict,
and I'm cool with that.

Here it goes
She dips low
Under the covers
Of youth under fire
Passion fueled by desire
Burn your dreams
hot knives on the stove
Nothing in the refrigerator
A memo to call mom later
The stains on your carpet
Your love waits in the market
The one you'll never meet
Because you were too busy
Tweaking on the street
Oh the bitter sweet irony
Of your fathers words
Just another wild girl
With wanderlust
Wandering from day to day
Lust for a man who pays
Lost in sea of her own tears
She fades with the sun
Month after month
Year after year
Another chain reaction daughter
Who grew up without a father

Gym ****** eyes me
I've lifted more than I should
I banged him later

I knew you once,
when the sun
shown bright.
Your brown eyes
deep with delight.
You were vibrant
full of art;
the windows
and doors
straight to your heart.

Flash forward:
time span
7 years;
you drown in
dark, ****** tears.
Alone with yourself,
the shadows emerge.
Your defenses down;
their spell, you cannot purge.

She feels like love,
those intoxicating charms;
slithering through
the needles in your arms.
You know, as I:
from her
you'll never hide.
Lie, cheat, steal
to keep her
by your side.

I adore you
like a sister,
there's nothing more true.
But I have to step back
with feelings so blue.
There's nothing to do
but sit here
and hope
I don't get that phone call,
"She's overdosed
on dope."

My little Dolly;
Lara, you're my
own personal
Betty Page.
Please pick the lock;
free yourself
from this cage.

I could lock myself in my room.
Surrounded by my belongings,
By the mirrors that have seen my secrets.
I could cry and bleed for days without anyone asking why.
I could drink and smoke without suffering the consequences.
One lock to one room shielding me from the outside world.
Shielding me from the invisible flames of everyday life.
I could walk on my self-made clouds of smoke,
Streaming through my lungs and out of my mouth.
Filling my head with OK thoughts followed by whiskey,
Drowning her sorrows,
They say with an attitude.
Finding a place between realities standards and being ****** up.
I reply.
Attention *****.
Pain ******.
Stoner.
Happiness-seeker.
Drama queen. Depressed.
Sad.
Suicidal.
Dead.

So, it all turns out to be a loop

William Burroughs , Allen Ginsberg and Jack Kerouac

Your a ****** for disorderness

God ******, anger, emotion.

But you just cover them up with Paris Hilton jokes

Forever on the road, always ready to go

Ginsberg as my birthday gift, T.S. Eliot as my memory.