I am often intimidated by certain thoughts.
Whether or not I am to think the things I think.


Over by the nightstand where dust gathers against the shade.
It's been months since I opened my blinds.
Rather yet pretend that you'd still remember the last time it snowed.


The things said we never thought we needed to hear.
The truth over thought, gathered into a mound of snow.
With pieces of you, pieces of me.
We built a snowman.


Each time it snows I find myself more convinced.
That we covered up more of ourselves than we thought.
Becoming more, and more.
People that we'd never truly know.


Every time that it snows.
I find that there is no comparison to the frost bite that you left behind.

In reply to the promise; you'd never leave.

The things said we never thought we needed to hear.

Turned away in difference of opinion.

After everything has melted

The people around disappear.
My voice makes its way home.
Finding comfort in your ear.
You resonate within my heart.
Stirring a soul that no longer knows fear.
In the end all that I knew before will no longer exist.
Everything chipped and shattered in a million pieces. 
Sheer signs of destruction.
But still I drunk, knowing the full consequence.
The shaping of objects that no longer obstruct view.
The people all around completely unaware.
The existence of something awoken by a single thought.
Pulled in by the urge of a single whisper.
Spilled from the brim of hand to mind.
A sweet substance grown to stick as it cools.
The thought of being held, embraced in the flicker of light.
A moment worth being withheld a moment longer.
Not a moment to criticize nor. but a moment of introduction.
To take such gift and wish that this could last for more than a moment.
More than two.
To stir something so factious. So addictive.
At that moment I realized what I was missing

I couldn't keep enough love to save my life.
With all the thoughts that surround one person.
Every time I saw her I had this sensation to give as much as I could.
And when I felt this urge I'd give a piece of my heart.
And put it in a  place that I knew in my heart would be protected and reinvested each time I thought 
of her.
She didn't seem to mind the lint, checking my pockets at all costs.
Sealing my heart in an large envelope in deposit.
I gave, Until one day I was mugged.
I was taken for everything including my heart.
With just one piece, I exclaimed that you could have everything else.
Just not this, it's already promised.
It's the only thing of value.
I was robbed of everything.
When I made it to her house I told her everything that happened.
And with a look of concern she asked about the last piece of my heart.
I exclaimed yes sadly that too.
She just looked and held me close.
Giving me her heart

My ideal love is a love that catches me by surprise.
The realization of intelligent things and conversations that literally take us anywhere.
My ideal love is a love that expresses ideal.
The ramifications that influence us to be who we really are in front of who we are.
A love that doesn't mind bargin shopping and putting together hundred dollar outfits that really cost $10.
The reality that its the most simplest of things that are most significant.
A spontaneous love that doesn't mind the predictability of living today before exploring the mystery of tomorrow.
Here after the after thought that we exist in the past as well as the present simultaneously.
If ever in need I'll do my best to provide all that I can for an ideal love.
Through these actions I believe the true miracle is achieved.
An ideal love that is beyond ideal.
Who sets the where and how we meet, the institutions of bliss where the masses are limited to love and longing.
To find patience and compassion sitting on the front lawn on the same institution.
As long as she provides a kiss that can send me outside of my own thoughts, and pull me closer to hers.
My ideal love wouldn't be based on a B.E.T movie.
A single expression that summarizes a scorned woman letting go.
A cliff note of lust soon as the next sceen fades to black.
Her ******* pulled down not knowing the dude is secretly abusive.
140 minutes gone by to realize the last 5 mins were the ones that made her truly happy.
The woes of love.
My ideal love is a woman built with ambition but with a heart big enough to understand that without sacrifice nothing is truly accomplished.
A culture made in truth, ripped off by those who ignore that struggle is what makes us who we are.
The courage to walk out in front and be who we really are.
A real woman that doesn't mind lounging around the house that knows whom Budda and Huey Newton was.
This revolution of ideal starts the moment I realize that I never stood a chance.
The surprise of her lips against my cheek.
I drink from this remedy each time you open your lips.
So in silence I gasp.
As you caught me off guard,
My ideal love

I kissed the pillows of her cheeks.
Covering myself in the blanket of her caress.
While here nothing is heavy.
Maintaining the balance of smiles in the bed of her arms
She doesn't mind my snore, relaxed in complete comfort.
Without a single toss or turn.
The shape of her contoured to the shape of me.
For hours I'd lay here and day dream.
Listening to the sound of the washer hum in the next room.
I've always debated on falling asleep.
Never to wake.
To live the rest of my life as a dream.

Angel Eyes with the Devil living inside
would you leave me be because I can't sleep
I lie awake at night with you on my mind
replaying the time when you kissed me under the sheets

Your words cut
so deep;
Enough to
**** what's left
of the good in me.
I watch you leave,
anxious, helpless,
unable to move.
My teeth
pierce my tongue.
The tears always hurt more
than the taste
of blood.

The thoughts and nervous panic
never prepared me for this.
You
never prepared me for this.

It's 2am

Shadows dance across the walls
and the floor boards creak under
the weight of the silence.

It's 2am

Sleep eludes me
while my thoughts reel through my mind
like film through a camera.

It's 2am

And the thoughts of you
begin.

Some people look down upon them
Saying they have nothing good within
But I see it differently
In markups, I see
The person I was, am, and could've been

Crying allows me to slow down and obsess over the weight of life's problems
like an anorexic preteen watching as the numbers tick on a scale
Sadness consumes my every thought