It seems nice to hold an ideal reputation,
Nowadays we engineer them.
With a perfect filter, an edited word.
No worry in your tongue slipping.
When you finally take your eyes off, and notice the way the sun creates a sky of bright pink and orange, just as its about to say goodnight, are you happy taking it in? Just breathing in and out?
It seems nice to feel connected to others.
But what about your significant other?
Is he even significant? Or just another face,
that you can use,
to prove to others,
that your life,
is as pretty as the sun you always seem to miss, just as its about to say goodnight,
because you'd rather strain your eyes on a screen,
stressing about your impression on others,
then experience bliss, in the form of kinesthetic reality,
so perfectly imperfect.

I have a secret that no one knows. It kills me everyday. When I read what you say, I wish my secret wasn't true. But it is so, what am I going to do?  When I read what you want, I cry a little every day. My secret is mine to bear, no letter the heart break and the pain I go through, I cannot tell you. If I did, I don't know what I'd say.

2:03am Monday morning,

and I'm sitting here, writing ******* poetry about you,

because you'll give me tiny glimpses of your soul,

and happily fill every my orifice.

but you won't give me anything more than that.

I hate that I know the location of the dumb moles on your back,

and that you told me about your grandmother's dementia,

or your mother's philosophy that no act is selfless,

I hate that you told me your most embarrassing secret,

or that you make me read cookbooks aloud on a Sunday morning, when I'm wearing nothing but your t-shirt from the night before, and every time I say a different ingredient you moan, or giggle, or gasp, or grab me and tell me how hot the way I say coriander is.

I hate that you wore ugly pajama pants around me,

I hate that you showed up, drunk, on my door step at 4am after ignoring me all night, and all you wanted to do was cuddle.

and that the next morning I called you a ****, and a ****, to your face, for making me so confused about whatever is going on with us.

I hate that you said "maybe we should take a step back, because I don't wanna be a ****"

(aka because you don't want a relationship.)

well, neither do I,

I never wanted this.

I was 4 months out of a 3 year relationship, enjoying my new found freedom.

I just woke up after a typical one night stand,
to all of my favorite things,
in one room,

your room.

I never wanted the guy I had been sleeping with at the time to turn off my "whiney pop punk", just to find the exact same cd in your collection days later.

I never wanted to find out that we have the same favourite bands, or that we both like films too much.

I never wanted you to offer to sneak home from work at 10am to drive me home, just so that I could have a few more hours sleep in your bed.

I never wanted to be attracted to a guy who is the total opposite from my usual "type",
or who reminds me of my dad.

I never wanted your best friend to tell me that he wants us to date, even though you're not ready for a relationship.

because I'm not either,

but now,

are we stuck attempting to casually **** other people to avoid what might be happening?

after all, in the span of one evening you ****** one best friend and I ****** the other.

I messaged you at 5am on Saturday,
after I'd had a ******* *******,
and you told me to come pick you up from some girl's house so that we could go back home to yours.

you told me that you didn't wanna hear my *** stories anymore.

you'd message me on a Monday afternoon, fishing to see if I'd ****** someone else on the weekend.

you told me one Saturday night that you wanted to spend the entire Sunday together, in your bed, watching Star Wars and ******* all day.

and that during the walk home, we could keep warm by making out.

you even messaged me to tell me that you kissed a girl, but that you then decided to go home and message me instead.

my friends have begun to hate you for all the head ******* you do to me,

and even after I changed your name back from "******" in my phone,
you still **** me around,

I don't even think you like The Smiths,
so I don't know why I care about you in the slightest,

I guess it must be because I think it's cute that when you talk about eating meat, you say the name of a vegetable instead, just to try and please me.

or maybe because whenever we are about to ****,
you say "tell me what you want"

and after I respond, I ask you
"what do you want?"
and all you moan to me is

"I want you".

or maybe just because we are kinda sexually compatible.

after all, you said the way I grab your **** is "magical".

our discussion last week, drunk, in the club bathroom.
when you yelled loudly about
how great I am in bed,
and how you hate your ****** job,
and that you've never been single as an adult,
and you just want to be free for once in your life.

and I said I was the same,
all I want is a life free of consequence,
doing whatever I want to do.
no
strings

we agreed that we both wanted the same thing,
and then you watched me leave with another guy.



I have to stop myself from thinking about the things that you say or do,
because I'm confused enough as it is.

like the fact that you messaged me to apologise for not having sober *** with me saturday morning,

or that you finally went down on me for the first time friday night,
(it only took you 3 months)
(some stupid part of me thinks it's because you like me,
but my common sense tells me otherwise),

I honestly don't know what we are doing,

and you probably don't either.

You learn to forget after so many years of misappropos et faux-pas
      Remembrance is tantamount to admission of guilt
Lord knows none of us are capable of admitting that
Even though everyone was wrong,
Everyone is wrong, from time to time and I saw the lemon, I saw the lime
But "I don't need none of that ****" with my tequila shot
And I brushed it away like so many tired analogies of mosquitos
That all make me equally as or moreso sick than all the ******* lies
We told each other, and the *****, and the ******* amateur
Psychopharmacology,

Because oh yes, we knew what we were talking about
Though those chump change shrinks never did
Psychiatry? Pompous clinically trained diagnosticians
Choking on the uncertainties of the human mind
Trying to measure the weight of smoke