I am ready,
So let me know when you are.


F.Z.N

I spent a big part of my life not doing
things because I had no reason why I ought to,
I mean, so what?
But one day I woke up and found myself
loving you and putting more effort into
our relationship than I've ever done
into anything else.

I mean, I told you I loved you
and your response was, so what?


F.Z.N

As I crave for you
Really really badly
Your face appears
All around me
Your smell teasing my nose
Your touch teasing my skin
Your voice teasing my ear
The words of love you have ever said
Teasing my pathetic heart

But you are nowhere to be seen.
Its all in my mind.
Missing you have made me blind
to the world of reality.

Wrapped up with the sky,
He said it speaks to us with words,
in the form of empty storms.
But the clouds don't shower thoughts
they only crowd the morning dew,
and the broken jukebox birds.
The chatter reminds me of my noisy efforts.
There was a time I said little-
"Don't trust the quiet ones."
They are the fools who believe in the blues and the sunsets,
sleep little and dream of promise.
Comfort brought me to speech
to explain the thunderstorms outside my windows
to shake off the dew his clouds
crowded in my chest
and the broken jukebox birds in my throat.
Yesterday he said I smelt like home.
The familiar scent of pillows and cover-
warm things in winter.
Campfire cinders.
Smoldered once in quietude-
burning with desire.
If my lips don't sound-
maybe I can hear the rumble of his clouds.
Maybe I can listen to his blues.
Watch his sunset in smoldering quietude.
Maybe he'll speak to me with words.
Or maybe he'll just rain on me
thoughtlessly.

we always joke about being together

but what if i'm not joking

what if i really do love you and want to be with you?

do you really love me too?

or are you just joking.

she's so beautiful when she cries
she's so beautiful when she hides
she's so beautiful when she hurts
and it's a kind of sadness
that is so beautiful,
and it's a kind of sadness
she is addicted to.

afternoon hanging heavy,
caressed by a tomato soup fog,
tired carpet, fleshy velvet couch
both aching for validation.

ten photos of the same dog
speak Latin all at once

a desk in utter disarray,
fishbowl walls slimy
and coated in shame

a bookcase crammed with
stepfather books,
trying too hard, too much, too soon

giant cilia lined lungs swing from the ceiling,
******* in and out and in and out and in and
all of the oxygen and

it has already been an hour,

$150,
a check is fine,
see you next week.