lemon, sticky frosting, dry lips.
fingernails painted with nothing other than mustard.

toxicity measured in sweetness.
plummet into the acidic taste of citrus fruit.

when you finally kiss me, it's all marigolds,
and some dirt.

dream pop car rides, cotton candy skies;
like those songs with excessive descriptions about eyes.

the girls with green hair, and black boots
but you're all yellow, gold, butter, honeysuckle.

ma jolie citron.

my pretty lemon, honey eyes.

Cold walls, death glares,
Someone's hurt, nobody cares.
No matter how close,  still far apart.
The only greetings are the blank stares and avoidances of people, and the distance between heart to heart.
Heads down, eyes shimmering, shimmering in the blue light of the black screens.
Is love just simply loving the significant other?
So downward this society.
This city.
It's so sad that a kind greeting is an indication of someone weird.
That simply being kind is too hard. Too weird.
A stranger.
So downward this society.
This Babylon of today.
Is going to fall someday.
I hope that we could finally break this cold walls.
That the only way to break them is really as simple as smiling to another,
waving to a stranger.
It really isn't that hard to let love.....is it?

lift me off the ground,
lift me in the air.
the sky is clearer here,
the air purer.
my head feels clean
your hands tickle.
lift, lift
lift me up.

I’m crying,
I’m dying,
I’m sighing,
And I’m sobbing
My heart’s throbbing,


The girl flips her hair
It eases my despair,
But all of a sudden she leaves
And my tears are being wiped on my sleeves.

Fickle are the weary hearts
Of these eight children, once pure and true
One was sweet and kind, a lover through and through
The second was hard and cruel, and thought everyone a fool
The third shed many tears, of things that mattered not
The forth played many pranks, harmless so they thought
The fifth child, they were wise, and clever in the day
The sixth child was loud, and felt they never got their way
The seventh child of the bunch, they were not made of much,
but hollow bones and silence, invisible they strut
The eighth child was made of chaos, but kept the peace instead
And all these children live with me, trapped inside my head.

This is ok I guess

but I want something more.