sitting underneath her knee was a lent book of entymology
something about butterflies being caught and pinned
preserved in stasis for the sake of beautiful things
cold crisp leaf wings smoked behind the glass
of a cyanide bottomed killing jar
and in that half read book all she could glean
amongst the bones of writing so lean
was the feeling that you could lie flat and cold
and be a redolent beauty despite the lack of life-

days earlier
the talking therapy had been all right.
hey, there's a ton of treatment these days
medication and conversation and there's no need
to burrow yourself away.
so they talked about feelings
as if they were quietly observing the to and fro
independent little embryos growing opinions of their own-
the indignant insistence that these things,
these emotions have names, signs, triggers
and they begin and they end and curve again-
rising up from the flat of a typeset page.

Maybe she doesn't want you to keep on hoping because she knows too
well how painful hoping is.

Maybe she doesn't want you to wait for her because she knows how tormenting
waiting could be.

Maybe she doesn't want you to be not okay, because she knows very well
how does it feel to be not okay.

And maybe, just maybe--she wants you to love her too, somehow,
somewhere back there;
but not in the way you wanted to.

Let's make a fool out of
our ourselves today.

Tell me you love me, and I'll do the same.
Tell me I've been in your dreams,
and I'll worship your name
Tell me we'll be something,
and I'll start the flame
Tell me our love's going to be a mess,
and I'll take the blame.

Just tell me this things,
and forget them tomorrow
Just let me remember this things,
Even if their lies brings me sorrow.

And even if you won't do them to me,
then I will; to you.

For long ago I did. I have.
I will.

I'll always will.

A star at the brink of death, bright and explosive
A black whole eating everything around it, never passive
A tiger hunting, playing and killing on instinct, without notion
A wild forest fire burning dry leaves, overflowing passion

Refreshing ice cubed drink in mid summer, burning and hot
Wild autumn winds blowing leaves through empty lots
Cold winter nights lost in blurred moments after taken shots
Calm spring mornings spent on roof smoking ***

Bramble and bushes, earth beneath bare feet
Eating quick meals, cross-legged feet on seat
Loud shouts, hitting hard words with heat
Naked friction, chest to chest, beat to beat

She is always aloof and moving, always seeing
She is overly known to be a different being
She is always searching and always dreaming
She encompasses what it means to be a wilder thing

My love is selfish, it never wants to share
Even when you've got things to do
It wants every single part of you
My love is selfish, it always wants to care

It hates the people it thinks you've hidden
Above all the things you've already given
It's painful to bear when it hides and fronts
When it's not enough to fulfil what you want

It tries to show itself in deeds
It asks you silently to let it be
It asks you to remember it tried
It asks even when it hides

My love is selfish, please just see it through
My love is selfish, It wants to be loved too

This window sill is my comfort
This slow evening breeze my company
This lightless cityscape is my playground
This empty echo within my soulmate

I am flying in the sky,
Swimming in the ocean.
I ponder the meaning of life,
And the morality of abortion
I shake to a silent rhythm,
Change paper with emotion.
I paint black and white portraits,
Taming my heart's commotion.

How do you not see the bonfires that light past the midnight clock
Or hear the symphony of hearts singing through the darkness
How do you not hear the soft wind and tall waves hitting stagnant pillars of piers and docks
Or hear the echo of solitude and self-reflect hidden in the emptiness

Heavy are the weights of memories of my past.
Heavy are the thoughts of attempts to reach hearts.
Heavy are the dreams chasing far far-off pictures.
Heavy are the responsibilities of men with strong statures.

I belong with the feathered creatures,
I belong in early morning bleakness.
I dream therefore I hope, I breathe therefore I move,
I make choices with love and happiness therefore I've only now begun to live