A voice echoes through my head--
My name, sounding
Over and over again.

A thought flits across my mind,
And a smile alights on my face.

"Maybe it's my soulmate,"
My heart thinks.

My head shakes,
Dispelling the romantic fantasy.

Because hearts don't think,
And a stranger's voice can't speak in my head.

It’s all loves fault.

I didn't want to be happy *anyway,
why the **** did it have to come strolling along
to show me how asleep I've been.

Why did I give it the right to parade around me
and then keep marching off
with its drums and dancers,
leaving only confetti behind
and a wide-eyed person relentless
of letting go of the procession but
FORCED to clean up the massive mess on the street that
no one else seems to notice.

It’s in that same moment that we all realize,
we should never throw parties that big,
that festivities that grand shouldn't even be legal.

They’re messy and exhausting and the confetti is
too scattered
to rest assured that we’ll ever
clean every last bit up to toss away.

It’s in that moment that people assure us that
paper is biodegradable and that it just needs
time for the earth to make it natural.
But every bright piece of glitter that gleams on the street,
persistent and as present as ever, is simply
a reminder of that parade with its cheers and
the faint beats of the drums and the moment you had

to stand idly by and

watch it

go.

"Have I ever told you how Beautiful you are?
I don't think I have but I could show you.
If you let me, I could kiss every little inch
of your face and leave no freckle untouched.
Your forehead; last. Idk who you're sometimes hurt by
but I hate your pain.
I just want you to know that there's someone out here
who wants you to be happy
& If I made you smile at any point in this message;
then I've done my job."

“…wait, are you afraid of the dark?” he asked with a tone of disbelief.
“So what if I am?”
“Well, I'd say that's a shame. You allow your imagination to control you.”
She couldn’t disagree. He was right and she was embarrassed.
“turn off the light,”
silence.
"and just listen to my voice."
And she did.

There’s a strong urgency in *******.
The longing for there to be another human body
pressed up against your own, so much so you envision
it vividly in your mind, painting hundreds of
thousands of scenarios until you find one just right
for your hand,

for your body.

It's not about pleasure, but about that momentary loss of place and time,
a further commitment to your imagination but
to your loneliness as well.

Here darling,
rest your neck on my knife
and I'll cut us both a slice of peace.