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.

"God I hope i'm not wrong or doing anything bad by writing to you
directly. Jesus is cool but in prayers it just seems like religious red-
tape. I hope you're everything I hope you are. I hope that doesn't
insult you.

I've heard some pretty awful things.

I hope you're kind, and understanding, lighthearted but fierce.
Like a Dumbledore of sorts.

I hope you're the one that's making me sleepy. keep me from these
bad thoughts and protect me because I'm weak. Because you're every
ounce of strength I could ever hope to have."

I want you to destroy me
because I know you'd enjoy it.

Rip me to shreds because that's what
I'll be if it means you loving me back together again.

And again.

And again.

What we've got is so horrible,
so painful, so honest, such a raw,
destructive, quality to what we call
"us" that it would almost be masochistic to go back.

Our brand of senselessness,
so alluring, and irresistibly passionate.

I cannot fathom the blandness of sanity.

He said it's only a risk if we're scared,
they asked him what they called it
if fear wasn't present.

He said
"A decision."

Today while I was at work I saw a little girl grab some candy from the shelf and shake it in front of her mom to make sure she didn't forget to buy it. As she inched closer to the counter where I was scanning all of the items all I could see were the little girls eyes and the hands that hung on to the edge of the counter. She was so tiny and was still holding the candy in her hand, so excited. Liberated.

I don’t know why that made me so nauseous but all I knew was that this little girl was given a handful of years on this earth just like me. In that instant all I really wanted to do was stop time for this little girl that I knew absolutely nothing about and give her that opportunity to enjoy her candy bar to the very last crumb and let her lick clean the left-over smudged chocolate on her small fingers and small corners of her mouth.

I hope it pleases you to know that she did enjoy it, I didn't need to stop time for her to manage that. As kids, we don’t really have that extreme perception of time and maybe that’s what so beautiful about childhood and also what’s so tragic about what comes after.

I thought this girls whole life in a matter of seconds and I grew to appreciate that little girl. But she will never know this,  she will never know who I am, nor will she ever think of me again. But by the time she left the store I found myself hoping her life is everything she wants it to be.

Permission to disappear... for a few years?
I ask to be pardoned, while I become a stranger
as I'm so uncomfortable being so ******* familiar.
Let me go, leave me to become a nobody to everyone
In order to become
SOMEONE
to myself.

These are the kind of thoughts that I feel like I need to swallow
because they're on a level of pathetic that I can't even admit to myself.
It's that level of pathetic that really makes a person naked.

The deep dark corners of a person.
It's the trigger of the first tear.
And it all boils down to you.

Your simple acknowledgment of self scares me.
Your self-awareness kills me because
it brings you closer to realizing
that you can do better than me.

*And then what do I do
with this epic love I feel for you?

Love is a recycled word,
used and resused in time and again.
Love like so is that of a chliche,
brief and ultimately unfelt.

It is through its brevity that
we discover that it is all but
what it says it is.

Love is instead chaotic,
that which blurred lines
between affection and hatred
fuse into one and engulf you whole.

No one understands this more
than the veteran lover.
Whose heart has been broken and
torn and kissed together all over again.

This is loves sweet embrace.
It is vicious, passionate, understanding,
and complete insanity.
It is the turmoil that can give us purpose.
It is the purpose that will give us turmoil.

And I surrender to it.

There's not enough alcohol in the world
to fill the void you've left.
Your silence holds enough torture
in itself to remain nameless and
beyond anything explored.

Only I know -
I've mapped it out in several pages.

I have mapped out the curve on
your bottom lip that I never kissed,
and below that a chin that's connected finely to the jaw bones
chiseled by God himself.
Your soft palms that sprouted out to five
different ways in which you could have touched me.
Five ways in which I could have held on to you.

I should have.
But I was so stupid then.

I am someone who can dismantle you as easily as I promised you the world and managed to mean both with all of their heart.

Someone so prone to accidents.
Charming you with all of the little mistakes I make in preparation to surprise you when the big ones break you.

"I promise" he said -
"I promise to never leave you" -
The second it gets too serious - he will grow distant.

"I promise" I said -
"I promise to never leave you" -
Then, I will explode about something you said
three weeks ago over burnt toast.

You open your arms,
and just when you expect me to run to you -  I run the other way.

Last night I dreamed of you.
For a moment I could have called you mine.
For an instant you truly were.
Its because of this that waking up was one of the hardest things I've had to do.
Leaving the desperation to kiss you rekindled and unsatisfied.

What sweet youth this is
to slowly wilt at eighteen.
Where in twenty years I will be
thirty-eight.
I wonder what my hands
will feel like then.

Rougher?
Softer?
Kinder, or maybe the exact
opposite?

How many paintings will they
have created by then?
How many countries would my
eyes have seen?
How many men would I have
chosen to lay with?
How many decisions would I
have taken?

How many things bought and broken.
How many of those will I save.
How many memories will I forget in
twenty years that now seem so
unforgettable.
Legendary.

How much of my life will I regret?
How much will be left by then?

To mend what I have broken.
To throw away what should not have been kept.
To take a pottery class and learn
how to finally mold myself.

To Remember.

You threw mints all over my car the other night to annoy me.

You closed the door behind you on your way out, I said I loved you when you were no longer listening.

With a Ricola wrapper pressed to my chest, swirling the taste of the mint in my mouth with my tongue;

I realized just how much I  missed you.

"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."

We're under the same sky
and it rains tonight.
Had I ever met you,
I'd wonder if it's lulling you to sleep.
Or keeping you awake.
tossing bed sheets to the ground
because it's hot.
Regretting it soon after
because you need a warm embrace.

Waking up in a heap of pillows,
covers and socks the next humid morning.
Forgetting to wash your face as you
walk outside.
You don't even bother to lock the door.

Interesting
to discover at last that
what you wanted
isn't what you wanted.

And that what you want
is nothing at all.

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

So anxious I'm jumpy,
Internally deflated and still hoping.

So disappointed I don't want to care.
But if you came calling I'd still answer

in a heart beat.

Talk to me about research I'm ignorant of,
tell me what you think of it
and then ask me about it to
make sure I'm listening.
Keep me on my toes with intelligence,
I'll be sure to repay you with the equivalent.

Entice me.
Flirtation can be the best weapon if you
know how to make the conversation
sufficiently intoxicating.
Try it.
Do it with me.

It's only when you can **** me
without laying a hand on me,
that I will ever fantasize about
really surrendering myself
to you

having me.

“…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.

Perfection.
I miss.
Whose name I trace on my lips with my finger tips.
Such sweet bliss.
Thats you.
My morning and my lovely moon.
But your absence is agony
And I fight to breathe,
But air that lacks your scent is not fresh.
Nights without your voice are just as good as deaf.
Wake me from this coma.
Save me from your silence.
Forgive what it seems like and see whats hidden in plain sight.
My love.
For you.
Is more infinite than the universe.
Hold my hand until we find its end.
Together.

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.

I couldn't bring myself to tell you this.
It's selfish of me to wish you missed me now.
to wish you’d call me at five in the morning
asking if we could talk for a while.
I don’t want to ruin you this way.
How egotistical of me to wish for  weakness
to destroy you because you let me,
destroy you because you're willing.
And to think I would allow myself to do so
not because I still love you,
only because I can.

You make me feel
unsafe,
insecure,
disconnected,
emotionally stung,
horrible,
disgusted,
nauseous.
And you have no right.
You are nothing but another human being.
And as long as I degrade you to just that; you wont hurt me.
Only I can do that.

They asked her what she thought about
people who suffer in silence,
longing for each others love.

She said she thought if two people were
destined to be; that their roads would
overlap in the right moment.

He smiled, thinking of her as she spoke.
She smiled at him, as she thought of
someone else.

Make me forget the existence of time
so that I can lay with you forever.

I hope to one day recognize your scent
only to crave knowing more of you.
I want to know all of you,
your mind is fascinating,
your opinions are flooring,
your voice makes sense,

your soft hands are tempting and
your body is that of a God.
I can only hope to explore you further.

To enjoy watching the shift in your eyes
when I take you in.
All I ask is that you grip my hips while I do so.
I promise to kiss you greedily.

I think if you asked me
how I felt about you tonight
I find that I'd say that I miss you
and that if you weren't so far away
and instead at my side
I'd refrain from kissing you, despite
the moments of wanting, what's a few
seconds more of longing to build
on mutual electricity?
I find that I'd stare at you awhile.
Because I never want to forget the
soft shade of brown in your eyes.

What do I do with this pain?
Should I rip it from within me and
stick it in a blender?
Toss it aside and let it grow while
it destroys itself?
Take my longing and misplace it!
Someone will find it and make a better
host anyway.
I am not good company,  not even to loneliness.
Perhaps it will feel neglected and leave on
its own accord.
But when it does I’ll chase it down
and beg it to give me one more chance.
Because nothing makes me feel
more alive...
more human.

There doesn't exist
a more bitter reminder
than seeing your bedroom
window light up
from across the street.

Showing a silhouette that isn't
yours.

Your mother visits your room
every night now,
she sits at your desk from where
you used to flicker the bedroom
lights to catch my attention.

She cries awhile.

I do too.

It feels weird. Friendship.
Picking up where you left off with someone you didn’t think you could.
I wish I could be genuine, tell this person “hey, I missed you.”
I can’t.

Not because it would be a lie,
but because I miss me more.

I miss who I was a year ago
when I used to consider this person a friend for life.
Envision them by my side 10 years down the line,
with frequent visits to each others homes.
Scatter outings when our schedules allowed.

But now...
I can’t even tell if I’ll be around them tomorrow.

I used to pride myself in being a good friend.
Trustworthy,
Reliable.
Now I am as unpredictable as ever.
Fickle, even.

I make no promises,
so that I won’t break them.

I make no plans,
so that I won’t cancel them.

Being with myself is hard enough as it is
and I’d hate to ruin someone as pure,
genuinely happy,
generous,
and kind as you.

Forgive me if I’m distant.
I apologize for the lack
of comfort I provide.

The only thing I can say is that
I'll be staying a while,
and I hope that's okay.

Part of being free
is realizing that you are not.

Only then will you truly have
the anger,
the passion,
the determination,
and the thirst
to free yourself from
What you can control
and ****** yourself
into what you cannot.

The human life is a curious thing.
And what makes us,
is as fleeting as it’s brought.

And those moments?
we're all of them.
And we carry each one,
everywhere we go.

Every day,
is filled with them.
And every night,
is a funeral.

For the memories
and the moments
that will never repeat.

Sit in bed
and realize
the continuity of time.

And that insomnia,
is simply the inability to
*let go.

We don’t ask the questions we want to ask
out of fear of the answer,
or of the lie.

“Would you miss me if I went away?”
“How much do you love me?”
“Would you visit my grave?”

“ And If I died,
would you cry?”

You will be my ultimate destruction.

Nothing can dismantle me more than
the wicked bitter sentiment of longing,
the decomposition of my being that counts
the second for the day you fix me,

the sweat on my brow in the morning from
dreams of you,
the smokey echoing memories of the past,

the loud promises we made that are still ringing,
the sweet vowels that rolled off your tongue like honey,

the pronunciation of my name:
a warm bath you could blanket yourself completely in
as you simply go under.

Drown in it if you could,
I would hold my breath forever.

4:00AM is the time of night where
the peaceful begin to dream,
the weak find their sleep,
and the dammed lay awake

sinking further into themselves.

It is not their tired mind that
earns them eventual rest,
but the weight of their eyelids.

Missing you is hell on earth.

You’re the wind that plays with my hair,

the loud silence I can never quiet,

the clearest of my truths.

You’re everything I’m not,

and all that I am.

You’re the grace of such turbulent water,

the beauty of unforgiving weather,

the wonders of the unknown,

the advice I never take,

the dream I want to chase,

you’re everything I hate

because you’re all that I want,

and it’s not what I have.

There's this time somewhere between three and four AM where you don't hear a thing, where it's the absolute quietest; where everyone's sound asleep. You know that silence? How it can either comfort you or make you feel abandoned?

Then there's the first 'whoosh' of the cars driving by, and people are starting to wake up, and birds are beginning to chirp, and you can hear car doors slamming, and a honk or two in the distance. Then a neighborhood rooster crows not far down your own block, muffled by all the whooshing.

You look out your window and you see this very pale cyan peaking through and you feel so ******* blessed to hear the hum of the first motorcycle and the 16 wheeler roaring past the houses.

You prepare to rest with the knowledge that no one knows you're listening. You soak up all of the morning sounds because it's the high suspended peace before your fabricated nightfall and someone else's good morning.

You stayed up talking to the moon and you bid goodnight to the rising sun.

There were so many other things you were paying attention to.
The corn dogs at a corner, the acrobatic tricks across the ferris wheel.
Your arm around her waist.
I made sure to trail behind the others.
I suppose for me it felt better to stay behind and be oblivious to what
everyone was laughing about.

I wasn't having a good time, I was so ******* miserable.
Every time I looked forward I saw your curves and I caught myself staring too often.

I kept thinking that if I had been a little bolder perhaps it'd have been me holding your hand. I kept wondering why you were being so distant when not too long ago we were exchanging glances from across the room that forced both of our mouths into crooked smiles.

God how I wondered what your lips tasted like when you'd smile like that.

Why are you playing such a cruel game of darts?
Despite the ache I felt with every caress you gave another; you still had the gaul to ask me to hold your hand and, foolishly, I extended my arm.
Though you let go so quickly, and sure enough you were next to her again.
Far in front of me while I tread behind the group, plundering in that familiar feeling of being within and without.

...**** I'm staring at your *** again.

"Your neck must hurt" said a gentleman from the table over. She looked up, a little mortified that he'd been watching her write intently in the sunlight.

"So keen on writing it all down instead of taking it all in." he smirked.

"Perhaps when I'm old with Alzheimers I'll appreciate having books written to myself to remind myself of it all"

Shaking his head, he said "What good will that do if what you write carries no experience? Give old you a chance to enjoy herself for a second time."

He pulled out the chair next to him.

"Sit."