Who dares intrude my solitude?
Loftily peasant, don't be rude!
Don't make me say
"Off with his head!"

I shall always be with
clean
knees.
You were only given
me
to please.
If you shall disobey, I'll have
you
dead.

That's how it goes
in my head.
I say spit,
but you spit on me instead.
Who has the wheel now?

I'm a freak
when it comes to control.
The minute I lose it,
sometimes I follow.
No other way,
no how.

But what am I thinking?
Last week I was prowling
and now I'm scowling
at the fact that
I've been twice bitten.
Those horrible teeth of worthlessness
are as sour
as a ripe citrus.
It's not possible for me
to make it in the business

I can never make up my mind.
I always got the fence up my ***.
I guess only in myself will I confide.
I do like things better
when they're not alive,
so lets just end it
and call a quits.

It's too hard to tell
if it's insincere,
but I'm the only one
allowed to be fickle here!
So "Off with his head!"
Like a bandaid.
No fuss, no fits

Faint pink. That's the only color interpretation that comes to mind and the first one i see before i open my eyes every morning since we moved in. Since we caved ourselves inside this quaint little bungalow like grizzly bears.

Hibernating and marinating, we shared each others scent, cents, regrets and repents. Lented out love like dollar bills because we are homeless yet sheltered, somehow without a sugar-coated ceiling. Which is okay for us, for sometwos who revel in the occasional, sensual rain of our wooden cabin and the fragrant sunburn of its wick.

Day in and day out, we become ill just so we can give the shirts off our backs to wipe the sick from each other's bodies til we're nurished to health. Routinely follow every direction: lather, rinse, repeat, lather, rinse, repeat. Retreat.

Soon, through conditioning within the highs and lows of hiding away in our secret little bungalow remission, we'll inevitably realize that someday we'll have to make the final, unfavorable decision to light the match and liquor down our beds. Taking gulps with every pour.

We'll race out the door, down the deck, jump the fence and you'll hold my waist and slip the memory in the pocket of my back, yours the same. I'll rest my hands around your face, turn from the flames, engage in one last twine. We'll avert to part our seperate ways and wave 'cause we'll know that it's time.

A steady post lingers in the distance, reading "Allied Road." It's been abadoned for quite sometime now and the ruins are filled of relics. Dust.
We burned it down together, dont you remember?
With our propane tongues and Zippos the size of patches used to cover one eye.
Covering one eye, as we always did. You know it's true.

Sometimes when I'm alone with my thoughts of being alone without you, I take a barefoot stroll there.
This may sound abstruse, but letting my toes get lost in the ash reminds me of warm sand widow's-peaking an ocean shore.
Golden.
Wavy.
Blue.
That picture in my head alone reminds me of you.

It's much cloudier there. Dimmed. Gloom, almost as if the sun is too scared to go near it or the sky is relflecting the ground.
Either way, I try to keep my eyes closed as often as possible and let my imagination take control. Partly because the embers blow into and bug my eyes, but mostly because I simply want to.

***** footmarks marble the milky white carpet,
even with the muddy soles(souls) left untied at the door.
They sit motionless eating dinner with empty plates rested on a table top so dusty it leaves a print when it's palmed.
Dissolving,
Decaying,
Love deflating
in a shabby room,
walls inching closer with every word unsaid, inching closer til their dead.

Renovation is no longer
in question;
Cleanly on the outside, polluted within.
Their pure eyes fog blacker than
burned, leather skin;
Recycling into a ruddy shoe, only to repeat its course in that shabby room.

The common desire to define ourselves is defeaning and my ears are ringing. I'm searching for the foundation of the sound, the definite core where I grow from the ground. I have the power to water my basis but instead I let the impression of myself through anothers biases dry up and dust away. I'm kicking rocks below my barefeet, hoping that when I spread and share my air the opinions of who surrounds me wont pollute it to the degree where I can no longer breathe. And now im rocking back and forth in this creeking wooden chair, the roots of relative minds rested below me reminding me what was once there and whether or not something tangible will result when the inevitabilities of life chop me down and leave me bare.
So I guess until tomorrow, or a week, a month, a year, I'll disintegrate into the soil before any of my peers and it won't hurt so bad to be left alone when I know their roots above still continue to fully grow.

Feeling uncomfortable in a comfortable space seems odd enough to dismiss. At least, that's how it is when I'm sleeping. So many people; A deep saturation that can continue for years, I swear. That's one memory my sub-mind let me keep, and it was a thrill. My judgement was so impaired that happiness came immediately, profoundly as much as anything else.
But that's the point, finally I felt.

All of the faces my sight craves to taste, the faces I receive no more than the tiniest of sips were unified into one tall glass of water. I might as well have had gills because I drank it so gratefully it seemed I had been deprived of hydration since the beginning of blue moons. So many people. At least, that's how it is when I'm sleeping.

Thus still, I open my crusted eyes everytime and I'm back on land again and the earth consumes me entirely. And as my feet brush against the hard ground I solemnly pray for heavy mud, anything diluted enough to worship throughout the day until my head fades white and returns to the clouds and then there, I swear
I can breathe again.
At least, that's how it is when I'm sleeping.

No writing could ever explain,
No pencil could ever draw it out,
No bulb could ever bring to light
what I see when I look around.

Pretty green trees painted red,
Pure white doves dressed in black,
Somehow all the colors represent
what each object seems to lack.

There's darkness in every sun,
There's hatred in every hug,
There's expectation in every favor
And every favor fits too snug

How I look at myself outside of myself is much different
than what I see in my reflection.
Inside I feel *****,
Inside I feel ugly,
Inside I feel outside
of the world in which you want me to be.

Somehow now,
I've put in some thought,
Some insight.
And as much as it kills me to say this,
I understand that
no one can really understand
when one remark ***** their fists.

So I stay quiet
like a sheep,
like a mouse,
Like a scary, wild man's spouse,
Like a poet,
like a bear,
like all others
that really don't care.
Like my grandfather,
like my grandmother,
Like sweet, old Janine
from down the street's
little brother.
Like a mime,
Like a white man's crime,
Just like me,
They stay quiet like
the leaves on a tree

Father, I have sinned.
Ive compelled myself a mate and painted my body gold, pure and metallic and let him hang me around his lacey neck like a chained noose.

Father, i have sinned.
Ive disappointed my appointments and made allies with my enemies. Ive lied to get to where i am and i stand legless because of it.

Father, i have sinned.
Ive cut open skin and got drunk from the blood, letting it trickle down my breast, wearing it like a jacket, using it tirelessly to keep me warm during my winter

Father, i have sinned.
I scripted cursively with my left hand and pointed accusingly with my right. Ive fought like a thinker and forfeit my heart.
Father i have sinned,
I loved without thought.
I have slept in my ***** sheets and bathed in my discretions, Father, this bed is not big enough for our overexhausted lessons.

Father, please forgive me
for i have sinned in spite of the sun. Ive predicted light for the losing side and because of that,
i've won a temporary victory.
Ending with, not surprisingly, my mother clawing me senseless,
her knuckles blistering my jabbing jaw.
She said, "I never thought id see a side to you much darker than i ever saw."
Now she looks to me much older, decrepit and disgusted, and i look to her a doppelganger of the man that left her faithless.

Father, i have sinned and unwittingly beg for your conviction. But your faith is what left my mother living breathlessly without a face. A face hauntingly well known. but if i keep on keeping on this sinning, a face just like yours ill own.

Deep down, there is a pulse.
A weak tremor of an adolescent heart. It loves profoundly and feels passionately. Dreams hopefully.
It may not be as fresh as it was once, but it endlessly and relentlessly aims to redeem itself.
Take your doubt and replace it with this.

Deep down, there is shelter.
An immortal ground for the comfort you seek to maintain. It hovers humbly and awaits patiently; remains unlocked when you're homesick. It invites you warmly and nourishes your hunger. Although tattered and tired, it remains standing storm after storm.
Take your doubt and replace it with this.

Deep down, there is a purpose.
It flutters when you smile and it consoles when you weep. It picks you up when your kicked and compensates when you're conquered. It's modest. It won't demand its presence and refuses to beg to be heard. It whispers. It listens. It knows its place and speaks when spoken to.
Deep down, its inside of you.
Take all your doubt and replace it with this.

These days, sleep feels like a dream. The reality of you keeps me awake.

I'm combatted by the ultimatum between the love of life and life filled with love. The more I live, I learn you can't have both or enough.
"I constantly have to share the world with you." You murmur through drunk lips, tears in your eyes, cheek bones begging for a smile, "I love you because of this and I'll lose you for it." It wasn't long before you let me go. Why did you let me go?

I hope one day someone like you will fight for me like I fight for the world. I hope one day someone like you will step aside while I chase the sun, and know that when the light turns black my instinct is to turn around and look back. I hope someday someone won't leave before all has begun to lack.

The future is empty as space. I believe this only because I don't know any different. We chase for what is unknown so we can fill it. That void. All the while forgetting the past is what kept us full, what made us whole.

Life is bottomless and I'm just trying to find somewhere to land.
My desire was the sky, my ego knows, and my comfort is your soft grounded hand I fell into to take its blows.

These days, sleep feels like a dream. The reality of this keeps me awake.

There's a room on the sixth floor of my mind you alone occupy. I'm not much for guilty pleasures but something always allures me back, squandering any thoughts of resistance. I guess what I'm trying to say, is I only desire your attention when you ignore me.
So out of all the covetous ***** I spew from my lips, this still remains to be the worst one, but I cannot help myself:
I solely crave your touch when I have your hands tied behind your back.
Scared you will walk or fly, or worse yet, run away from me, I relentlessly refuse to sever the ropes and free you.

There's a room on the sixth floor of my mind you alone occupy;
A beautiful blind-folded man forcibly sitting underneath an uncomfortable, ominous spotlight at the center of the floor, shone only for interrogation.
I'm the devil's advocate with an angel's smile.
I put the "saint" in "insanity."
I realized, and now, cultivated this through your eyes like telescopes.
Concealed and blinded by my own stone hedge, I was unable to see anything beyond the little world I created for myself.
You were the matchless one strong and patient enough to diminish it.
Boy, I had you always on the fence, didn't I?
"Should I stay or should I go?"
And you stayed until you went.
And that's what I love about you.
You're gone.
And that's what I love about you.
And I love you forever.

There's a room on the sixth floor in my mind you alone occupy; sitting like a corpse and haunting me like a ghost.
And you haunt me forever.

Grungy, tip-toed fool
The bottoms of his shoes laced with eggshells
His guts the consistency of yolk.

Too many minds occupy one head
And so he decides instead,
His own company was more than enough;

Recluse

“I hate the sunshine.”
“I’m afraid of the dark.”

“Can you hear me?”
“Keep quiet!”

Chatter turns to whispers.

“I’m too sober to listen.”
“I’m too drunk to care.”

“When does it end? “
“You know when.”

“Now?”
“Do it.”

Whispers turn to silence.

The magic released from your fingertips purr like spikey legs of a cricket, and although the pitch can be quite much, at least it fills the defeaning silence. And that's better than nothing.
It's everything compared to nothing

See, it's a different type of suffering.
As cardinal as the cardinals sing,
sound still sounds more radiant from your mouth; light as a cloud and tempting as the devil's cake, but it's much too **** loud for this headache.

Just as a hummingbird you urge each redundant peck deeper, and with it comes a blatant crooked creek. It's such a lovely repeat to wake up to, but the minute reality sets in I just want to shake you and retreat back to sleep so sound.
Retreat back to sound as sleep.

My cloudy head floats peeking at your ground,
and I can't make up my mind when your earth is bringing it down.

I once knew a man but I can't remember his face.
He had a mustache in one hand
a razor in the left.
Cheeks of a baby waiting to find his place.

I once knew a man with the legs of a statue.
He had a hammer in one hand
A rose in the left
Taking beauty as the path to reach greater virtue.

I once knew a man
I once knew a man

I once knew a man with a whisper of twenty cannons
He had a megaphone in one hand
duct tape in the left
Conformity silences his words like phantoms.

I once knew a man with the gut of a clown.
He had a bongo in one hand
a trophy in the left.
The beat lifts him up while he blends with the ground.

I once knew a man with a brain for a heart.
He had a stake in one hand
a pistol in the left.
Tricky, he knew either one would grant a new start.
Yes I once knew a man
I once knew a man.

I read your letter, or attempted would term it better, it was spoken in a tongue too sharp to make out.
But from what I gathered, to shape sense of the matter, this cryptic labyrinth of blows was written solely to bleed me out.
As if I never understood you before.

You repeated yourself so many times, alternating between maudlin weeps and anger deeper than the effort you ever made to demolish the facade of being the unyielding red light that ceased to turn green.
But the light has burned out, and now I don't know whether every flicker you signal to go is just another trap to shun me for moving about.

I'm wearing your sweater and i'm attempting your letter and I swear I can still smell the contempt. It's howling through your ball point pen, written from your fingers all pointing ten in my direction, because i'm forever the one to blame.
Yes, ill take it so I will have to no longer fear that my name to you was just a word you merely shouted but never adhered, never whispered, never heard.
Never again, because now our accents are worlds apart.
My prose is too native for your foreign heart.

The weight of these demands
drag my ankles.
Each mile-marked flag is a shank in my back
as I continue to marathon
my destination.
It is still a worn-down beaten path, but nonetheless
the scenery is something not to be missed.

I wish you would join me.
Pass me so I have someone to follow; 
(I cannot find a flag)
Follow me so I have somewhere to fall;
(I cannot remove the daggers myself)
Stand beside me so I do not feel alone;
(I cannot pace without a peace of mind).

What an elusive way to say!
Meanwhile, a simple man’s lips 
would simply utter “Stay.”

You wore your pain and insecurity like a heavy coat and judged me for being naked

Candy cane soldiers
roll her down like a boulder,
Her wet cheeks nearly speak
with that bed of concrete on her shoulder.
Could it be? It is she!
Redundant locks trapped in braid
Suddenly, squirming around the corner
a mustached man repeats
"Your wish is mine to fade,
you hold no recognition in the decision youve made.
So its time you come with me"
The princess and her scruples finally flee.

Unsteady warp
blurring corpse after corpse.
One with a top hat
and 3/4 of a profile pose.
Horns surrounded with fur
turned to a hairless neck for a nose.
Useless change changed the pace,
as far as walkin' goes.
Each taste is heavier,
Each word is touchier.
Their fingers grew legs
runnin where answers grow on a tree.
Could it be? I see he.
How can you not
when he hides in the most obvious of spots!
Im serious.
He's as clear as the beer on your beard,
you're delerious.
Take a look at the windowless reflection
pointing in the direction back at thee.
Sneaky little red-eyed bumblebee

I'm like a genie, but I won't grant you three wishes.
I'm an estimation without the guesses.
See, maybe that's my problem
But I won't take the time to solve 'em.

I deny the facts when they're written in pen
I flick your forehead over and over again
Ill treat you like a dog because I know you won't run away.

And when you do I cry and cry and cry
Bye, bye , bye
I know it's all my fault
Bye, bye, bye
Steady cruise comes to a halt
Lullaby Lullaby
I'll only sing you in my head
Lullaby Lullaby
Or maybe I'll write you down instead.

Oxy of the morons, merely the worst one.
Pair o' foxes, paradoxes, scary boxes
I'm too afraid to open it.
What if it's bad? What if it's ****?
I'll never know will I
Bye, bye, bye, precious Lullaby
Bye, bye, bye

I cant tell a lie, not as well as some. Regardless of what words come out, my eyes will be rather lazy when it comes to hiding distress.
What impresses me is jest, you still have not noticed, and for that i owe you. I'll mark the debt in my little check book inside my head, jot it down like the others, put it aside and pretend it tended forth some tangible result.

Now all is overflowing, the pages ripping and crimped. Used up like the excuses we made to sway away rependence, but the only sorries given are the ones saved for ourselves. Poor modern-generation children, they really let us off the hook. Tucked us in to sleep soundly in feather down little beds resting our little heads, crying over little spits we regretfully didn't have the guts to spat. All told to hush up and pretend, fall to slumber and sleep and forget. Refrain,
You'll wake up to morning rain and tell your lies all over again.

Suppose dreams do come true
Suppose life was lived for you
Suppose that doesn't seem far off.

Suppose it all was milky grey
Suppose there was no black and white
Suppose colors weren't so different
Suppose you look at it in a new light.

Suppose green and purple were neighbors
Suppose hues had no highs and lows
Suppose that maybe in the near future
colors are merely apart of rainbows.

Suppose there was meaning to revolution
Suppose we stuck to the constitution
Suppose it weren't -dom to be free-.

Suppose when we tripped, we were picked back up
Suppose there was no status between you and I
Suppose it were all about "we" and "us"
Suppose there was truth in every little lie.

Suppose we were bees welcomed to every flower
Suppose our instincts was to live and let live
Suppose we all weren't concerned with others' power
but instead gave as much as we could give.

Suppose it such a silly word
like other words that have no meaning.
Like weird, foreign, normal, or absurd,
suppose is only said to describe your believing.

But suppose to suppose wasn't limited.
You can suppose all you want and not make a move
Suppose just one step immediately got you into the groove

Suppose everything was OURS
Oh I know, now you're probably laughing
But suppose I am right...
You could suppose anything but that doesn't mean you can't make it happen.

I'm  losin hope

"Such a pretty face carries eyes like kaleidoscopes
So many tears, enough to fill a thousand moats.
You sit and gloat like there's nothing to do and nowhere to go.
Just continue feeling low letting the pride you hold weary.
Whilst talking nonsense grandma sherrie,
you make a toast to help you cope.
Silly sippers sipping matching glasses."

Oh Lord, I've used all hope to hope it passes.
Losin hope, Losin hope
Cut the rope, I'm losin hope

"You picked a rose from a garden
Then flicked the nose of a pardon.
Stupid we, slap my knee!
The next you're tricked, when it grows, let it be
And when it's fixed you will be
just as you were with those lovely folks.
But don't share your soap,
***** hands dressed in rings look so pretty when it glows.
Thus, without the rose you must cope.
Losin hope, losin hope?
Don't cut the rope, don't lose hope."

Holy smokes! I'm feeling your cold hands hold my bones
like endless commands... or a black lab.
If you understand or get the joke.

"I hope you know, we all suppose or propose and expose
what is truly real
and what we truly feel.
That's just how it goes when we all walk the same *****.
So I really truly hope you listened close.
Yes, I really hope you're not losin hope, losin hope."

Hold the rope, I'm choosing hope.

Saber words and wordless fighting, all the makings of a war.
Just no resolution at the end, and no one keeping score.
The main objective is the progress of this process, to project all you can muster.
And what is expected of the other is, in truth, obeyed by design.

All the colors of a seasonal fall, the warmer hues contradicting us all because we know very **** well what cold is to come.
So wrap your jackets around your torso and glove your hands before the slap because my face is still bare and completely prepared for your crap.
Instill it in my veins with your hit, i beg of it. I want to feel the burn against my skin.

This cold war has lasted 40 years now and the storyline is starting to spin. Ending where it begins, but we pretend we dont know this anyway because we're bored and we want more ice and snow, any excuse to avoid stripping **** and displaying what bruises reside below.

"Dont show it" we cried.
"We are stronger than that" we try to believe, or attempt to believe.
"Hide!" you plead, the voice deep inside my mind.
I hear the echo of yours as well, as if together they are preaching like a choiring lead aligned.
Acquiring greed, which is expected of the other and is, in truth, obeyed by design.

Within slumber, you visit, though much more frantically than usual, but i still view you in a way where you dont bother disguising your grief.
I feel your dead-weight against my shoulder and it frightens me because i know with just one more burden, ill fall flat on my knees. Inferior emotionally like so many times before.

In this world, youre a tyrant, running around asking questions. Your uncertainty cannonballing into the ears of all my peers.
I understand and i sympathize bc i dont offer much condolence, im aware i leave you blinded behind my fear of you coming near.

All that surrounds is minor blackness amongst the finer, brighter things. Every planet within the galaxy rotating to platforms behind closed hinges.
We pick and choose our reality and physically adjust,
for a moment we receive all we ever wanted. But we just take it back everytime, letting lust gather dust.

We come back once again, and youre shaking from all the information you gathered from you trip. Another opinion, another lick.
You couldnt stand what my friends had said, all the worst of me condensed into single word answers, and the one your were awaiting was left hidden behind my tooth.

"Do you love me like i love you, or is this just another game you play?" you cried "Dont leave me in the dark, or ill just jump into it anyway."
This little carousel is spinning and you arent hesistant to leap, i watch your feet as they edge closer to the tip of your defeat. I stand motionless and speechless, but eager nonetheless. I want to tell you something but not the something you want to hear. But i guess the silence was louder than anything you could adhere.
You closed your eyes and tipped yourself and fell into the abyss, without thinking, i jumped after you. I couldnt stand not knowing where you'd land or if you'd miss.

I spring from blackout, vision ignited, and turn and see your face, your smiling with sleep still coating your eyes, desperate for the morning light and reveling in it's taste. I have to admit, its much sweeter than what i expected when you lept into the dark. Only to find our limbs entangled, certainty growing large.

Trust, like a seed, must be maintained.
Nurtured with water, with warmth,
Time so it can blossom.

Be careful which basket you
let it lay; Whose,
and whether it'll stay afloat with storm,
Or what, drown with a false bottom.

Why is it so hard to find,
A mind with just enough just,
enough to stand loyally if it must?
Why is it so hard to find,
An old heart capable of new love,
parted from blue lust,
one that proves worthy of our trust?
There must.

Let's not let our folly champion before noon.
Our cores are defined by the rust we let bloom,
'Cause the oceans in our guts are meant to disperse.
So don't wait, don't let fate force your doom and your hearse.

We're only as strong as the emotions we put off,
and the dam you built is much too weak to hold loft.
Your waves will emerge, let them go, let them free,
And soon you will fall, hard earned trust, sailing soft at sea.

It'll be there, I swear.
It must, you'll see.

Trust me.

The first sleep on a hospital bed is always so cold underneath my fractured body.
It makes me wonder what story the warmth that once occupied it before is telling,
Or whether or not he is the story being told.
I guess I consider myself lucky to tell my own.

Survival is a funny thing
You either want it or it wants you and luckily when you work together, sometimes you pull through.
Maybe the light can only enter the soul through an open wound.

You told me once,
“Your eyes no longer shine of summer like they used to.”
“Your hands are frozen.”
“Your heart is black.”
You never believed in affliction that ceased to be lethal. 
Anything else, you'd say, is curable.
You witnessed your grandmother suffer slowly;
You watched your mother move on quickly.
“It’s not that hard,” You would say.

Unexpectedly, one day I called.
Finally this time, you answered,
“Hello."
“I took a bullet.” 
Pause.
“I’m on my way.”
You could not have arrived any quicker.

Why does it always take a cut deeper, bloodier than sorrow for you to realize you could be the stitch?

"Back in my day," he began, swaying forwards and backwards on the wooden front porch bench, "we had to work for our cent. Traveled by foot and shoveled ****. Y'all kids have it too easy these days, I say!" I could not help but laugh. He always went on rants like this, it wasn't anything unusual. But usually, I never respond. Usually, I am hardly listening but today my blood stream was still so drunk from this morning's strong *** of coffee that words tumbled out of my mouth like *****.
"Hmm.. really? How'd you land that job?" I muttered sarcastically, desperate for conversation and painting cartoon flowers with faces and people and trees onto the driveway with chalk, my curly headed baby sister, Shelby by my side.
"Land? Kid, I di'nt land no job! I was forced the job! Family owned a farm, but o'course you already knew that!" He winced.
"Oh yeah.. I forgot." I returned apologetically.
"Yeah.. but everythin' was a lot less 'spensive those days. Got more bang for yer buck. Although, we never really had much buck anyway." Surprised, I put down the chalk and wiped my powdery, multicolored hands on my jeans, leaving a yellow and pink handprint just above my knees, but Shelby spoke before I could.
"You mean you were... poor?" She asked innocently.
Instantaneously, he stopped swaying and looked at Shelby and I blankly for a moment and then looked down at his bare feet. I wasn't sure, but I thought I saw his lip quiver. Feeling ashamed by my baby sister's tactless impulse, I picked up the blue chalk stick and stared at it, unsure what else to do. Many uncomfortable seconds passed when he finally spoke again.
"Poor? Naw. I was never poor darlin'! The size of yer wallet don't mean nothin' bout wealth. I had a roof over my head and shoes on my feet. Corn and bread and milk at the dinner table served same time every evenin'. My mama and papa tucked me in at night. I hated my brothas and sistas just as much as I loved 'em." He smiled to himself and fiddled with his fingers, hands in his lap. Glancing at the sunlit, open field view in the distance, it was obvious he was lost in retrospect. "Pfft! Poor? Never. And then I met yer grandmotha..." he giggled genuinely and shook his head. "That was it. She was like a diamond in a coal mine, that one. Her wit as fiery as her hair and a stare as sharp as her tongue. She had me at 'Get lost!'" He chimed, cackling. I couldn't help but match his laughter with my own and Shelby quickly joined, but once it died down, my thoughts did too and words escaped my mind. As well as his, it seemed. We sat quietly, silenced by the whirling wisps of wind that sung through the autumn air. Chatter wasn't necessary at that moment. Then, leaning back and resting his folded hands behind his head, he grinned and began to sway once again.
"Naw. I was the richest man alive."

Human beings do not speak in tongues,
we speak with fangs

The mirror needs to
(spend good time self reflecting)
stop staring at *me!

I have exhausted myself writing all of these home and seasick poems where I'm the bottomless ship and you are the cruel and vigorous waves. I convince myself that each word that drips is my attempt to come up for air and that maybe if I empty enough out... I can breathe. Even just for a second, even just with a sentence the deep blue surrounding will cease to swallow me whole but it's there. You are there. To ignore is ignorant and to notice is notification and to hold onto it is ****** and gruesome like the sharp double edges of the sword bludgeoned into my spine; the only thing of yours you left inside me that I can call mine. Selfishness is trying not to forsake swimming, to continue letting it rust and rot, but I do not care because it is the only that you have given that I got. So-so, so be it! I'll allow you to fill my lungs, drown them if that means my hunger for you is diminished. Finished, but will enough ever be enough?
No.
No word has ever spoke so well, no, and salt has never tasted more sweet. Amongst all this time I have tried to remain afloat I can finally admit there is nothing for you I'd **** but me. But it will do if that means I have the opportunity to sink into you.