you used to love the taste of my name on your tongue,
until summer rolled around and your taste buds changed.
however,
my mouth still waters.

You remind me
of months of loneliness;
an ache I held dearly
between the crooked ribs of my memory.

Cracked open, I could find you nestled,
shrouded in hazel locks.
Your lungs breathless in awe,
bones and dead tissue.

I watch the freckles on your skin evaporate,
dissipate, evade my glance.
You remind me of loss, love and heartbreak;
hopelessness.

I wish I could go back to before I had felt love
The deep insatiable longing
A hole that could only be filled by another person
The certainty of a better emotion

Now I know that finding love does not fill holes
Sometimes it makes more of them
And I feel emptier than I did before
Because I know that I have to fill them

But I’m not sure with what

Thoughts spiral in circles, pondering existence
Worrying about what happens, or ignoring fate after darkness
Is life a vacation from nothingness?
Do Bible stories of two opposing paths bring more comfort- or less?
Could it be- every thought is controlled by languages?
Not the independent "me's."
Or is there more than one mindset, can we be freed?
Possibly dreaming forever in the end, more questions begin
Will I encounter the same souls again-
Did I choose this life I'm living in?

Possibly something has control over what we ponder
Everything may remain mystery after eternal slumber
All we see and feel, illusions- moans of thunder
Absence of reality, hopeful or hopeless banter?
Purpose connected by wonder
One day we will discover the truth of the matter
What a feat, was it worth it-
Pondering existence?
Did I choose this life I'm living in?

someone once told me that the
people who we want the most are
the monsters under our beds and
the core reason of why we find fault
in everything we do and are because
we are only trying to please them,
and now I understand why I started
to doubt my love for you.

-doubtful

conceptcollection

My thoughts are crabbed and sallow,
My tears like vinegar,
Or the bitter blinking yellow
Of an acetic star.

Tonight the caustic wind, love,
Gossips late and soon,
And I wear the wry-faced pucker of
The sour lemon moon.

While like an early summer plum,
Puny, green, and ****,
Droops upon its wizened stem
My lean, unripened heart.

ignore all possible concepts and possibilities ---
ignore Beethoven, the spider, the damnation of Faust ---
just make it, babe, make it:
a house  a car   a belly full of beans
pay your taxes
****
and if you can't ****
copulate.
make money but don't work too
hard --- make somebody else pay to
make it --- and
don't smoke too much but drink enough to
relax, and
stay off the streets
wipe your *** real good
use a lot of toilet paper
it's bad manners to let people know you **** or
could smell like it
if you weren't
careful