Are you out there?
That perfect someone.
Taller than 5 feet
With your disheveled hair
And your imperfect good looks.
I don't mean you pretty boys
I want the beautiful ones
With all the flaws.
Inside and Out.
I love your flaws
Will you love mine?
Do you feel pain
do you embrace it
and let it wrap around you with familiarity?
Are you open or listen to good music?
An avid country music hater.
You are out there
Perfectly Imperfect Boy.
Where are you?
Because I have yet to find you.
So you can kiss me unexpectantly
and make me laugh.
So you can break my walls
Piece by piece
Till I am nothing left but myself.
Come rescue me
On your black horse
In anyway you desire.

Roses are red,
Violets are Blue.
I am going to bed.

*Will you come, too?

There is never enough time.
It's screaming at me, echoing in my seemingly
Empty
Skull. Ringing in my ears, tearing my neck away.
I can't breathe.
I am new, but I can't write about it.
Too much time to think...
Yeah right. I calmly feel numb. Blank.

You are my best medicine.

But, the thing is, I'm on a strict
Schedule. I can't have you whenever I want.
And I can't have as much as I want.

I just hope I don't run out.

I'll never use this... Why does it matter if I know it, if I do we'll in this class.
I don't like numbers. I am an artist. I like colors.
I can speak and I can write.
And I can draw the things that hide in people's nightmares.
I have no use for the history of the world.
Because I am one of the many that will make new history.

I don't care if I fail in this part of my life.
Because I will succeed in another.
And no one will stop me.

This math, I don't need.
This history, I don't need.
I want my life to center in art, writing,
Literature.
I read, I write,
And I capture the word in one precise moment that will never be seen again.
A lost time.
In one snapshot.
I hate these numbers.
And I hate the history that has corroded our world.

I want something else.
I don't need this place.

I had somewhere I wanted to go.
I would fit there.
But I can't.

Right now, music would help.
Melting into it and draining the world of its color.
Black and white.
No more thoughts, just the beat.
Other people's words.
And just noise.
No more thinking.