Fingers like scraped nails bore into my skin,
and while in a breathless attempt to rebut,
I found myself diving into a helpless hole
of madness that revolved around your touch.

While it burned and scraped for the futures promises,
the sweet sizzle and scratching left me craving more,
and I've never really liked long hugs and find myself
attracted to long stares,
because the intensity revolves like a tornado,
and the world is paused,
and Christ you have the most beautiful eyes I have yet to see.

I hate getting sappy, but
I'd love to be your tree.
But with no grounded roots,
and wicked wrangly branches
the stability is unknowingly nowhere to be found.

Sadness is worst than cancer,
for it metastasizes more rapidly than anything
imaginable,
so we must be in Wonderland,
where forever may be simply a second
and each forever fills you up more and more
with the cancer that threatens the life of every burden,
or mistake,
or habit, or anything that in the end is bad for you.

But stand as you are, for comparing you to something is rather
disrespectful
for beauty is in the eye of the beholder,
and I'd rather be blind than not see you once more.

You are my metaphor and my easiest comparison to abstraction.

I miss the nights,
shoulders hunched over the soulless luminescence of a screen,
eager for the tapping of buttons
to proudly displays
imperfect works of art.

For writers are not naysayers,
nor speakers of the truth,
not speakers for the people,
or those that govern the people,
we are individualistic shortcomings ,
aspiring to be wore more than a few syllables,
or a clever punch line.

We are the lonely,
the distraught,
the happy and sad,
we are the people,
for in each of us is a writer,
dying to aspire to more than a few words.

We demand recognition.

We crave love.

But we receive neither,
for here we are at late hours
of the empty dark night,
hunched over the luminescence of a soulless keyboard,
eager to **** the expectations
of anyone aspiring to be more than a few words.

I swear,
if you take me for my faults,
etch yours into my flesh and I will wear them proudly,
for I am yours,
even if you are not mine.

Carve your name into my lungs,
so they may expand to display the beauty  of your name,
and in an effort to show the world,
they will bruise my rib cage,
and you may take each of them and throw them away,
for you are my eve;
I could not wish for anyone else.

When I was at the ripe age of 7 years old,
I grew accustomed to sleeping cold.
The feeling of numbness and it's pins.
I learned my hatred was rather intrinsic.

Don't bother fixing me, it's rather pointless,
A pencil with no point, a coin pouch coinless,
Just don't leave for I may just break,
And I'm rather terrified of the oceans wake,
with the raging sea and chomping sharks,
our power outages with lines aspark.

I've grown rather cold like winter nights,
Feverish children surviving for the fight.

It is 6:48 P.M.,
and I am absolutely sure of 3 things.
1. It is 6:48 P.M.
2. The ocean is salty,
and 3. You are the most beautiful girl I've ever laid eyes on.*

You asked when I got off work.

So hours later, I found myself,
cuddled in close to a girl I haven't even known for 48 hours,
but felt as if I had known her a lifetime.

The movie was terrible,
like brussel sprouts to a toddler.
But the smell of your skin,
and the warmth of your fingers made me feel
like we were in some cheesy chick flick watching a horrible movie.
We probably were.

I told you I had a secret to tell you,
but instead I kissed you.
And you asked to hear more secrets.

I held your hand tighter then a grenade,
I kissed you harder then I've ever dragged a cigarette.
Your eyes, I swear they melt me.

I've fallen in love with the way you move.
The way you speak,
the way you breathe.
It beautiful in every aspect of the word,
and I'm a little impulsive and have trouble gathering my thoughts together,
and I know I shouldn't do such horrid things,
but they keep me sane,
or at least my belief of sane.
You terrify me with the way you stare at me, and make me feel like I'm worthwhile.
But I'm no different then the horrible movie we watched on a late December night.

You told me you never wanted to go further then just 'company'.
But you claim we were a couple in your head.
And now since I lost my footing when you knocked it out from under me,
I can't seem to stand back up.
So come and join me, because darling,
I've got a countless amount of secrets to tell you.

"You're so much more to me than you may think."

It caused that pit,
in between my rib cage,
to split, and pour out reasons why I'm a mistake,

You classified our argument as a falling out,
but in fact I began to fall for you,
and the pavement of your harsh reality,
broke my fall,
and crushed every bone in my body.

So how can anybody expect me to be preoccupied
with the idea of evolution,
when all I wanted was to evolve
into something worth keeping around.

Your eyes devastate me.
They split my veins,
and burn my trachea with all the bitter regrets I hold to myself concerning you.

I wish I could talk to you straight,
but you and I,
we're more alike than I'd prefer to believe.

We both hide behind metaphors,
sarcastic personas.
witty comebacks,
sly sayings,
and smiles that mask our true feelings.

Crunch my toes in an effort to rise to my lips,
steal my breath, and
grasp my waist to keep me from falling.

When you said you could never go anywhere with me emotionally,
it broke me.
That tiny piece of myself I had left,
that sliver of sanity that held onto the idea
that you would stand by my side,
unlike my regretful family,
disregarding family,
and ashamed shadow.

You left as I tripped on my self esteem and pride,
in an attempt to hold your hand in public.

For Christ's sake,
your  lips are the sweetest thing I've tasted,
and I've never enjoyed kissing,
because it's sloppy,
and pointless,
but with you,
your lips are medication that keeps my heart beating.

You were my sunrise,
and sunset,
and I'm sorry if that's corny,
but my harvest clock revolved around you.

I'm sorry I wasn't enough.
Just please ,
please,
Tell me the truth behind your egotistical walls that you bare up in an effort to keep the daring out.

In the 6th grade,
I read a book about a man who climbed Mount Everest,
and I've been dangerously daring ever since.

Let me in,
and kiss me as if you never wanted anything more.

I guess I'm not enough.

Standing at a towerous 6 foot one
I bared the strength of my ancestors.

Tell me how I sweat determination,
Bleed desire
and dream of Success.

I've isolated myself from distractions,
lust, and the sins of this
dredging world.

I bear the weight of the universe,
upon my shoulders,
back strict, and
knees taut.

Yet when I find myself staring into your eyes,
they buckle,
and my throats tightens.

I find myself,
staggering.