we are improper
how we are
what we are

the first time that our lips met
it was cheeky
inexperienced and
so messy

lips stacked on one another
smiles twisted on both
and in that second
we froze
hair tangled
the hand on my waist
grips tighter

your eyes didn't simply twinkle with stars
they held an entire nebula in those irises
little crinkles held up by the arms
of pain and smiles

awkward moments with you
give me the giggles
while your throat is caught with
the chuckles

fingers intertwined
arms side by side
foreign lines on your hand
align with mine

brains wired to be a klutz
our lack of belief in true love
became the foundation of us
a wobbly tell tale

for it all soon fell away
like the kings and the queens on a chess board
each text lacked enthusiasm
ignored phone calls
"Please leave a message for..."

should've seen it coming
ignoring the signs myself
my fingers quivered with hesitance
for the reality of us is

we were improper
how we were
what we were

Time is measured in variables

Love
Their sweet long lasting kisses are now ghost

School
Each tick and tock pass with a forever sounding echo of doom

Friendship
Matching bracelets seem to break with the wrong word

Crippling all in their own way
Tears and screams of anguish
Believing that it’s all over

2 weeks may seem like a month
1 day may seem like 5 days
4 years may seem like a decade

Change is accepted to continue on
Ignoring the crunches below from
The stress of handling all of it

I found it kind of sinful
Kissing you in my Sunday shirt
With our hair array and messy
Lips swollen pink

You were the bad boy I thought
I could never attain
I was the wallflower you thought
You could never talk to

We had met through a series of
Coincidences that didn’t add up
Only answer was that fate wanted it
To happen, no matter what

then when i lay in a box of onyx
somehow in a trance of sleepiness
even sadness couldn’t even come through
or happiness
only numbness could be described
ironically numbness became a feeling

the thoughts become overbearing
taking my own life becomes a choice
stepping out onto the road rage of traffic is an ideal

don't say that i am okay
insanity does not equate to "being okay"
the gray overhanging cloud terrorizes my mind and soul from within to the exterior
cursing my bodies with wounds of crimson

people wander among me with no clue
to how my mind can think of a world so cynically
my attribution to life is a torn up blue blanket
fabric barely holding together

temporarily existing in a corrupt societal world