i really need you
  here and now
    to touch the crook
      o f  m y  n e c k .

         you'll feel all
           the little hairs
             standing up.
               my body gives a
                 standing ovation
                   f o r  y o u r  t o u c h .

                      you feel like love
                        all over your body,
                          let me feel it
                            a l l  o v e r  m i n e .

                               melt your love
                                let it wash over me
                                  in the yellow room
                                    as i lie in your bed
                                      i  n e e d  y o u .

the human heart
is the size of
a closed fist.
it punches
in my chest,
leaving bruises
on my soul

it beats out the
everylastbit
of love i hold.
show me how
i can ever
set myself free
from the idea
that, i, too
am bitterly alone.

igotothecemeteryandplaythisgametotrytoseehowlongittakesformetoima­ginetherottingbodiessixfeetunder

I am here and I am gone.
Sometimes I come in strongly,
sometimes I am nothing more than a whisper.
You see, my life is like a little red radio.
Shifting, yes. Evolving, no.

Stating my momentary pleasures in a hot seat,
moving with a quiet current of low mumbles.
There are numbered stations for my feelings,
controlled by that little red-silver tune dial
that chooses a separate mood for every moment.

Moreover, the volume dial,
telling me when to keep my mouth shut,
to be static in the air that the atmosphere rejects.
and sometimes, making me feel the stations
through a door slam or a "*******."

See, my life is like a little red radio,
always caught in between two stations.

i used to play this game
as a kid, with my sister
"guess what color i'm thinking of"

she had been guessing for ages
and finally gave up.
"it's sintra"

she told me sintra was not a color
i argued for a bit, saying
"it's indigo but more violet"

"no, it just doesn't exist"
and no, it really doesn't.
my mind invented it

when i met you,
we were sintra
i thought it was real

my mind just. invented it