oh cigarrette i love you so
out of my mouth the smoke i blow
i love when you get that red glow
instead of shrinking i wish you would grow

I've drank a thousand beers
I've smoked a million cigarrettes
I've ate at least a hundred Twix bars
I've watched Breakfast at Tiffany's hours on end
I've flirted with every male waiter that brings me
unfulfilling dish after unfulfilling dish
I've bought weekly **** dark outfits
and I've spent my life savings
on beautiful MAC make-up and a new Legacy
and pumps I think you'd like
I've gotten my hair colored every color I can think of
I've tried being an apathetic punk, an upbeat cowgirl,  
a wide-eyed polyanna, a harsh madonna, a ****-you-feline,
an emotionally charged marilyn, and a classy Diane
I've memorized witty jokes, and roasts, and rivetting last lines
I've modeled and sang and became an athlete
I've played hard to get, I've played easy and teasy
And I've twirled my hair and crossed my legs
and learned to walk while swaying my hips
I've ran miles and kilometers and meters and
I've lifted weights and done zumba and yoga and hiked and biked and

****.

There's no comfort                                  and no          getting    to                                        ­                    you.

.                        .i will die
                    .i will die today
                .i will die tomorrow
      .i will die every day after that for the rest of my *******.....

Cigarettes are nothing
but poison
the way you need them,
actually need them
when you get to that point
your ******
Flicking your finger makes you
just want one more
When Im anxious for one
the feeling
is horrible
inhaling all the toxins
feels so beautiful
and
When I cry,
I just want to hold one
in between my fingers
I hate needing them
Ive never needed something
so much right now
and I cant even have one
Makes me want to go mental.

I learned that we rush to grow up
since the day we turn fifteen

that our childhood dream
of being invisible
has turned into a terrible nightmare

that we hope to read our future
in the smoke of cigarrettes
and that we look for answers
at the bottom of the bottles

that flying means more than
throwing yourself from the roof
and floating beyond the sky

that if we stop sleeping
we would mix reality
and dreams
and sometimes that's all we need

That maybe the cure of cancer lives
inside the mind of a child
who can't afford education

that no one would behave as society demands
if we had nothing to lose

that hearts only break once for real
and that liars were once
the purest

that cold and heartless people
don't really exist

that we all have scars
maybe not in our wrists
but in our hearts and souls
or in the little universes that we create
and crumbled down

that we all had an imaginary friend
to keep us from being alone
when mom and dad used to fight

that the best poetry cones from chaos and pain
and that we use art to release our anger
because it's just art
and it doesn't worry anyone

that if each of us were a little bit kinder
less people would wish to disappear
and the world would be a better place

I understood that the books are a lot like mirrors
that we only see in them
what we already carry inside of us

that if we would send less texts
we'd know when a friend feels lonely
that we rather take pictures of the moment
than livig it with the person sitting next to us

That there are no potions to forget the pain
nor chocolates that makes us feel better

that we are all a little crazy
and we are okay with that
that happiness depends on us
and how bad we look for it

but this is just what I learned
and I don't know...
what did you ?

I wanna smoke a cigarrette with Obama

We’ll lower the sound on Futurama

He will hand me a pack of Marlboro or Newport

He will puff I will puff

Life will be like a resort

We will talk about politics and in vain

Puff again puff again puff again puff again

We would smoke and we would quit

He will swear again

For six years ”no cigarrettes lit”

I will quit smoking too

We will play peekaboo

And turn the volume back up on Futurama

I will boast to my friends

I quit smoking again with Obama

'be kind, for everyone you meet is fighting a harsh battle'

David Wakeman, 20, thin, pale and dark haired. He has no particular style and doesn't look like he could really fit in with any group of people in particular, but at the same time, wouldn't look too suspicious with among a group. A constant look of desperation plagues his eyes. He looks as though his face would appear in the news in a few months for shooting up a school or blowing up a public building.

david is shown driving down a stretch of road, snow covered everywhere, crazy eyed

Some people are meant to be alone in this life, and I am one of those people. I no longer wish to pretend otherwise. I now know what has to be done.

The sounds of ******* haunt the hallways outside of the tacky, run down hostel where they both lay. She is lying on the edge of the bed.
The sheets are creased. There are cracks on the wall.
But for 3 euros a night, you can't complain.
She lies there, still; staring blankly at the ceiling. Her short robotic breaths are the only life seen.
He eagerly moves close to her, but for the life of him, cannot touch her. His unsure attempts at moving his arm over her are prevented by a sudden urge to break into tears.
Finally, his hand places itself over hers.
She is cold.
"Did anything change?" he says, afraid of the answer.
There is a pause. It might've been a few seconds or half an hour.
"No." Speaking so quietly, barely audible to him.
He is about to say something, but he catches the micro-expression that followed her reply.
A sigh.
He becomes impatient,
"Then kiss me." he blurts out, clumsily.
It sounded better in his head.
A deep exhale and an almost exaggerated look of contempt washes over her tired face. She puts her hand to her face, failing to cover up her outburst of honesty, pretending to clean out something from her spotless, green eyes.
She quickly moves her face closer to his, with her eyes closed, and she puckers her lips in such a way that suggests she'd rather be dead.
His eyes are open, and now he is the one who is lifeless.
"What?" She says, breaking the awkward seconds of silence.

Silent seconds are followed by silent minutes, and now they are sitting up on the head of the bed, watching the old, fat TV that hangs from the filthy wall. Something is  playing but he can't understand the language.
'Pedifilios' is the only word that seems familiar.
She is smoking another cigarette.
The faint sounds of her mouth blowing out the smoke, are telling him all he needs to know.
She loves her ******* cigarettes, he thinks to himself.
She grabs the worn out ashtray that sits on the side of the bed, and goes to put it out.
"Here, let me get that" he says, gentlemenly, and snatches her  it out of her hand, then puts it out into the back of his other hand.
The pain doesn't make him feel any more alive.
" There you go," the cigarrettes crumbles into ashes over his hand and he pushes the ashes into the ash tray, then looks at her.
Her expression is a weird mix of diisgust and fear.

Minutes turn back into seconds and the sound of her footsteps are the last thing he hears from her, just before the slamming of the door.

Chapter 2:

Two bloodshot eyes scan the aisles and shelves, looking for the gluten free bread. It wasn't in the bread aisle.
Who the hell buys gluten free bread?
He contemplates appraoching one of his coworkers and asking her if she knows, but she is far too pretty for him to talk to.
Besides, he's been here 4 weeks now and wants to make it seem like he actually has a clue about what he's doing.
Afterall, he had already convinced his then potential manager,Chris,  that being a 'personal shopper' was in fact his dream job, and that this very supermarket was his dream place to work.
He always was a good liar.
He's so good because for a little while he manages to convince himself.
'Working hard David?"
****.
with Chris you could never tell if he was ******* or beingplayful.
"Always!" David shouts back, then picking a random item off the shelf and placing it into the basket, then nodding at Chris with a look of false sincerity.

(David is shown sitting in the living room, the light emenating from the TV appears to hurt his eyes, and he is slumped back on the coach, clearly worn out. he is flicking through late night informercials, on the coffee table in front of him there are numerous energy drinks seen empty.)
Davids thoughts: The living room is where I come to when I cant sleep. It's more of a dying room, really.

(David continues to flick through channels before stopping for a second on a ****** phone-in show (like babestation). He flicks back through the channels again)

(The scene cuts to a few hours later, with daylight seeping through the curtains and David sat in essentially the same position except he has fallen asleep, with remote still in hand. It's time for work)

watch alarm rings.....

'You coming out with the lads on friday dave?
He always wondered why people tried to talk to him in the middle of the set.
He places the barbel down onto the rack.
'With who?'' He asks,
"Me, sam, jack, carl and"
"and?"
"and Bill. Yeah. bill"
David's face changes as if suddenly remembering something
"Oh, did you say friday? I cant make it. I'm doing a thing with..."
With?
"with the family"
His friend looks as if he was expecting this anwer,
"no worries lad."

"qeue sad music"
David sits in his room, and is looking for something.
Upon rummaging through his things he pulls out a drawing, it's of a girl, he looks at it and a short shot of the girl from the beginning of the movie is shown, then it cuts back to him, stressed looking, and he shove the drawing into a red travel case that sits under the bed, as though he can't stand to see it but at the same time doesn't want to get rid of it. The case still has its travel ticket on.
He pulls a notebook from under some wires in his drawer, and begins to write.

'poem read accompanied by scenes of davids life'
'poem is interrupted by a knock on the door.

-dave is approached by someone in the gym telling him he has a great body, and that people would pay to see it. looks into 'gay4pay' and ends up actually going on a site and doing a cam show before aborting the whole thing-

scene with mum sat with the missionairies 'mum we need to talk' mum seems uncaring and cold, later on they talk
'Whats the probem dave? do you need money'
'No mum, it's just that'
'if youre struggling for cash just tell me, you can always take out a loan and-'
'No. mum. its not about money'
'then what is it?'
As David began to speak, his vocal chords failed him. He was walking into a 20 year old wall that he just couldnt get over.
'It's just that..'
'Yes?'
'I'm not happy. Mum.'
'Oh, well we all feel that way sometimes son' brushing it off in her famous way.
'No, this is different. I'm really depressed. Well, it's'
Depression wasn't the right word, he thought. Depression was an overused and futile term, it had become synonymous with sadness, and this wasn't just sadness; he had felt sadness many times, and this certainly wasnt that.
'it's?' she says, interrupting his inner verbiage.
He looks at her, knowing full well that this entire conversation has meant nothing.
'Look Dave,' she starts again with her 'mother' act, 'if you think that youre responsible for the divorce, just know that it was always going to happen anyway. It was just a matter of oppurtunity.'
What the **** is she talking about?
'Your dad and I never really had a-'
'No,' he says, cutting her off before she has a chance to justify the divorce again.
He was sick of the endless reasons and justifications.
'It's not about that.'
'well, what else could it be about?'
Because the whole world revolves around her and her divorce.
'Nevermind, it's nothing, really.'
She smiles, happy she doesn't have to act like she cares anymore.
'We all feel like that sometimes, like you say.'

He was starting to think that maybe he needed to see a therapist. Until this point he had always been confident in his own abilkity to reflect, introspect, and deal with his own issues himself, and he had alwas been skeptical of people who st in chairs and tried to prescribe you things; but this was beginning to be too much for him to handle. He felt he needed to be eevalutated, that he was losing his grip of his own life.
scene with therapist, coldly looking at her papers, davids desperate face searches for answers in her countenance.
'Right, Mr. wakeman.'
Hope. There is hope.
'I have you down for a prescription of 50mg of lithium, 250mg of benzedrin every week. I'll see you back here on thursday and we'll discuess your', she stops to see his face totally destroyed
'to discuss your.. issues'
David walks home like the scene of travis walking to see betsy at the theatre, something in his face just says that he knows that this story isnt going to end well. and that terrible things are on the way.

'Drugs, drugs, drugs,' david writes, 'theres a drug for everything in this world. drugs to make you numb, drugs to make you dumb, and ones which make you love everyone and see leprochauns and jellyfish driving cars, though those are the illegal ones.'

'Dave ya sisters here!' says his mum.

Scene where dave meets his sister and has coversation, on her way out,
she pulls out a red napkin and holds it like they do in bull fights, david looks slightly confused and smiles, she says 'dont be the bull!'

scene cuts to dave watching a bull fight on tv, where the bull kills the humans. david laughs to himself as the bull chaes people away. he is eating peanut butter on its own. Daves mum walks in abruptly and he switches it off.

(divorce is mentioned and the fact that dave caused it is mentioned)

dave trries to approach a girl in his work but it i awkward aand he gets rejected the same way he he rejected going out with his friends 'im doing something witht he family'.

dave comes home and there are arguments or something, so he punches a collage of family photos.

scene cuts t dave in hospital being told the cast  will come off in  4 weeks.
scene where david is trying to do everyday things with one hand, accompanied by happy music, contrasting the despair of the scene.

(An exact copy of the earlier scene is shown where david is up late flicking through late night tv channels, except now he is using only one hand with the remote. David finds himself at the eroitc call in show again, but this time instead of changing the station, he notices the number written in big, pink letters, and the woman manning the phone is obviously not in a call. Davids vision darts from the tv to his mobile phone that sits on the coffee table, he doesnt hestitate too grab the phone. The look on his face shows he is somewhat bracing himself. David dials the number unusually fast, without having to look back at the screen. The phone is being connected)

pre recorded phone message: Hey there naughty boys, you've reached TEASEYTALK phone love station, the sauciest ******* line in thebusiness. Press 1 if you'd li-

(David presses a number without hearing the rest of the message, suggesting he has heard the options before. Davids eyes are fixated on the bored-looking woman on the screen, until she picks up the phone that shes been using as a mock-***** till now, and answers)

Woman on TV: Urite babe? How can I  be of service?

(She speaks in a strong mancunian accent, and provocatively looks into the camera and moves sensually. All the while David looks back, with an expression of almost disgust.)

Woman: Dont be shy love!

David: Sorry. I'm not really a people person

Woman: haha thats alright darling, feel free to just watch me if ya like

(she turns to her side, showing the front of her body to the camera, she rubs her hand over the thin lingerie covering her *****)

David: Do you not feel a bit weird knowing guys are waatching you like this.

Woman: it just turns me on more babycakes

(she maintains her playful act but appears just slightly agitated)

David: I think you're lying.

(again, she starts to rub her hand over her **** and tries to look playful, but is now clearly agitated)

David: I don't think you like this at all.I don't think you wanted this for yourself.

(she snaps quickly and becomes more aggressive in her act, trying to hide her obvious agitation)

woman: I ****** love it babe. If you could feel how wet i was right now I could prove it to ya

Men: do you have a boyfriend?

(she pauses for a second, shocked and unable to hide her uncomfortable feeling. She stalls and grabs a purple heart shaped pillow and changes position. She assumes another playful position but looks bothered in her eyes)

David: how does he feel about this?

(her movements now hault and she looks at the camera with a sad glare(

David: does he even know?

(she bows her head for a moment, before running her hand through her hair, and looking back at the camera with that playful smile again)

woman: do you have a girlfriend?

(she says smugly, making it appear as if she has said some provacative)

camera pans into davids face, his look of slight disgust has eased into one of sad reflection. for a split second, a scene of the girl from the beginning of the movie appears, the scene is light, contrasting the darkness of the room, then the shot of david continues

(davids long silence has create an awkward look from the woman on the TV, she has stopped the provacative movements and briefly gestures to someone off camera. the scene cuts back to david with the phone put down, then it cuts to a shot from the same angle, except its obviously daytime as the light is seeping trhough the curtains and davids watch alarm is ringing again, however unlike before he is wide awake)

Scene where david takes off shirt in the bathroom, revealing his arms, chest, etc, covered in cut marks like tiny cat scratches.

dave gets skinner throughout the movie, the gay4pay scene stops him from working out. contrast scene with self harm marks with the earlier scene he is more athletic and healthier  looking. pants fall off

this s were dave develops the bad thoughts about killing people and ridding the world of bad people. ' i always wanted to make the world a better place'

throughout the movie dave asks his mum if any package has come for him, and that he expects a package.

the underlying theme is waiting for things to come and being patient, and that you dont know whats around the corner. that you know life will  be better but you grow impatient, and its only when you forget about wanting things to change, that it does.

in the movie he either does **** people or he has fantasies about doing it but something stops him (a girl?)

before doing whhatever he feels he needs to, he has a ritualistic session of burning the contents of the travel case, including the travel ticket, a postcard from porto, some drawings, and a carboard cutout of a leopard.) he gives the travel case to a charity shop, a long with all the clothes he has worn in the story up to this final scene, where he is weaing guirella warfare type attire. he puts facepaint on(?) and dumps all his anti depressants

at the end of the movie, when he has forgotten about the package, i arrives, and he opens it, not showing its contents, the camera zooms into the words 'handle with care'
OR
he has done his deed and killed whoever (*******) and now his package has come and it says 'handle with care'. it either sits at the front door or is thrown into some postal van, the irony being i tis not handled with care.

Tiny whispers,
soft and subtle.
Bed frames,
a warming cuddle.
Soul pieces,
nose kisses,
cold feet,
one love puddle.

Confrontation,
elaboration,
dark secrets,
silent bracing.
Morning breath,
coffee grounds,
cigarrettes,
and carnal chasing.

Television,
Apple tarts,
Soft eyes,
and blunt smoke.
Crazy nights,
and tired days,
that is what I miss the most..

Black and gray *** leaf tube socks
are stretched up to his kneecaps.
They cover the rugged
saw-like shin bones that nustle themselves underneath a layer of soft, pale skin.

Beige khaki shorts, tethered and worn.
A rip in the left pocket, a hole in the back;
Cigarrettes and a *****, empty, leather wallet reside in the other two.

A hint of a minty, floral perfume, emanating from the cotton fibers of his tattered, black, t-shirt, remind him of the long, arduous night that had past.

Clouded and confused, liqour infested, and hardly satisfied. He stumbles through the morning dew covered grass, etching a new path home.

He feels no regret, no remorse. Only an uninhabited, nugatory self.

Perfect camera angles
Make normal people
Act like fools
Actor

Trading foodstamps
For cigarrettes
Under streetlamps
Long broken

I have a fix
Whispering from my pocket
Why should I deny her?

I found a place to hide
Torn rotted rusted
Walls of cinder block

I am sure all the bridges crossing here
Are burnt unto ash
Carried to the oceans

What used to be a window
Is shattered o'er the sea
Birds dive and soar in the fog

Cement monuments
Knee scraped asphalt
I could cry out to the sky

Do you watch me god?
Go about my day
Do you want me?
Am I not poor and naked in thine eyes
Then pour out your mercy upon me dear heaven
Remove me from my earthly plight

I have always claimed you
As my heart.
For I remember
The delicacy of your hands
Touching my face
When I needed your love.
The walls you would build around me
When you knew I didnt have the courage
To face whatever was on the other side.
The calm song of encouragement you would sing to me
When I convinced myself
Not to believe in me.
The joy in your eyes when it was
Pizza friday even when we didnt have the funds to do it
But ***** it, its pizza friday!
Mom, we've had our fights.
Your drunken nights
I would sometimes scream
To see if the Chardonnay had reached The level of your ear drums yet.
To see if your balance was unconscious again.
And when you started smoking cigarrettes,
My blood caught fire like the white tip of your newest fatal hobby.
After losing Dad, I get your stressed out,
But why do we now have nothing to ******* talk about?
Except money.
"What am I going to do?"
Ive heard it my whole life, Mom.
Because poverty is like a greedy leach
It's never satisfied,
Never ready to move on to the next
Sap with the hopes of
A white picket fence and a beautiful golden retreiver
Thats what you wanted, your whole life,
Right, Mom?
And now,
We only talk
About priorities.
Because when I'm around you
For more than five minutes,
I become Me from the past.
Your daughter locked in her room,
Afraid
Avoiding
But still missing you.
Now,
Whenever you dont return my call,
My mind slips into the dark place, remember?
The place I needed help from.
Yeah, its still there.
I fear that you are dead,
Rotting in your house
Alone.
Because Im not there.
And dad's not there.
No one is there.
Daunting, knocking on the inside of my skull,
'What are you doing? Are you okay?'
I want to help.
I dont want to make another mistake
Like when dad died
I wasnt there.
Mom,
I love you
So so much.
Please stay alive.
Please, place your hands and
Touch my face.

I
Want you
To strip me (of my clothes)
Of my freedom,
Of everything that I believed in.

I
Want you
To caress me
And
To sing sweet lullabies, for
When our troublesome
Dreams frighten us, I
Want you to
Be there
For me.




I
Want you
To be the
Fair-skinned creature, who's
Eyes glisten like
Sparkling wine and who's
Warm embrace lingered
Without a slight touch
Of my breast.


I
Want you
To undress me, and
Tell


Me




To




Get


On



My knees.




I
Want you
To strip
Me of my
Innocence and
Dangle it across
A canyon
With a thousand
Other hearts
That you
Have yet
To destroy.

I wasn't
Pleased by
My fertility.
It didn't
Suit my stained
Clothes
Or
My
Clover cigarrettes.

I wasn't pleased
By your
Sense of entitlement.
You didn't
Suit
My
Mind.

hey

it seems that im back here again at the place we used to call ours
i still call it ours because no one really comes up here and i know this because i go up here everyday after school
i know it's been months but i still love the view just as much. it's peaceful u here and it's getting cold but dont worry, i carry my jacket around like you always used to remind me to- i miss you
there's a lighter in my hand, it looks like the one from the day at the convenience store where you first talked to me-the black one with scribbles all over it-, remember? (do you even remember me?)
don't worry i stopped smoking a month ago- you've been telling me to quit ever since- so no, i didnt go up here to smoke
i guess i just like watching the flame flicker on and off; sometimes i burn things- dont worry it's harmless,i swear, though it does hold a certain sort of power, you know? once you light something up, it just sits there and detoriates then it's gone

it ***** how my mind's still stuck on you as if you never left, the memories are kept kindled
i keep looking back at our pictures, i still believe they can lead me to a trainstation or a bus stop for a detour back to everything
i dont know why i cant seem to stop- my friends think im over it
the thing is i tried getting over it but not really, just a halfway attempt
i met a guy twice, thrice and they'd last until i wanted them to (but i dont- time passes by fast and they start to irritate me sooner than later)
this makes me a sadist but i cant help it, the pain's deadly and i still relinquish on it
maybe it's my fuel, it keeps me alive

i gotta say you're really good at your thing- with the hiding and all- it's what made me look in to you the first place, your persistency and consistency (or i thought you were)- ignorning and disappearing
ive tried looking for you, keep hoping that i'd bump on you in the halls but i never really see you and you never come back up here-if you did, id know
i cant say that i 'loved' or 'love' you because i still dont believe in that fickle thing-infatuated, maybe
all i know is that i got attached and im left to suffer with this downfall. i knew it would end sooner or later, i knew you'd leave but i didnt expect you to be the one to go. tis is the only part of the story uncalled for-the begrudging plot twist

i should regret our paths diverging but i dont feel hatred towards you. im stuck living in the past, chasing ghosts of you and me, even now i still think it was worth it, ironic right?
maybe meaning's found in the fleeting
i no longer depend on cigarrettes but i still keep lighters in my pocket, with a flick i watch the flame because it reminds me of our times- it's so very much like the memories that cease to die; i cease to forget you
maybe in some way it can make up for a love lost
the fire reminds me to sta alive like how you used to- you were my fire

i guess i cant take you off my mind because you gave me something ive been deprived of-hope-when you held my hand in the alley, the warmth of your palm made me hope and only now do i realize that hope is a treacherous thing
now the night has reached its peak and i have to go, mom's going to be worried
i'd come back here tomorrow, i know you're not coming back at all
but i hold on,
to my lighters,
i hold on to hope

just in case

the sun will burn out
one day

it seems
this is a paradox
it is the sun
after all

light
warmth
life

the heat on your face in the summer
can eventually run out
of marb red cigarrettes

burning on a meal a day

sometimes i wonder
how can she do it

laughing down on you
like the smiling baby face
on pbs kids
incessantly

bringing inspiration
the reason
for
well

everything

to create
eat
just
just

hiding behind cloudy skies
which are metaphors
uplifting wet concrete bones
which are metaphors
in the stark of shivering sadness
not a metaphor

i am alaska
six months of darkness

sleep sun
eat sun
scream!!

He says the way he was is what I see
The lonely words break my heart
Like a cpr course is the thing I wish I took
To breathe the life back into him when he smiled uncontrollably
The man I am can be hurt same as him
He still says the things that make me wince
A heart transplant of hope comes in a box
Its marked 12 budwieser or 25 cigarrettes
Its ok as long as I wait for your recovery
I know that your hospital of pain was only the beginning

"If I'm still single by the time I get my first grey hair, I'm marrying you."
When it’s morning and I’m sober and rummaging through my bedside table for painkillers, I’ll wonder how you didn’t take offence at that.
So inconsiderate and foolish and deluded.
You smile like you know something I don't—a language I understand but can't speak, a puzzle I can figure out only when you point out where to start.
"What makes you think I'll be available by then? That I won't already have a dog and a white picket fence with someone else?,” you say.
"Oh, I'll just show up at your door one day, all sad and alone and holding up a single grey hair, and you'll feel so much pity that you'll leave everything behind to run away with me.
And we'll get one of those dogs you love
(a Beagle, you say)
and we'll go to that one country you like—
awfully cold, no fun, city names with fifteen letters,
(Iceland, you say)
and you'll be the one to break us up when I become too much,"
and you laugh,
and (you say, the only reason
I would dump you
is because you smoke like a chimney,
and I'm not marrying into tobacco-smelling rugs and lung cancer at forty two)
So I tell you I quit, pinky-swear on it,
and when you make a face in disbelief,
I take out the last pack of cigarrettes
sitting in the back of my trousers
and toss them from the balcony we stand in,
watching them rain down on the sidewalk
in some sort of dramatic, contaminating declaration of devotion.
When I find the painkillers and I'm back in bed, I'll wonder why I can't remember the rest of the night.
Maybe it couldn't hold a candle to the way you looked when I promised you my own version of a white picket fence.

You walk in after work
to see me sitting in your kitchen floor,
neck craned up,
staring at a cookie tray as it cools down,
and I wait and make a list in my head
of all the reasons why you will finally snap:
1) I used the emergency key you gave me
2) and let myself in with no warning
3) to use your stove and your pantry
4) and I'm inconsiderate and foolish and deluded,
but you drop your bag by the door,
toe off your shoes on the hall,
and take a seat next to me
to watch the steam rise from every cookie at once.

“I can’t have a family.”
“Oh, well… We could always adopt.”
“No, I mean—I can’t have a family. Just can’t.”
I tell you it’s not too late yet, you know? You can still take off your ring and leave—it would break my heart, but I’d get it.
When we're back at the hotel and I'm clear-minded and you're rubbing my shoulder in that spot you know is always tense, I'll wonder how I can be so self-centered.
I made you love me, promised you bureaucracy and an after party and a possible forever, and then I tell you the thing you've wanted your entire life is the one thing I can't get myself to give to you.
“You promised me a Beagle, remember?”
(I did, I say)
“So, how about we start there?”
And in our hotel room, when you press down exactly in the right place, I'll look at you as a bead of sweat rolls down your neck and I’ll think we’re young. We know time passes, but we are yet to find out time weights.
"Dog it is, then"
And it is.
And I’ll wonder how I didn’t realize before what you've really wanted all along.

I try to go about it in different ways.
Once, I read you Siken before bed,
and I take my time when I tell you love always wakes up the dragon,
and when I look up from the page I expect you to say it,
(You're the dragon, you should say)
but all I see is you frowning, pointing at a line you want me to go over,
and I once again say,
Love, for you, is larger than the usual romantic love.
It's like a religion. It's terrifying.
No one will ever want to sleep with you.
The pity in the white of your eyes makes my head spin,
and I wonder how you can feel compassion for the inconsiderate and the foolish and the deluded.
And then it hits me.
And then I pity myself too.

"Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong."
"Then everything that can, will," you say, and you hold my hand.
I don't think that's how it works.
"Us. We can," you go on.
And I wonder what you'll do if our carpet ever smells of smoke or we never adopt that dog.
"Then we will," I say.
And somehow, we do.

That’s really cool, man...so cool I can hardly believe it.
Have I been making too much noise or something?
Do I even have enough dignity or not? Am I even very dignified at all? What does dignity even mean? I seriously have no idea. I am trapped with the knowledge. I like pills a lot. I know how to do stuff, even though I don’t have any money, which ***** because I need money so I can buy stuff. I don’t know what to do about it. Sometimes things are just way beyond my control. Like what? Things I can’t grasp or see or get to or whatever. I already need another cigarette. Cigarrettes are good for the health.
The smallest things can really uspet me over time. I get really sick of things.
I am not doing anything wrong...which is the right way to do things.
I just went downstairs and made myself a spot of tea. I never did abandon my boy. I don’t wanna be a loser. I’m leaving you behind. **** like this is why I want to **** myself. I want to commit suicide because my car won’t start...even though I have been watching so many YouTube videos about it. Mechanics...it really is a tough business. I just need to keep my cool and have some faith that everything will work out okay. \I keep us together...whatever it takes.
She said if we’re
I need to get my car started or I’ll **** myself.
My car is still not running so I have to **** myself immediately.

So hooked!

I can't make up my mind
this drug kicks in too much!
So hooked!
It's such a rush
that ends up in hell's town

I haven't gave up on you yet
you're my cigarrettes!
So hooked!
Sparkles of him fly on the air
and crash against my man's face

So hooked! So caught!
So scorching - but so hot
So tiresome - why can't you let go?
Why can't you let me walk?
Towards my new road

i seldom wait for permission
just like how the ice comes quickly in mid-december
just like how we congregate around the fire surrounded
by the dead tree log cabin

waiting for a new world
face to face, we wait
fill the time with conversation
little silence
you didn't notice the sun coming up

it's a new day
do we have a new way?

yellowjacket, you're the canary
in my coal mine
let me know when things get toxic
and evacuate

send your smoke up the chimney
before we start coughing up
bruised lungs

just like how the ice comes in mid-december
your air has frozen these waters
and now we can walk around without
fear of drowning

just like how we congregate around the fire
surrounded by a weeks worth of loneliness
and enough beer and friends
to get by for another week of transition in
twilight times
i see the sun from the corner of my eye
and we walk to the window
still talking about
the farthest reaches of the mind

and
i suppose we've been there, or else
we'd be a bunch of midnight liars
smoking cigarrettes and telling fairy tales
about the things the world
won't allow

yellowjacket, dear canary
what have you found today?
whistle in my ear about whatsoever
brought you here

can you see through the darkness down here?
can you see the diamonds shining down there
where the heat comes up?

someday
when the work is done
we'll walk out from the mouth of the beast
into the midwinter sterile air
and we'll be just two small
dots of paint
on a white field canvas

one black, one yellow

À vous,
I worship you every single day
First thing in the morning
“À vous,
Also my friends are
Praying for you every
Single day
It only takes a few minutes
To do it
And In you prayer
You ask God to give
More health and peace
Because you live a very
Stressful life every single day
And also you don’t have good
Health anymore
Because you had chosen
To smoke cigarrettes
And you are destroying you lungs
Also you will end up
With lung cancer
And also you will die early
Here on earth
That is so ashame
That you are slowly killing
Yourself
Why do you want to die
Early?
You can still quit smoking
By doing cold turkey

The sounds of ******* haunt the hallways outside of the tacky, run down hostel where they both lay. She is lying on the edge of the bed.
The sheets are creased. There are cracks on the wall.
But for 3 euros a night, you can't complain.
She lies there, still; staring blankly at the ceiling. Her short robotic breaths are the only life seen.
He eagerly moves close to her, but for the life of him, cannot touch her. His unsure attempts at moving his arm over her are prevented by a sudden urge to break into tears.
Finally, his hand places itself over hers.
She is cold.
"Did anything change?" he says, afraid of the answer.
There is a pause. It might've been a few seconds or half an hour.
"No." Speaking so quietly, barely audible to him.
He is about to say something, but he catches the micro-expression that followed her reply.
A sigh.
He becomes impatient,
"Then kiss me." he blurts out, clumsily.
It sounded better in his head.
A deep exhale and an almost exaggerated look of contempt washes over her tired face. She puts her hand to her face, failing to cover up her outburst of honesty, pretending to clean out something from her spotless, green eyes.
She quickly moves her face closer to his, with her eyes closed, and she puckers her lips in such a way that suggests she'd rather be dead.
His eyes are open, and now he is the one who is lifeless.
"What?" She says, breaking the awkward seconds of silence.

Silent seconds are followed by silent minutes, and now they are sitting up on the head of the bed, watching the old, fat TV that hangs from the filthy wall. Something is  playing but he can't understand the language.
'Pedifilios' 'solidade' is the only word that seems familiar.
She is smoking another cigarette.
'it sounds like soldier'
The faint sounds of her mouth blowing out the smoke, are telling him all he needs to know.
'maybe solitary.
She loves her ******* cigarettes, he thinks to himself.
She grabs the worn/well used out ashtray that sits on the side of the bed, and goes to put it out.
"Here, let me get that" he says, gentlemenly, and snatches her  it out of her hand, then puts it out into the back of his other hand.
The pain doesn't make him feel any more alive.
" There you go," the cigarrettes crumbles into ashes over his hand and he pushes the ashes into the ash tray, then looks at her.
Her expression is a weird/curious mix of diisgust and fear.

Minutes turn back into seconds and the sound of her footsteps are the last thing he hears from her, just before the slamming of the door.