Do make it clear if breakfast is included. If not, make a disclaimer: "I am in the belief that you coming over is good. But that somehow this twisted world resulted in someone twisted as me. Who although enjoys the company of someone like you at this hour, cannot accommodate you past sleep. That you can choose to either leave before I doze off, or that in the morning you will readily accept if I can only open the door out for you. You can make yourself coffee. But know that I am wary of being with awake people while I am asleep, as I think you can easily understand."

There are two types of people in the world: the foodies and the cranky ones. I do not intend to be the latter.

Do make sure you expect only as your place can allow. You cannot hope for me to clean up the eye makeup that heavy drinking had caused to drip down my face when what you have is but a cracked mirror and a broken sink. I cannot fix myself up amid your chaos. I would have to look the part. Act the part. Smell the part. You either want me to receive you messy or put you back up. And I know there aren't too many choices, but still. You gotta make one.

Do say only words that you will not choose to forget the next day. Do not make promises of more future promises. Do not paint images of love, kindness, and honesty when we both know our story will only last as long as this night. This is not a contest on who'll be more unforgettable. We both know why we're here in the first place. We both remember too much.

Do consider the possibility that a sleepover may include only sleeping beside each other, but that it does not mean "nothing happened." A conversation can **** me up just as much, perhaps even more, than the real thing. You cannot share to me a universe that you expect me to pretend not knowing the next morning. You cannot accuse me of meddling when you've told me a story of how umbrellas scare the crap out of you and so every time it rains, I remember you. And so every time it rains, I text you, "Where are you?" not in the possessive way others do, but simply to make sure you are somewhere dry and not dying.

Do smile at me the next time I see you, even if we both know we've tried to avoid each other. I, only because I felt you were trying to avoid me first. Even if bitterness starts welling up, please do not look away. You perhaps may have been a mistake, and I may have been yours as well, but we've never been followers of others' ideas of what constitute a tragedy. My love, our love may to them look ugly, but we've agreed their beautiful ***** anyway. Every time they tell me you like a pretty thing, I always think you are being sarcastic. And that only I could see your sardonic point.

[Beer break]

At heto naman ang mga bagay na sana'y 'di mo gawin.

Kung ipagpipilitan mo ang kwarto mo, sana'y siguraduhin mo na mas malinis ito kaysa sa akin. Na 'di ka nakatira sa bahay ng mga magulang mo (dahil maingay ako at matatanda na tayo) o wala kang ibang kasama (sa parehong kadahilanan). Kung tatluhan ang hanap mo't 'di mo naman nakayang sabihin na may ibang babae na pala sa'yong kama ay mas mainam pang makipaglimahan ka na lamang gamit ang iyong mga daliri, mahal.

Wag mo ipagsabayan ang pagkain at ako. Alak at ako, pwede. Ngunit kung ikaw yung tipo na pinagsasabayan ang sarap ng dila't kalamnan, bibigyan kita ng ibang numerong tatawagan. Tayo'y Pilipino't kapag pagkain ang mapag-usapan, kasali ang tuyo, bagoong, balut, at itlog na maalat, mahal ko, seryoso ka bang maihahalo mo ang mga isip-isip na'to sa klase ng almusal na binabalak mo? Je ne suis pas Francais. My kisses will not make you think of food.

Wag mo akong ikalia. 'Di ko ikakahiya anong oras man akong lumabas mula sa'yong tahanan, basta lamang 'wag kang sumalungat kung ang tanging bukambibig ay galing ako sa kanya. Kung ako'y matingnan at mapansin ang biyak-biyak kong puso ngunit bakit nga ba 'di magawang mapalitan, kapag ba'y sinabi kong ito'y dahil sa'yo sana'y 'wag itatwa't angkinin **** minsan kasi'y nabanggit mo na ako . . .

Kaya't kaibigan, 'wag naman masyadong pikon 'pag ika'y na-friendzone, kinakausap ka pa rin naman, diba? 'Wag mo sabihing tunay ngang mas nana-isin mo ang trahedyang dulot ng malisyang 'di nabantayan. 'Wag mo sanang isipin na ang bawat pagpakita ko ng kahinaan ay pagtatawag na bigyang ligaya ang katawan kung masid mo namang lungkot ang siyang nakapaglapit sa'ting dalawa. Walang paghihiwalay sa pagkakaibigan, at kung sasabihin **** wala na tayo'y ipagkakalat ko na minsan nga'y naging tayo, pumili ka.

At ang huli'y sana 'wag **** ipamimigay agad-agad ang sarili mo sa sinuman matapos sa'kin. Madali kang mahalin. Mabilis kang matutunang unawain. 'Di naman sa kita'y ina-angkin. Ang sa'kin lang ay sana'y 'wag **** pagsabayin ang lahat-lahat . . . ng dinarama. Hindi lahat handa na ika'y mahalin ng buong-buo, lalo pa't 'di isa-isa. Tuloy nagmimistulang halimaw sa ilalim ng katre, kahit sa katotohanan nama'y kapareho lang na minsan di'y naging musmos, kapwa walang alam, kapwa nangangapa, kapwa takot, ngunit patuloy pa ring sumusubok.

https://soundcloud.com/lanox-alfaro/the-dos-and-donts-of-1

You say you understand me
And it feels nice
Because it's 4am and we're connecting
Because everything is exaggerated at 4am
When the masks come off and the room is dark and there are 5 other people asleep on the floor
When our whispers are raspy because we've been yelling for hours
And the glow of the xbox lights our faces, because we forgot to turn it off
And I tell you things that I've never told anyone
Not even the people I tell everything
The things I swore to myself I would keep secret forever
But it's 4am
And we prank called my crush and yours and everyone's exes
And we talked about dating and *** and we laughed until the parents had to yell at us
We ate pizza and chips and I felt like part of the group for the first time
Because maybe I was
Because you cared enough about me to poor your heart out and catch the contents of mine
But who knows if you meant it
Because it was 4am

I know that there is a table
in a Catholic high school in my local town
with an etch of the letter "G"
next to boredom-inspired vandal,
jagged lines, circles,
perhaps a few ******* shapes
as silly high school boys
are prone to draw.

An Advanced Maths textbook sits on a shelf
with a little doodle
of a peace sign next to an emo smiley
from a time where I was caught
between two phases,
tight black jeans and a flowing turquoise shirt.

Tobacco stains smeared
over the wood of a sealed off door
just outside my bedroom,
evidence of the first time
I tried a cigarette, seven years old,
and then panicked and tried to
flush it down the toilet,
only to have to fish it out and stuff it
in a little crevice, to be hidden and
remain there for seven years.

We leave all these little marks
and stains
in places we've been.
Spilled food, spilled ink, spilled drink,
tobacco stains and pools of blood.
"The marks humans leave are
too often scars."

I have scars.
Left forearm. Right calf. Right wrist bone. Both kneecaps.

A scar across my ribs and chest I was
so desperate to be rid of,
I bathed myself in oils and it was
the first scab I
never picked at; but a couple of weeks ago
I dreamt it was there again, fresh.
It tore open in front of everyone, bled out,
and I woke up gasping, drowning in my fear,
agonised, clutching at a wound that'd long since faded
convinced I could feel it splitting me apart again.

I have evidence all over my body
and more buried deep within the recesses of my mind,
scars so jagged they put knives to shame,
shining, pale, like diamonds in moonlight
not half as precious
but still invaluable.
Evidence of the marks humans leave behind.

I'm not innocent.
I don't pretend like I am.
I know there is a man out there
who gained another scar to add to his collection
when he was fourteen years old.
I know my hands carved it into his skin.
I know I used to use my fists
when others used their words to hurt me.

When I die, I know that I will leave
pieces of myself
everywhere
I've ever been. Whether people know it
or not, whether they
remember me
or not. There are ink stains
and coffee spills. My blood
is still on the floor of his house.
The high school cafeteria
has a circle of red
from a nosebleed I didn't realise I was having.
There are parks wearing my graffiti
and children donning my old clothes, and people overseas
still alive because of me

(or that's what they'll tell me, but
all I did was talk.
Give yourself the credit you guys deserve,
you're the ones who chose to listen.
You're the ones who had the strength to
pick your head up and carry on)

There are exes who still think of me
and friends who will one day
come across some article of clothing
or a piece of technology
I left behind after a sleepover.
Teachers who will remember
that smart, sarcastic student
who had panic attacks in their classrooms
and drank coffee in the mentoring hub with Mrs. Hume
whilst buttering bagels and functioning on no sleep.

Maybe our place in the universe is
insignificant. Or maybe it's the
most significant thing
of all.
Maybe the Buddhists are right.
Maybe we are the universe, together
as one. I sure think it makes sense.

Streams of consciousness
and spirits that need healing.
We work the sun
without even realising we're doing it.
We destroy it, too,
which is perhaps why we
are so self destructive in turn.

Maybe we're
smaller than specs of dust
but that's okay.
You don't have anything
without the particles required
to make things up.
Everything is a collection of atoms:
the tiniest things of all
yet they're the centre of everything,
the beginning of everything.

So when the end comes and
we burst back into the sky,
stardust and souls and
blinking little lights,
we'll have left our marks on the earth
regardless of who remembers
and we'll still be there, twinkling,
a collection of atoms that came from a supernova
essential to the makeup of galaxies
and life itself.
What could be more beautiful than that?

Here I am laying, filling my head
At 3 A.M rerunning every word I have said
I suppose my tears are the blood from my soul
Happy or sad it overflows out of me and I can’t seem to feel whole
I don’t want to die anymore because things aren’t too bad
But I’m tired constantly and I miss my mom and dad
That’s the thing about being an adult
You make the tough decisions yourself and if they’re wrong it’s your fault
You choose right from wrong and no one is there to tell you otherwise
No one is there to catch you in your lies or wipe the stream of tears from your eyes
Momma isn’t there to hold your hair when you *****
Daddy isn’t there to point to the sky at the comets
It’s more like a hollow and dark lonely place
Days feel like years yet weeks seem to race
I suppose we take for granted our youthful state
We don’t know what we have until it’s a little too late
I’d give anything to go back to a day before loans
Spend a day with my family before I wanted to become skin and bones
Give my brother a hug and tell him I care
Tell my father that the things he calls my mother are wrong and unfair
Play with my dog before the cancer took him away
Show up to work with enthusiasm as though it was my first day
See my town like I did through an adolescent lens
Bike through my neighborhood to the house that once was my friend’s
Run in the yard and climb that one crooked tree
Relive the trip to the forest that ended with bees
Laugh at myself when I fell off my bike
Not take myself so seriously and be willing to admit who’s right
Tell my sister “thank you” for yelling at me to not speak English
She kept me fluent and that was her wish
Go trick or treating from door to door
“Here’s some candy, would you like some more?”
My eyes fill with liquid nostalgia as they sparkle and close
My head bobs and nods as I catch it then doze
I miss the world before it got complex
Before I had to worry about what came next
I’d live for a day at the age of ten
Before things began to hurt and I was mistreated by men
I’d watch the stars with Jessica and talk about life
I’d give her a hug after a sleepover and get back on my bike
Pedaling home in the cool fall breeze
Everything was simpler back then and I took it for granted with ease
I wish to go back to a time almost half my life ago
I wake from my sleep to realize it can't be so

Psychological issues?

Sure.

I've got plenty.

I don't know exactly when it started
But some time ages ago
During elementary school
I just felt so worthless
Like I was numb
I wanted to feel
But I didn't know how
And it wasn't a sharp pain
I would welcome a sharp pain
It was dull ache that wouldn't leave me
I froze in my own icy thoughts
Maybe it was the loneliness
Or all the things those girls said to me
Maybe it was the insults or the whispers
Or maybe it was just my twisted mind
But whatever the cause
I tried to **** myself
When I was just a little 11 year old girl
When some girls were still playing with Barbies in secret
I was secretly playing with knives and ropes
I would take that blade
And scratch a cut into my wooden headboard
One slit in the wood for every moment that I wanted to die
Because I was too young back then to even think of my wrist
That came later
A few years later
And still
There are days where I just feel so horrible and sad and broken
For absolutely zero reason
It doesn't make sense
Nothing bad is even happening
But I feel shattered
I spent a year feeling so. hollow.
So f!cking hollow
I felt like I couldn't breathe
Like I wasn't alive
I spent entire days
Not speaking
I still miss the cuts sometimes, honestly
I like my scars
Which sounds terrible
But I trace them with my fingernails absentmindedly some days
During the darker nights
It comforts me
Because even though I’m not going to cut myself ever again
I can jolt myself into remembering the pain
And it is a form of relief in itself
I don’t know
Not something I can explain
Is that depression?
Probably not though, I feel bad suggesting it in front of people who actually for sure have depression when I haven't been analyzed
But still, it's not impossible I guess

I spent 5 years
From grade 5 through to grade 9
Which is pretty **** young
Feeling fat
Hating my body
Hating myself
I can see my ribs but I still feel fat
It’s okay I can fix that
Eating a little less
Skip a meal
Just skip lunch
Just eat a tiny breakfast, no lunch
No breakfast, no lunch but it’s okay because I have a good dinner
I think I’m losing weight
Is it bad that I’m in grade 5 and thinking like this?
This is great
I think it’s working
I’m in grade 6 now
Maybe I won’t be worthless if I become skinny
I can still see my ribs
I could from the beginning
But I still feel fat
Okay, less dinner now
Hide it well
Let’s switch
No lunch, a little dinner and a bit of breakfast
Just enough to stay alive
Although how much to I really want to stay alive?
Fat.
Look at my legs
Look at their legs
My thighs God I hate my thighs
Eat less
Eat less and less
Until I’m basically surviving on snacks and just the beginnings of each meal
Just enough to take a few bites before they leave the room for a minute
Just long enough for me to throw away my food
But I don’t think I’m losing weight
I will never be enough
7th grade
Just a little less
Don’t tell any of them
Losing pounds
Check my reflection
I still feel fat
I try to be less so I can feel like I’m more
But does the number on the scale even matter anymore?
I’m promising and promising I ate before I came
But these pretty little lies are driving even me insane
And they can’t see through my smile they can’t figure it out
I’m slowly killing myself
From the inside out
Pretty soon, “I don’t feel well” is my favorite phrase and an everyday thing
A justification for my small portions that I don’t finish
It’s true though
I don’t feel well
I feel worthless.
It continues into 8th and 9th grade
Worse and worse
Looking up the calories of different food
Surviving on water and tea
Just enough food to stay alive
Though I really don’t care that much about my own survival, really
Is that anorexia nervosa?
I doubt it
But it’s a possibility I guess

I look in the mirror
And I feel so f!cking ugly
I literally cannot find ONE thing I like about myself
I cannot leave the house without makeup
Because I am SO ashamed of my own face
I genuinely feel bad for the people who have to see my face
I cry sometimes, because I look in the mirror and see my own worthless hideousness
I remember that sleepover I was invited to with the popular girls and I wondered why
When I got locked in a closet, got soap sprayed in my mouth and locked outside in the freezing cold snow without pants on when I was just trying to change into my night clothes
That’s when I knew I had been invited just so they could torment me
I don’t like being the entertainment for the party
I tried to just go to sleep because if I called home I would look like a coward
And my mother who NEVER let me go to sleepovers would get to say “I told you so”
And when they thought I was asleep
But I wasn’t
I listened to them talk for a full hour
My eyes on the clock
My ears on their conversation
“Is she asleep”?
I didn’t know they were talking about me until I heard them mention my name
When they talked for a full f!cking hour
In detail
About why I was ugly
On what levels I was ugly
The degree of my ugliness
I didn’t cry
I didn’t sit up and tell them I could hear them
It would be too humiliating
I listened
And I know they are right
But now it’s getting bad
My face doesn’t even look human to me anymore
It looks like some sort of beastly troll’s face
It looks f!cking hideous
My mother is worried about me
Because I can’t even look myself in the mirror when I have no makeup on
Because I Freak. Out when it is suggested that I might have to be in public without hiding my ugly face in makeup
It literally affects my ability to function properly in everyday life.
The thing is, those girls said it
And they ALL agreed
So if I REALLY had dysmorphia
Then it would all be in my mind
And if they all agreed I was hideous
Then I must be
So how can it be imagined?
I don’t know
Anyway
My point is
I suppose
MAYBE
It is possible
I have dysmorphia

But
Depression
Anorexia Nervosa
Dysmorphia

Those possible diseases of the mind
I
Have multiple
Psychological issues

BUT OCD IS NOT F!CKING ONE OF THEM

How dare he suggest such a thing
Just because I
“Always seem to be working towards something”
Excuse me for not getting drunk and high and naked
Putting off work
Not caring about anything
It’s not OCD though
It’s just called going somewhere in life
Because I may as well
Since in my mind
I’m hopelessly lost

I'm at that moment in the sleepover
Where I have a headache
From too many sweets and out of tune singing
We are both curled up on the bed under a blanket
Festooned with kernels of makeshift popcorn
The iPad is full of ridiculous videos
And the desk full of dreams on sheets
Of pure dove white paper
Except now it's covered
With glue sharpies and cutouts
But never mind
I couldn't care less now
Because I'm worrying about the money
All spent on food and clothes
Clothes that make you look like you had less food
Than you actually did
I know you're going to snore so bad
But right now I'm writing and laughing
At cheesy videos and hilarious quotes
I wish we could stay together always

This pink teddybear
Is not like all
Pink teddybears
You don't want to take
Her to the hospital
Or to a sleepover
For she has
An additude
And
A foul mouth

ONE NIGHT SLEEPOVER
The embers of the fireplace glowed,
We were all alone in the forest
spending a family vacation
surrounded by big, shadowy trees
and a river that never flowed.
At first, I acted as though
I wasn’t scared at all,
For I know my parents
will drive back after all.
We sat and played board game
in front of the fireplace,
Which for days I’ve never touched nor carry,
rather than to think of raise.
The wind outside had grown
stronger and was whistling
around the house,
Blowing through the little cracks
in the walls of our tent
and climbing us to the bone.
I started to shiver,
although I don’t think it was
from the cold alone.
Suddenly, the idea of where we were ,
just all alone,
started to prey on my mind,
causing fear.
I looked out of the window,
now,
I could see the limbs of trees flapping in the wind
like ghostly arms.
I remembered how far down the road
into the forest was,
We had traveled without even
seeing another house.
‘I think am scared,’ I told myself,
Curiosity and fear started churning
my imagination into terrible thoughts.
I remembered when I was younger,
I used to be really afraid,
Especially after kids from school
told me scary stories about what lurks out
in the forest in the dark.
‘Let’s go to sleep,’
I told my little sister with a shaking voice.
I turned off the lights, and settled into the thick
goose-down comforters of the loft floor.
Looking through the
small window beside us,
I could see the tall trees of the forest,
The full moon hanged in the sky like a silvery disk.
I slept in silence for a while,
When suddenly,
I heard something that made me rise
my head with wide open eyes.
It was the sound of footsteps,
a heavy footstep outside
the timbers of our tent.
Panic clogged my mind,
I was too scared to say something.
I sat and waited
for the sound to come again,
But I heard nothing,
Nothing but the moaning
of the wind through the trees.
The sound of the footsteps came again,
But this time it was another
side of the house.
I started to feel even sicker,
Every muscle in my body jumped
when I heard the front door opened.
My blood ran cold,
and I was suddenly afraid to move.
The footsteps were moving across
the passage toward were
my little sister and I were lying.
The room was filled with horrible silence,
Just the sound of the footsteps
getting closer and closer,
I couldn’t say a word, neither my little sister,
I just scrunched down further under the comforter.
In my mind, I saw the scary man
of an extraordinary size,
coming toward us through the dark.
I began to shake so hard,
when I heard the footsteps on the floor
entering the room where we were.
I huddled my sister and I against the wall,
And I could hear the breathing of the beast,
coming closer and closer to my skin,
I could feel its nearness.
The heat from his nostril
made my skin feel feverish.
But suddenly, there was a light
through the window of our tent,
It shone like a spot light,
And I could feel the heavy
breathing quickly reversing.
The lights were from my father’s bus,
He had just saved us just in time.
I’m almost back to normal,
No more of the taunting of an animal.
Except at night,
During the full moon,
When I hear the sounds in the house,
I tried not to think about of what it would do when it caught me.
Then finally I found out when I woke up,
It was just a dream…

I'm tossing and turning
drowning in a sea of sheets
in a bed twice the size of my own
until I awake to find his arms
reaching for me
coiling around my body
and keeping me close
till I can breathe again.

sleepovers are fun
we don't drink no ***
we sneak to the park
and yell like a lark
what is a lark you ask?
well i ain't gotta clue
maybe its for you
to figure out
what its all about

With, ADHD
You don't really get quiet moments.
Every sleepover I'm the last to fall asleep because I'm too hyper or I don't feel prepared and even if I'm exhausted I just have to get that song out of my head
When class is boring that's the WORST
I start to think of him
And what we could be
And how much I love him
But later I'll talk to him
And feel a pit of hurt in my heart
It's a contradiction I can't confront
Because I've already thought about every outcome and none is good.
ADHD is almost a type of anxiety
I can't
Stop
Thinking
At lunch time people beg and tell saying "WANT A CHAIR?"
I said "YEAH BUT I CAN'T SIT DOWN."
they laugh as if I was joking.
I feel the need to constantly be moving, constantly speaking
Because I've already found out, everyone wants to meet the funny guy.
I will be so tired I can't keep my head up after school but in my thoughts I am chasing after endless answers and questions to entertain who's next to me in hopes to make a good impression
Even if we talk
Everyday.
It's good to know I'm always hyper and have something to do but
Horrible to know
I will
NEVER
Be normal. Think normal, move normal, I take normal as boring and I definitely won't train myself to be that way.
Having ADHD ruins me but at the same time, keeps me from the rest and I don't know which is worst or which is best.

The Checkout Line

I wish to speak with you
ten years from now, you'll be ten years behind.

The words and meanings you carry in your pants, the pick-pocket steals your hopes from time.
and the visions of empty trash receptacles
with their late evening drunken lovers' bouts, at restless end tables. And the bums with their ******* attitudes **** covered clothes, and soiled minds

the clarity of the curbside drunk, picking up shades of filtered cigarettes of twilight scandalous
pickup lovers in their evening best.

And to talk with you ten years from now, you'll be ten years behind.

They're Green Beret head ornaments
detailing the porcelain platforms of Delft
Lining up for one last line to carry them into another faded sunrise at dawn's forgotten memory of yester night
and they walk their gallows holding pride fully their flags of exalted countrymen.

The republic of teacups of literary proficiency.
Wearing the necklaces of paid tolls to an afterlife they find in the miniscule car crashes of engagement with a grinless driving mate in a neighboring car in its pass into the forethought of turned corners.
Where they befell the great disappointment of failure in the frosted eyes of their fathers' expectations.

Who carried the shame of their mother's incessant discontent through short skirts, and high heels.

Who disapproved of the **** whom wore the sneak-out-of-the-house-wear clothing line, and traveled by night over turbulent asphalt by way of sidecar through turn and turnabout hand-over-hand contracts of lover's affection, and slept in tall grasses of wet nightfall with views of San Francisco, and were trapped in the inescapable Alcatraz and Statesville of unconsenting parents and their curfews,

through trials and trails of Skittles leading to after school Doctor visits in the basement of a doting mother, whilst she sits quietly in her exclusive quilting parties with noble equities of partners in knowledge, listening to Edith Piaf and the like,

All the while condemned to time, trapped in the second hand, hand me downs of the 21st century, decades of decadent introverts with their table top unread notebooks, and old forgotten score cards, and the numbers of scholars of years past,

and to talk with you ten years from now will be my greatest pleasure, for you will be....ten year's behind.


They push the sterile elevator buttons, and descend upon the floor of scents flourishing from their crowded family rooms, only aware of distinctive flavors, in their middle eastern shades of desert gumbo,

Who speak ribbit and alfalfa until midnight of the afternoon, sharing fables of slaughtered giraffes and camels that walked from Kiev to Baghdad in a fortnight,

Who are aware the power is out, but continue to scour for candles in a dark room where candles once burned, where candle wax seals the drawers of where candles can be found. Where once sat gluttonous kings and queens in Sunday attire waiting for words of freedom from the North.

of Florence, Sochi,Shanghai
of Dempster, Foster, Lincoln
of Dodge, Ford, Shelby

Of concrete fortune tellers in 2nd story tenement blocks with hairy legs, and head lice, wearing beautiful sachets of India speaking ribbit and alfalfa.

On their unbirthdays they walk the fish tanks wearing their birthday suits to remind them who serves the food on the floors of the family room fish mongers tactics.

The old men wear gargoyles on their shoulders.

Lo! Fear has crept the glass marbles of their wisdom and fortune, blearing rocket ships and kazoos on the sidewalks of their Portuguese forefathers.

Where ancestry burns cigarette holes in the short-haired blue carpet, where Hoover breaks flood waters of insignificance across hard headed Evangelical trinities.

Who share construction techniques one early morning at four, where questions of Hammer and **** build intelligence in secondary faces of nameless twilight lovers, who possess bear blankets, and upheavals, finely wired bushes of ***** maturity. Eating *** and check, tongue and pen.

Where police caress emergency flame retardants over the fire between their legs, wielding the chauvinistic blade of comfort in the backseat of a Yellow faced driving patron.

With their innocent daughters with their nubile thighs, and malleable personalities, which require elite words and jewelry. Wearing wheat buns, Longfellow, and squire.

Holding postmarked cellular structure within their mobile anguish.

Who go curling in their showers, pushing afternoon naps and pretentious frou-frou hats over tainted friendships with their girlfriend's brothers with minimum paychecks'.

Through their narcissus and narcosis, their mirrored perceptions of medicinal scripture of Methamphetamine and elegant five-star meat.

Who amend their words with constitutional forgiveness, in their fascist cloth rampages through groves of learning strategies. And the closets, cupboards, and coins
with rubber hearts, steel *****, and gold *****,

Tall-tales of sock puppet hands with friendly sharing ******* techniques, dry with envy, colorful scabs, and coagulation of eccentric ****** endeavors, With their social lubricants and their tile feet wardrobes with B-quality Adidas and Reeboks gods of the souls of us. Who possess piceous syndromes of Ouiji boards in their parent’s basements.

When will fire burn another Bush? Spread the fire walls of Chicago, and part grocery store fields of food. Wrapping towels under the doors of smoke filled lungs, on the fingernails of a sleepover between business executives with the neoprene finish of their sons and daughters who attend finishing school, with resumes of oak furnishings,

And I long to talk with you ten years from now,
For you'll be talking ten years behind.

Who profligate their padded inventories breaking Mohammed and Hearst,
laying the pillows of cirrus minor
waiting for the rain to paint the eyes of the scriptures which waft through concrete corridors,
and scent the air with their exalted personas,

With the different channels of confusions, watching dimple past freckle, eating the palms of our tropical mental vocations to achieve purity from the indignation of those whom are contemptuous for lack of innocence in America,
this America, of lack of peace,
of America hold me,
Let me be.

Whom read the letters off music, blearing Sinatra and Krall, Manson where is your contempt?

Manson where is your manipulation of place settings?, you deserve fork and knife, the wounded commandments that regretfully fall like timber in an abandoned sanctuary of Yellowstone,
Manson, with your claws of the heart.
Manson, with your sheik vulgarity of **** cloaks exposing your ladies undercarriage,

Those who take their pets to walk the aisles of famished eyes,
allowing the dorsals of their backsides to wonder aimlessly through Vietnam and Chinaman,
holding peace of mind aware of their chemical leashes and fifteen calorie mental meals, holding hands, unaware of repercussion,

With their vivid recollections of sprinkler and slide, through dew and beyond,
Holding citrus drinks to themselves, apart from pleasure, trapped with excite from sunsets, and in-between.

Withholding reservation of tongue to lung.
Flowing ribbit and alfalfa, in the corridors of expected fragrance.

and to speak with you of ten years from now, will be a pleasure all my own, for you will be talking ten years behind.

They walked outside climbing over mountains of shrapnel, popped collars
and endless buffets of emotion,
driving Claremont all the way to art gallery premiers
and forever waited for plane crash landings
and the phone calls that never came

Glowing black and white cameras
giving modelesque perceptions to all-you-can-eat eyes
giving cigarettes endless chasms of light

Colored pavement trenches and divots
cliff note alibis
and surgery that lasted until the seamstress had gone into an
endless rest
and
empty cupboards

Classic stools painted with sleepless white smoke and bleached canvas rolling tobacco with the stained yellow window panes of feral tapestry and overindulgent vernacular

Like a satiated cheeseburger weeping smile simple emotion
on November the 18th celebrations
and Wisconsin out of business sales

Too much comfort, stealing switchboards from the the elderly, constantly putting gibberish into
effortless conversation.

Dormant doormats, with the greetings that never
reached as far as coffee table favelas,
arriving to homes of famished
furniture, awaiting temperate lifestyles and the window sill arguments from pedantic literacy

Silver shillings and corporate discovery clogged the persuasive
push and shove
to and from

Killing enterprise
loquacious attempt at too soon
much too soon
too soon for forever

Wall to wall post-card collages
happy reminders of the places never visited by drinks in the hands of
those received

Registered to the clouded skies of clip board artists
this arthritis of envy
of bathtub old age
wrinkled matted faces
logged with quick-fixes, anemia, and heart-break

disposed of off the streets
of youth, wheeling and wailing
rolling down striped stairs
of shock and arraignment
holding the hand rails of a wheelchair
suitcase
packed away in a life

Down I-37
into the ochre autumn fallen down leaves
and left memories behind
their green Syphilis eyeglasses

weeping tumuli
recalcitrant
mulish, furrow of beast and beyond

yelling, screaming, howling
at the prurient puerile tilling
of sheets

****** the voices of words
and vomiting the mind into the pockets of the turbulent perambulations
expelled from meat-packing
whispering condescension
and coercing adolescent obsessions
with fame, glamour, and *****

Creeping out into the naked
light of the Darger scale janitorial
closets, carrying the notorious gowns
of red wine spells, backpacks, and pins

henchmen, plaintiff, and youth

All the while
ripping at the incantations of the soul
whispering ribbit and alfalfa
in the guard-rail scars
of the dawns decadent forgotten

Two bottles of Southern Comfort, Black Keys on iTunes, profile picture with sister, stir-fry, 30 Rock, Gorillaz poster, pancakes at 3 am, spontaneous lunch at Barone, friends with benefits, need a hug, Columbus Day, touch my ****, too much tongue, crumpled into wall in the morning, Urban Outfitters for a t-shirt, silver medal, free Dominos, Workaholics at 12, secret sleepover #2, ******* because i thought that's all he wanted from me and i wanted him to stay, hickey on my neck, studying in a room with the round table, drew a horse on the whiteboard, fill out a police report, Redgates from Firehouse, he looks cute today. Tackled into metal, did I break my back? Jump on it, it's not funny, I'm crying, cold beer, kiss on the porch, stop kissing me in 12, *******, more kissing, blood everywhere, come over, comb through hair. you can stay over again, skips class, uses my shower, makes the bed, come with me to doctor. Vermont secret, Batmobile, on Prius, dune buggies, Phantom Menace, brother-in-law, supermarket in Newfane, stir-fry, statement at 6am. Hurricane, in my basement, halloween at the fire station, knitted scarf headpiece, mother's phone number, red gate sandwiches by Citi Bank across from library. Confirmation party, Chartruese, Coldplay at Mohegan, Torches, enchiladas, screaming, stuffed wolf, comic book finishing touches at 1 am, new roommates, L.O.L., I was going to propose to you - in the hallway, 3 month long orchids, Vermont trip #2, no riding allowed, nap by the fire, bare butts touching over unscented blanket, sapphire ring too big under lamppost in parking lot, happy. Sarasota, hide my eyes with Mosley Tribes, take a walk without me, Game of Thrones, cold sand, hair dryer joke, need eye drops, Ringling Mansion, gator bites, silent walk by traffic, kayak in shallow water, families too different, bike ride to tune of Star Wars, nervous about the summer, panic into shoulder on flight home. ******* in the middle of the night, drive around campus, leave me alone, pack up N-64 games, fight before final presentation - only one group gets an A, instant milkshake and magazines to pass the time, make a pizza, here let's make out again - apparently that isn't so bad, almost forgot my friesian mug and vase by the trailer. Texting *****, sick stomach, Lord of the Rings, try smoking, Magic: The Gathering, first communion, wedding, Chip's Family restaurant, high school graduation that I couldn't sit at, Miya's with the mini *****. Fireworks on hill through trees. Retna laptop with blue cover, HGTV's Next Design Star, I have to leave. this is where I stop.

Warning* This is not a poem, by any stretch of the means, if you don't want to read a story then skip over this.  If you are against any part of the LGBT+ community, skip over this!! If you would like to read this then keep on reading and thank you very much

       Coming out is terrifying.  Figuring yourself out in the first place is absolutely scary, but then telling everyone what you've figured out is even scarier.  Here is my story.
      My story starts in the 4th grade.  I remember I would be at choir concerts and I would be in the audience watching with my family, and I would be staring at the girls.  Because they had such pretty dresses, and gorgeous makeup, and long flawless hair. And I would pay no attention to the boys, because the boys aren't pretty like the girls are, they aren't pretty at all to me.  Then suddenly I noticed that, and then I remembered all the girls in my class talking about how cute Johnnie is and I sort of connected that I thought Sally was a lot cuter than Johnnie or any other boy in my class was.  
      Then I remember going home and sitting in my room and being determined to figure this out, because this is weird.  I've never heard of a girl liking a girl! That happens?!?! If this is real then why haven't Mom or Dad said anything?  So I sat down in my room and I got a black, blue, and pink marker and a piece of paper.  On one side of the paper I drew a boy in blue and on the other I drew a girl in pink.  In the middle I put the word or.  But I didn't know which side to circle, so I folded up the paper and hid in between my closet door because it was open but you could put stuff in between the doors without anyone seeing it. In a month I found the paper again, and this time I knew which one I was attracted to.  So I grab my black marker and I circle the girl.  
      I don't really remember how much longer after the paper incident that this next event happened, but I know it was 4th-5th grade somewhere in there.  I had my best friend over, I think it was for a sleepover. We're gonna call her Ally. But I remember me and Ally were just hangin out in my room.  I look over at Ally and say 'Hey, Ally I gotta tell you something' and she's waiting for me to respond.  So I say 'I think I like girls.' That's all I say, nothing more.  Ally goes off repeating that it's wrong and that it's not right and that I have to like boys otherwise something is wrong with me, and is just going on and on when I just jump up and say 'JUST KIDDING, it was just a joke calm down'.  Then we just laugh it off and then she makes the comment 'if you did like girls i'd be okay with it, but i wouldn't be as close to you because i'm a girl too'. That really hurt me, which caused me to internalize all of my questioning thoughts and try my hardest to forget about them.
        Now it is middle school, during middle school I dated 3 boys.  We are going to call them Jona, Chris, and Lucas. I dated Jona for 15 months and our "relationship" was more like a friendship with fancier terms.  I'm buddies with Jona now so it's all good.  Chris didn't last long so that doesn't really matter.  Lucas!!!! I dated Lucas for 6 months and during this time I realized that I really was attracted to girls and I couldn't keep hiding it.  I realized this because Lucas was my first kiss and I was not into it AT ALL!!! I just wasn't, I tried i really did.  But I just was never much into the dude thing! Nothing against him at all, he's a really sweet guy and I'm really close friends with him now. But after I had my first kiss, I pretty much was like girls are real pretty and the dudes im just not into that.  So I sorta just slowly stopped talking to Lucas, and I ended breaking up with him.
       But I was scared of being judged for being completely lesbian, so i came out as a pansexual because i thought people would be more accepting.  So I came out to my sister first, I have 2 sisters and i came out to the one that is a year younger than me ,Izzy. Izzy was in the living room one night and i walked out there and i said 'Izzy, you'll love me no matter what, right?' she replied yes and just asked me what was wrong repeatedly.  Then I was like I was thinking and just needed some reminder.  Then she followed me to my room and harassed me for an explanation.  Then I came out and said 'Izzy, im pansexual.'  Then I explained what it was and the first thing she said was '***, NOW I HAVE A GBF!!!'.  I felt so much better after that and i was just so relieved.  After that i came out to my Mom, friends, and my other sister.        
After 3 months, I revealed to my mom that i was still confused because I leaned more towards females and that at that moment i was just using pan as a label but if it changed to not be surprised.
        Around a week after that I gained the courage to come out to my Dad.  I honestly don't know why I was so scared to come out to him, but I was and he was around the last one to learn.  So I walked into my parents room and was just talking to Dad, I had my mom stay in the room just to lessen my anxiety about all of this.  Then I brought up the topic of the LGBT+ community, dad and i talked about it for awhile.  Then i said 'dad, i mentioned gays because i like girls'.  then my dad went on a list of analogies but in the end he was okay with it.  Actually my dad was the most supportive about it right after i told him he was so okay with it and it made me so happy.  Although my dad was upset because i was scared to tell him.  After I came out to him, I pretty much just admitted to being a full blown lesbian, and it was all great and dandy and everyone was happy.
       Then it was time to go back to school, but this year was the year I started high school.  So I was a freshman who had just come out as a lesbian to all my friends and family over summer.  So not many people knew that I was gay.  But then I become friends with this girl, I really liked her.  I was at a friends party and she was invited and after that party I couldn't get her off my mind.  (I know this seems like it's going off track but it will connect soon) I figured out that we have a class together and we started talking.  
        At the party I mentioned the whole being gay thing and she was okay and very aware of it, and one day she went to my locker after school.  She had been doing that a lot and gave me hugs to say bye and stuff but i completely overlooked it because i don't know what flirting is. She was at my locker and i decided to put my big girl pants on and ask if she liked girls.  She responded with i'm pretty much cool with anything (pansexual). Then she asked me to the dance, I obviously said yes and wigged out when she walked away and immediately texted my best friend in florida (Ally).(Oh BTW I came out to her over summer over skype and she's completely chill with it now, we are still best friends and she doesn't mind at all) So we went to the dance and she asked me out.  I said yes, wigged out some more, and then danced some more with my friends while she talked to hers for a few minutes.  Fast forward to the few weeks after the dance.  We had been walking down the halls and hugging so everyone figured it out.
         That's where we are today.  I am still dating the girl, i've met her family and she has very nice parents.  All my friends know that I am lesbian, and they completely accept me.  My family knows, but when I say family I mean my household family.  My grandma and great-aunt know, but besides that no one else does but I don't really need them too so it's all good.  But I am so much happier than I have been in a long time.  Yes, relationships are so frickin stressful especially if it is one with the same *** and you've never had one of them before.  So if you are in your first relationship with a girl, take it slow.  But if anyone is in the mindset of coming out, first make sure that it is safe for you too before you do it.  If it's not safe you can't, be safe about it no matter what.  You'll be able to be open about it one day, but make sure you are in a safe environment.  But if it is, yes coming out is the most stressful time ever! But in the end it is the most rewarding thing, to be able to openly say I'm insert your label(s). It's an amazing feeling, yes you might lose some people on the way but if they won't accept you for the real you then don't even deserve you.  So my final thing it, you are an amazing human, and if you come out you are the strongest being and you have earned my utmost respect. If you haven't, you've earned my utmost respect because it's heart wrenching and I've been there, but you will be able to bloom one day my little flower.

It was a hot summer morning in late August. The brick building in front of her was daunting. This was it. Her first day of high school. Her long brown hair swayed behind her. It brushed gently against the small of her back. Her heart pounded excitedly in her chest. A new adventure awaits her. An adventure filled with many smiles, and many hardships. This is the story of a girl in high school, with long brown hair.

-

Freshman year was fun for her. She made new friends, along with keeping a few of the old.  She met 3 people in her life who had a strange impact on her life, both good and bad.

One of these 3 was a girl. She was *****, and had different style, which enticed the girl with long brown hair. They were put in the same group, and began to talk. Soon after they became close friends, and had their first sleepover. It was the first sleepover of her high school year which wasn't with a friend from her previous school. She enjoyed it very much, and truly valued her new friend.

The two would often be seen together, and even made friends with two others who were like them. The two others were boys. One boy was a bit of a nerd with floofy hair and glasses. The other boy was a punk guy with long hair and darkened taste. The four would go to the mall together, and became inseparable.

The girl with long brown hair really liked these new friends. They were so much like her in so many ways, yet she also had others whom she enjoyed just as much. Freshman year went well for her. She was happy.

Sophomore year rolled around. Her confidence was high, and her relationships with her friends strong. She had made new valuable friends, and loved to do choir and theater.  She continued to make friends through her extra activities, along with keeping close to the ones from freshman year.

The ***** girl in her little friend group had met someone. A girl. They were in love, but the girl with long hair didn’t mind. They were still best friends throughout it- although the ***** girl drifted away as she was occupied with her partner. The boy with long hair and darkened taste told the girl with long hair that he loved her. She was scared, and told him she didn’t feel the same. He accepted it, but became depressed. Time passed by. He was always sad. The girl with long hair became closer to the boy with darkened taste. She wanted to fix him. She wanted to help him. He told her he loved her. He asked her to be with him. She hesitated out of fear. A little time went by. He asked again. She said yes.

-

They were happy. She made him happy for the first time in a while. He made her happy too. One night, the punk girl invited the girl with long hair and the boy with darkened taste to sleep over her house with her and her partner. They agreed. The four went to the beach. The night was foggy. The air was warm; the breeze cold. The boy with darkened taste and the girl with long hair fell in love.

Time passed. They were happy together. One night the girl with long hair had a terrible feeling. She had a panic attack. The boy with darkened taste was busy with a class he was taking. The girl called her best friend to panic. She calmed down.

The boy with the darkened taste called the girl with long hair. He yelled at her. “Why didn’t you come to me first?”.  He exclaimed. “You were busy. I didn’t want to interrupt you. I was panicking.” He scorned her. She cried the whole night. The next day, she didn’t eat. The school hosted a mass. The girl with long hair heard murmurings throughout the choir. Her best friend had gotten in a severe accident. Her car rolled over. She panicked. The boy with darkened taste apologized to her for fighting. He promised to not do it again. She believed him. He asked for forgiveness. A little time went by. He asked again. She said yes.

Junior year began. The girl had one friend left. The summer was fun for her, but not in a way that was healthy. She had stayed with the boy with darkened taste. She thought she loved him. She thought he loved her. She was wrong. The beginning of the year was rough. He yelled at her a lot. He didn’t trust her. He would often take her phone to read her messages. She wasn’t allowed to talk to other boys. He made her delete her social media. She wasn't allowed to talk to other friends. She threatened to leave him. He threatened to **** himself. She was stuck. She was scared. She was sad. They fought. He grabbed her. He wouldn’t let her go. She tried to yank her arm. He held tight. She wanted to leave. He wanted her to stay. He asked for her forgiveness. A little time went by. She said yes. This happened continuously. A short while later, they fought. She was used to him grabbing her. She was used to him forcing her. She tried to get away nonetheless. Then he hit her.

-

The girl with long brown hair was sick. She did not eat. Her friends whom she  cut off were worried. Her weight dipped to an unhealthy level. She thought the worst. She thought she couldn’t escape. She was wrong.

The end of junior year was her time. She escaped finally. She was not unscathed. The girl with long brown hair cut it all off. She needed a fresh start. It was symbolic to her. It helped her.

    The beginning of Senior year rolled around. The girl had healed a good amount, but not entirely. She had cut off communications with the boy with darkened taste.

He saw her in school. He spoke to her. He asked for forgiveness. The girl forgave him, although the wound was still fresh. He asked her to be with him again. A little time went by. He asked again. She said No.

Now the girl is a different person. She was wisened by her experience, and was able to forge some of her friendships with the friends she loves. Some relationships cannot be forged. She tries still. Nothing will be the same. She realizes that. She moves on. She is happy. Her weight is back to normal. She is healthy. She was no longer the same girl, with the long brown hair. She is a different girl. A more happy girl. Only now, She is the girl with short brown hair.

There was ***** and stolen cigarettes
There were long nights in her bed
There was a 10 year old learning about things he shouldn't know
There was secrecy, "our little secret"

She made me feel special
She was older and mature
This stuff was mature;
Even if it hurt
Even if I bled
Even if made me sick

I learned that a child's body is a play thing,
Locked inside a damp, broken toy box until it was to be used again
I learned that a child's mind was of little value without its sweet and soft body

No child ever came out of that house, that locked toybox  

A child died in that house,
Mind damaged beyond repair
But thank goodness it's body is still in tact
An empty body,
An empty husk of a child,
It's much easier to use

Without that body this child is worthless

when you are three you will bring home your first tracks of mud from the garden when you sneak out of the door to play. i will wash the grass stains off your socks and tell you to wait for mummy to come out next time too.

when you are four you will bring home your first macaroni necklace from nursery school and try to eat it raw. i will put it around your neck and we will make pasta together, minus the glue.

when you are five you will bring home tears and your first bleeding knee after falling off your tricycle. i will clean up the wound with antiseptic, put on a smiley face band aid and tell you it is okay to cry.

when you are six you will bring home your first finger painting from kindergarten and a white tee shirt that is streaked with a myriad of colour. i will place it on the laundry pile and we will stain canvas with paint coated fingers for the rest of the afternoon.

when you are seven you will bring home your first report card and babble excitedly about the A you got in art class. i will tell you i knew your teacher would love the tiger you drew that had too many teeth.

when you are eight you will bring home your first best friend and you will ask if you can have a sleepover. i will bake you cookies and put up a tent in the backyard so you can fall asleep under the blanket of stars.

when you are nine you will bring home your first 100 on a test and ask me if perfect is a good score. i will hug you and say that no score can be more perfect than you are.

when you are ten you will bring home your first girl guide badge and tell me you need it sewn on your uniform. i will teach you how to use a needle and thread and see your pride at accomplishing the task on your own.  

when you are eleven you will bring home your first medal from a junior fencing competition and tell me you love the foil but you are scared of the older ones who use epees and sabres (even though one day you will be one of them, too). i will hang the medal on your bedpost and show you my rusting sabre in the storeroom and tell you my stories.

when you are twelve you will bring home your first case of chickenpox from the girl who sits next to you in class. i will make you chicken soup and we will make bad puns about poultry for the next two weeks of quarantine.

when you are thirteen you will bring home your first failure on a test paper. i will sit with you in your room and go through your mistakes and we will learn together, because you are more than a number and i never want you to forget that

when you are fourteen you will bring home your first questions about why the girls in school giggle about boys when the name you doodle in your jotter book is the one of your hauntingly beautiful social studies teacher. i will tell you that love is whatever you believe it to be and who you love is less important than why you love them.

when you are fifteen you will bring home your first can of beer in an effort of rebellion and try to hide it in your room. i will get out the wine and we will share it and i will teach you all there is to know about alcohol and being careful around it, and regale you with stories about the fact that i am a happy drunk.

when you are sixteen you will bring home your first attempts at a resumé and tell me you want to find an internship. i will watch you with pride as you make your own way as part of the working crowd for the very first time and learn more than i could ever teach you on my own.

when you are seventeen you will bring home your first girlfriend and introduce her to me, blushing and stammering. i will smile and ask her if she wants any orange juice from the fridge, and watch you give me a grateful grin.

when you are eighteen you will bring home your first college application and all the relevant documents. we will sit down over the kitchen table and discuss the pros and cons of local and international schools.

when you are nineteen you will bring home a suitcase and some assignments when you come back home during break. i will watch you tuck in to local fare ravenously and listen to you dreamily talk about the girl you share your dormitory with.

when you are twenty you will bring home your first paycheck from a part-time job you’re holding while studying for your degree. i will joke with you on what blue chip stocks to invest it in and we will go out for dinner at a swanky restaurant together.

when you are twenty one you will bring home an engagement ring and ask me if it is too young to ask your dormmate turned lover forever. i will remind you that love has no age and preconceptions have no place in devotion.

when you are twenty two you will bring home everything you need to propose to the love of your life. i will watch her stare at you in shock and fall into your arms and cry, and i will smile at the way your breath leaves your lungs, and you cry along with her.

when you are twenty three you will bring home your first pre-wedding jitters and be fretting about tomorrow’s ceremony. i will reassure you that everything will be perfect- even if it isn’t.

when you are twenty four you will bring home your first spare key to your new place and entrust it to me. i will bring over the dishes you and your wife love every sunday and we will have dinner together, talking, teasing, and laughing till we cry.

when you are twenty five you will bring home your first daughter you have adopted from the orphanage.

and daughter, i hope you will tell her the things i have told you.

Now let us pray.
May hellfire rain down
on us today, on all those who
offered pay in
full metal change to watch
the life sized lights explode
& wicked witches
hanging by the throat
from a tenth floor window
it was all so cool.

so cool.

demon induced
dementia cemented in
an underground parking garage

sleepover
sleepless

starry eyed orphan
**** princess-
apparel section
regressing to an
oral fixation & a
need to keep the
fingers busy.

pink **** carpet
heart shaped atrocity

rotten thing.

you ain't the boss of me

paleface
scarab angel
seraph snake
made up cheap

heart tarnished
purely
black comedy
legs like a limousine
keeping company with
the holy cross
dressers on the
local drug scene.

oh how special.

yesterday
I fed my
edificial fetish
& I could not
stop thinking.

these high
arched ceilings.
could not contain
my feelings,
if they tried.


drive by advertisements
remind me there's
not much
to be excited about.

the hum of a fluorescent lamp
old, but
it still works

the creak of the bed
as I slide in

the whisper of a foreign room
and the breathing of a strange house
fill my ears

yellow light floods my vision
from the left
the wall, to the right
bears my shadow

I turn
try to catch a glimpse of me
but I am blurred
stretched
in this place
maybe
I am not myself.

Dressed in all black,
she arrives at my door,
but rather than go out,
we dine on my floor.
With pillows for seats,
and candles for light,
she tells me of the past,
her memories of life.
Pizza and wine,
a great dinner for two,
not what she was expecting,
but I bet it will do.
She picks off her onions,
and adds them to mine,
I hardly even noticed,
and certainly didn't mind.
With two boxes eaten,
and one bottle down,
we head to the sofa,
my black leather playground.
We put on a movie,
something about about a book,
she hands me her feet,
and I rub out the nooks.
The AC comes on,
I give her my sweater,
and slowly but surely,
I become cold as ever.
I light up a blunt,
we pass back and forth,
she slowly moves closer,
and I begin to feel warm.
She places her head,
on the top of my chest,
I move in and kiss her,
my nerves come to rest.
Her lips taste like cherries,
it's probably the wine,
little did I know,
she tastes like that all the time.
I notice that it's late,
I'm now high as a kite,
our voices begin to lower,
and we theorize about life.
She tells me she thinks,
life is not to be dread,
and it's only the beginning,
there is much more ahead.
We lie there eyes closed,
and ponder the theory,
and start the beginning,
of our sleepover series.

your skin tastes empty, my love,
sweet fallacies on my teeth
pulled your words from my tongue
how bitter they could be.

I memorized the curves of your back
and the rising and falling of shoulder blades.
what I remember most of all is the
sound of my voice begging you to see me.

the air was cold
you never turned around
scratching your spine
biting your collar
please see me.

Her faint pop music,
The giggles they make
in the dark
In one room
Different worlds
Deep in slumber
Or awake on the surface
No in between
Sleep won't sink in
Patience wearing
Head ringing
Throat feeling bile
I'm tired.

She was so, what's the word I'm looking for?
  not *****, some would say submissive.
There is no way she was that, more *******.
But she never let it show, she'd have a way of
controlling the situation to make you think you
        were in charge...

How could I explain it? more like your in a desert,
         thirsty and see a fountain in the distance.
Running towards it your strength disperses,
  and you believe what you see even though your
            swallowing the passing of time.

Even as you choke, you still believe you've
quenched your, I mean her thirst.
          If she was poker, she'd have the winning
hand every time...

So back to the moment at hand, she was so dam
         rough, I had scratches that looked like I'd
had a sleepover at Elm Street.
I'm not saying I didn't enjoy it...
I liked it when she made me trickle.


That itch while at work, as my back
was healing, it turned me on knowing
that she still lingered even though we
weren't near.
       She had this suffocation issue,
but it was kinker than just naked...
        

It was in a summer dress,
                    and only in the summer.
Like she was seasonal?
I'd lift her dress up. she was pantiless.
           But before that, my hands were even
within her thighs, she was damper than
the grand canyon dry around the edges,
       but between she flowed...

There was no finesse it was all or nothing,
     no gentle hands, deep and hard were her ways.
She knew what she liked. But like a drug,
Its strength diminishes over time,
and the thrill was now near non-existent.  
And a frustrated woman isn't one to be trifled with.

So we got others involved, ones that had
the same suffocating view on life.
Constricted on the normality of ***.
The first one, ***. It was embarrassing.
  We'd guest they were more inquisitive
         than had done it before.

We'd had them sign a waiver on the obligation
of what it entailed. A few drinks later,
Ok, more than a few and it was a melting ***
         of flesh, we were all over each other.
      She strangled my other half one-handed
constricting her flow of air, the other fingers
in her mouth being ****** erotically.

I'd never thought of how ****** this would be,
it didn't matter that it was a woman,
the fact she was arching so much.
All because of another stifling her breath.
                    I had my fun though I was deep
in the other,  **** deep as she didn't want to
be penetrated in her flower, she likes her petals clean??
   My other half could see me over the other'ss shoulder.

Enjoying the fact of both woman were in my bed,
              I was getting close, and then it changed.
She saw that I was about to pleasured by another.
Her hands clasped around our new acquaintance.
For such a petite figure she had a grasp like a clamp.

I felt her clench around my external offering,
           and the smile off my other, it was suffocatingly  
pleasurable. All three of us slumped at the same time.
The bedsheet was drizzly with the fulfillment
  of all three of us. I'd never experienced such a
moment, it was unexplainably fulfilling.

We rested for a moment, and then as I pulled myself
from this sweaty gathering, I needed to ***.
I know wow how romantic, But you open a valve,
waters going to pour eventually.
   Walking back to the bed all smiles.
     She looked at me with fear, but with a hint of
excitement.
                    
"She's dead,

                            "What dead tired?

  "No you ****-wit, as in you just pleasured
yourself up a corpse you necrophilic *****...

I laughed, as I jumped into bed thinking she
was hoaxing me. But she wasn't moving.
  Holy crap that was an ****** to die for??
  She looked at me sheepishly, no not really I got
kind of confused, she was strangling me and i
was so turned on.

But then I saw you about to lift off, and I didn't
like the fact that it was in another and not me.
So I tightened my grip, I heard her throat crunch
under the pressure, and she came,
either in exhilaration or that she'd just died...
Is it wrong that it was a multiple's!!

I've had doubles with you but that,
                                               I'm still twitching.
Oh' not to the fact that there was a dead blonde
in our bed. But the fact she had a multiple with a dead
woman on top. I brushed that thought away as we
had more concerning things,

I said to her,

"Do we phone the police,
             she signed the waiver?

"Do we phone the police!

  She said in a sarcastic manner raising her brow,
  
I could never do that dam thing, she was like
a **** trekky when she did that Mmm..
        I'd live long and **** the **** out her in
that cosplay outfit, pity I broke the ears last time.

Crap, I'm getting distracted.

I  could see where she was ******* from,
       why the hell does the dead woman have
***** *******,  whoops my toothpick just
became a great redwood again.

Are you getting stiff off seeing a dead woman's
******* you freak? They are kind of just there,
As she lent across and licked them.
         Oh, there cold, she looked at me
in her I'm ***** look.  We shouldn't waste an
opportunity really, as she opened her legs
and maneuvered her so she could scissor her.

What you waiting for, put your piece in her gob,
her mouth cold against it, but moist enough
that I face ****** her till we both got close
            kissing each other and ******* at the same
time, wow that was intense,
                                        we both sheepishly smiled.

We both got in the shower, the bed damp still from
                  when all three were breathing but her
head slumped to the side and you could see it dripping
out her mouth as if she was sleeping and  drooling
                       on the pillow.. that's gross.

After we were all cleaned up, we had to decide
what to do, the police wasn't an option.
   We'd watched enough dexters to know that
cutting her up was going to be way too messy..
And last time I got a paper cut I fainted.

Grabbing some cling film out the cupboard I started
To wrap her up, beforehand we went to the store
and brought 15 liters of bleach. I used a kitchen
a utensil  with a short straw-like funnel and proceed
to bleach the inside of her ****.. and gave here a detol
mouth wash, we put the rest in the bath and put
her in there, she hadn't started decomposing and
rigor mortis wasn't overly making her stiff like a plank
so she easily sank to the bottom.

After lunch we let the water out, god she looked clean.
But her eyes had become white, like ghost white
staring at me, like she'd known what we did to her.
I tried closing her eyelids but they wouldn't shut,
so I used a permanent marker to color them in..
   What was I thinking, now she looks ****** possessed.
Drying off was like a ritual we were gentle and making
sure her hair was brushed nicely.


Then with the 6 boxes of cling film, we wrapped
her up nice and tightly.
Crossing her arms over her chest seemed like
a nice thing to do. You never realize when
someone says dead weight, just how heavy that is.
We did that nursery rhyme as we threw her in the boot,

A leg and a wing to see the king and yeet...
    I gave her a 7.5 for landing. As we drove off
we took the map out, using sat-nav was a no, no
as we could have our steps traced back.
   There was an old coal mine just twenty minutes
away, what was cool was that there was an opening
that was so deep but not many knew about it.

I know how convenient is that. We parked up and
we knew we'd have to be quick so I slung her over
my shoulder, walking along I got really damp?

"Babe, what the hell is going on?
                     "Is she peeing on me?

I started to gag, but then the bleach smell hit!
       Phew! she was leaking bleach all over my jeans.
Thank **** for that, I knew these were going
to be burnt later anyway and had a spare pair in
the boot just in case. What I come prepared.

As we got to the opening a couple was standing there
throwing a rolled-up rug down the hole?
we both just looked at each other, what's up?
                              Nothing
What's up with you?
                     Nothing!
We just smiled and dropped our cling film roll
down the same hole. they pulled a knife we pulled
a baseball bat out.

Look, we know what we've both done,
   and if we walk away now you, we,
well neither of us will get hurt or have to throw the
others down that hole. How about the saying.
You didn't see it, so it didn't happen,?

They walked off, we walked off calmly.
That went a lot better than I thought as I laughed.
But just as we got to the car we heard a twig snap
right behind us, out of instinct I swung hard
catching him square in the temple.
as he fell he landing on his accomplice.
She was screaming Oh'my god help me..

My other half leaned over her, foot on her wrist
pulling the knife out her hand.. What were you
going to do with this then.

            "*******, she yelled.

No how about I mouth *******,
and with that, she raised the knife up
and shoved it into the hilt of her mouth.
God, i love this woman.
   As she lay there gurgling..
I mean the noise was nasty..
  So she just trod on her throat and silence.

We looked at each other, and started kissing,
    and before you knew it we had steamy windows
handprints visible to what had perspired in here.
As we got redressed and the tension now reduced
we dragged these two both to the hole.
I mean  my girl just grabbed his feet and like
luggage threw him in. She's so awesome.

You do realize we got from accidental murders
to nearly serial killers now.
And you know what it was such a turn on.
     I must admit we were both turned on by death.
We found their car and drove both down the country
lanes making sure that cameras were nowhere near.
We burnt it out, but not before doing donuts in a field
to make it look like joyriders had stolen it..

After that, we had plenty more lovers, false addresses
to entice, and snare our next lover into false security.
We got tech-savvy as well, in the car we had a scrambler
that blocked their mobiles. most didn't even notice
they lost signal, some did and were over-cautious
                   If they didn't come then unlucky them.

But we remembered that everything was to happen
in the bedroom. Gosh that coal mine is now a mosh pit
of broken voices, that crunch just as we orgasmed.
  That never got old, as everyone was different some
***, others ****** them selfs, that was new and gross.
But luckily we had mattress protectors on and plenty
more in the cupboard. To date, we must have made
love and silenced at least 12 over the last few years.

Only in the summer though,
  and the dresses, god she looks so hot...

Got to go through as our new friend
just turned up in guess what in a summer dress
of all things.
           We just looked at each other and smiled.

******* up our secret handshake for over 10 minutes because its been the closest I’ve been to holding your hand in over a year.

Trying to sleep on separate couches. We stay up until 6 talking, we sit next to each other when the conversation gets too heavy. I rub your back in hopes you rub mine. My back doesn’t hurt, I’m just hoping for you to show me any sign of affection.

I’m still so ******* in love with you. I wish you wouldn’t tell me that you’re worried about my drinking problem and I wish like ******* wouldn’t call me your best friend.

It’s almost 7 and you’re sleeping inches away from me, but for what it’s worth you’re ******* miles away.

I’m still drunk and I need to drive home in a couple hours. Hopefully I wake up before 2pm sober and not completely torn up inside that another sleepover with you has left me feeling completely pathetic.

Watching the clouds,
they seem to stop and
to start,
as if they are scared that
The sky's falling apart.

The wind whistles  erratically,
it's  a drama Queen,
emphatically.

I'm tucked up in bed, but with wild
horses for brains I'm being led to the conclusion,
that I need a rest.

why all the banality with rhyme
for a mere cushion fight?
me too! me too! i too a teenage
                          prima donna
                              having a stab at it!
leopard skin prints on pyjamas...
        yuck... wait for boxing day...
shop till you drop bah bah baby...
              and that toddler of yours
will be ready as a Madame Tussauds
mannequin replica - the sound
ginger without grammatical rubric
said via gritted teeth - gee 'n' gherkin!
and no, it's not a Nabokov fancy...
had one though with a gay Canadian
drinking wine, eating cheese and baguette
at sunset by the Eiffel toodle-loo...
                                                   ­       nice... tulips
                                                    on your grave;
                              a very Dutch funeral -
                 halfway submerged given the Himalayas.