Ted packed his trunk with all the junk
he said he didn't need
cars with three wheels and orange peels
and books he didn't read

He threw away his moulding clay
his bucket and his *****
some holey socks and building blocks
and games he never played

One spider fake a rubber snake
A plane with just one wing
Two wind up frogs with broken cogs
A yo-yo with no string

An old remote a bath time boat
a bat without a ball
four marbles chipped three comics ripped
he threw away them all

A piece of chalk a bottle cork
some old unwanted cans
a dinosaur without its roar
and paint stained plastic pans

Some old cds and dvds
too scratched to ever play
a submarine some jumping beans
he threw them all away

Without a sound the lid closed down
and locked the ******* in
then daddy said I'll take that Ted
and put it in the bin

Spring cleaning ends as two good friends
sit down to toasted bread
More room to play I heard him say
as we climbed into bed

The clever bear without a care
closed his one eye and snored
I did the same and dreamed of games
that we had yet in-store

I feel the hate
boiling up inside
and want to rip your heart out
like you did to mine
I want to yell
until it rumbles
and rattles your body
til it crumbles
But at other times
I feel the love
swelling up in my chest
through my veins like a drug
I want to stare at your face
and stroke your hair
to go back to the place
where we were a perfect pair
I am battling between
my love and my hate
and I wish I could just feel

nothing.

It's Wednesday. It's raining. I'm in my car at my schools parking lot listening to Beach House on one of my favourite college radio stations. My hands are going back to their pale colour (sign of autumns bloom.) I am wearing my favourite beige trench coat and my favourite noir beret. So many favourites, you being one of them. For once in what seems like a long time, I do not feel utterly discontent with myself. In fact, I feel quite good. I'm alright, Bryan. I'm alright, and so are you. I crave warm soup and hot green tea. I crave a metro ride to somewhere far, far away. I crave heart-felt embrace and mail packages with my name on them. My tights are starting to tear. I've always had this thing for beaten up things; books with loose-leaf pages, worn out t-shirts and sneakers, Ginsberg, Burroughs, Jack Kerouac. I like the spurs of sea shell rainbow that form in puddles on black concrete. They remind me of the ** Coexist album cover, as well as bits of recalled memories from my childhood. "Why do you come here? Why do you hang around? I'm so sorry. Why do you come here when you know it makes things hard for me?" Goodness, Morrissey in his Smiths days makes me feel so in tact with my youth. Black is such a cool colour. Cool is such a cool word.
Swim in a puddle with me, Bryan. We can leave our coats on if you'd like.
I want to be foolish with you. Be my autumn valentine.
February doesn't need to know we're here.

The mines

mined
my mind

and left behind...

their

darkness

I think you may think I’m pretty
I also think that’s not enough
To make me want to know beyond your name
Or hold the different layers of warmth between your fingers

The walls stand against me tonight
There is feral love within the unseen of our dreams
Why do you croon so insolently, child?
The forces of gravity are in your favor, be keen

I want to taste your pain and insecurities
I want the exposure of your body to melt in my mouth
Cherry blossoms spring forth from desolate hymns
Autumn leaves spur foolishly among the skies

Press your throat against my earlobe
I want to hear you louder

I want to hear you clear
Your every sigh, a memory left for me to dwell on
Your every moan, an undoing, my ******’s suicide

These are the things that matter, the more you get the less you are
The higher you are, the more you fall
The more you fall apart

These are the words that hold my youth
These are the words that hold my heart

These are the words that will never be enough, no never be enough
To make you less you and make you more mine
Yet I hope for your life, I hope for you, I do

There are subliminal messages on my birthday cake
The candle lit itself on fire cause it did not know
No, it did not know how to feel about time

Glow in the darkness with me, monsieur
There are secret worlds in your mind
That you yourself are not aware of

Let the strum of vision put you to sleep

f-f-feel it, again and again
In your bones, on my bed

You've got to close your eyes to see me better
There are ghosts in the back of my head
They want to know
Don’t tell them why

Neither one
Neither one of us
Will make it down this hill alive

Gila, Gila, Gila
They will teach us everything
Except how to mourn, except how to die

Maybe I will change
Maybe things will change
Maybe you will change your mind

Madame, I meant it when I called you pretty
Madame, I meant it when I held your hand

Piano tuner vibrations at one-hundred-fifty decibels form inside my chest
Yet, it's not enough
No, it's never enough

To hurt the soft smoldering of my insides
With the conditioned paradise of your pain.