and instead of forgetting who you were to me, i seem to be involved in who you ''are''. Now, this might seem complicated, to all of you, this inner monologue of mine. But, I am faced with complicated that come from the deep recesses of my mind. Your hair. Your hands. Your lips and chipped nail polish. The cats that you used to have, your sofa, and how I faked smoking that bong (only with one of you). Now, we seem to be progressing in some way. I see her more often, still small and immaculate as always, and then there's you: where fear strikes me down in the belly, rendering me useless and obnoxious when observed. I studder, my hands sweat. The messages remain slightly teasing and decieving. I am left to betray myself, and maybe even a man who loves me, for the off chance that I will one day feel your lips again. I remember them thinly; because that's how they were. My memories are close ups, pictures and polaroids of our guilt due to affiliation. And I can see it happening again, this time dressed in winter clothes. Like the last. I will stand the tiniest bit taller than you, awkward, sweating underneath my clothes. You will take my fingertips, my toes and my lips with one simple look. Leaving me barren and cold, once again, when you realize the mistake you have 'hooked'. I hope you realize that you cannot shake me. My feet now the roots of a tree. I will remain hopeless and staggering, dreaming through my growing age of you being next to me, in the proverbial winter of my youth. With those forgotten cold hands.

i am writing this letter to you, although i don't know what to say. i don't remember who you really are, let alone myself. i don't know what colour your eyes have become, or how soft your hands could have remained, if they had grown larger through the years. i don't think that i ever will know what to say you. I've already had to delete most of my rambling from this page. Funny how I feel so much more comfortable on this site than any other. for example, when you look at the past lodgings of my words (still always to you) they have the slight air of someone who knows what is going on. yet today i realized that i have no idea what is going on. Looking back on my last five or six entries here, i realize now that i have slowly begun to lose myself, or my way of speaking atleast. such a broad term i use to describe the knowing of everyday, so easily used too; 'going on'.. but i have no knowledge about my surroundings and i have begun to lose sight of my own memories. they used to be the pieces of me that i was unable to disgard, for fear of losing something, someone, incase it was me actually shedding my skin instead of a reel of film from my head. now there is this whistling in my head, something keeping me from being content, or sitting still for that matter. i find myself wandering, my ears picking up only white noise. the sky above me flickers like a television set. (no one would understand that analogy because i feel it only really works with tube t.v's). there are those around me that remain argumentative and over excited, writhing away their days in fits of happiness or rage. i feel that i can fall into the category, but not as of late. especially not right now. i feel like if i start smoking more pot, or staying in my room more that i will regain those lost parts of me: the ones that create the humilation and the former creativity that used to call my fingers home. but instead, i'm almost afraid to watch the kinds of movies that I used to. the films i like remind me now of my failing future, my lost dreams, and what i refuse to be. I am waiting for the day that books will also become apart of that fear. I have also grown habitual in washing my hands constantly, and a problem with being touched by others. I think I wrote once that I used to love to embrace stangers and society, that every one should hug, because we are all becoming so estranged. Sadly enough, i have lost that youthful freedom and I am now drowning in the poor perspective of myself as well as fear of society in general. Families, strangers, foreginers, teenagers, children, the elderly, man, woman, god... everything seems to becoming a problem to me. I seem to just want to speak to the animals, although i still have a torturing fear of birds... those gross winged things. what else am i supposed to be telling you? I think I am unhappy because I have the sheer ability to go unnoticed.

i miss you very much, sad girl. i miss the city too. i miss being sad in the city, its hard to be like you're used to in a small summer-town.

Ramona, come closer, Shut softly your watery eyes. The pangs of your sadness Shall pass as your senses will rise. The flowers of the city Though breathlike, get deathlike at times. And there's no use in tryin' T' deal with the dyin', Though I cannot explain that in lines. Your cracked country lips, I still wish to kiss, As to be under the strength of your skin. Your magnetic movements Still capture the minutes I'm in. But it grieves my heart, love, To see you tryin' to be a part of A world that just don't exist. It's all just a dream, babe, A vacuum, a scheme, babe, That sucks you into feelin' like this. I can see that your head Has been twisted and fed By worthless foam from the mouth. I can tell you are torn Between stayin' and returnin' On back to the South. You've been fooled into thinking That the finishin' end is at hand. Yet there's no one to beat you, No one t' defeat you, 'Cept the thoughts of yourself feeling bad. I've heard you say many times That you're better 'n no one And no one is better 'n you. If you really believe that, You know you got Nothing to win and nothing to lose. From fixtures and forces and friends, Your sorrow does stem, That hype you and type you, Making you feel That you must be exactly like them. I'd forever talk to you, But soon my words, They would turn into a meaningless ring. For deep in my heart I know there is no help I can bring. Everything passes, Everything changes, Just do what you think you should do. And someday maybe, Who knows, baby, I'll come and be cryin' to you.

Great Aunt Ida - "Our Fall" & "How they Fly" She & Him - Volume I Beirut

love tears you apart, and it makes you run from everything. everything that you've associated yourself with when you were IN love. everything you were proud of, that was borne out of love. things that once made the sun shine in the beauty of a tree-filled back yard. Now i see those coloured glowing orbs on my street, in some strange house, i've seen your brother standing outside of a smoke shop, asking my boyfriend to buy him cigarettes. If I was able to, I would have! I mean, i was in the same postition, mostly borne out of my love for that tall, wide eye-d girl. Now, look. I can't even run five minutes. it tears you apart, and knowing us, atleast knowing how we were (together) we have been looking for love in all the wrong places. It's as though we've displayed ourselves as if we were artists models, except now we're standing naked in concrete. Our silver skin all tarnished, filled with chips and cracked, very used. Who wants us now? You're mom is dating an asshole, someone who is probably more emotionally powerful than your father was. Don't get me wrong, I love your mother and your father, very much. I'll always remember the fun with you and your family. It's just terrible that thigns are like this now. You need your mom, your family to be together again. But, I know you'll pull through, you're a tough nut. You're as strong as your voice. And if it's one thing I've learned: It's better to be alone, only carry people around you as someone you should say: hey, or hello to, not letting them get to close. Take care of yourself, don't depend on anyone else and all that good stuff, because you're the only one there for yourself in the end. I don't want to lecture you, because I know you and your pretty brain already knows all of this. I've learned it the hard way. Through a boy () who I really couldnt stop making love to, keeping my hands off him etc. We had this magnatism that was nothign emotional but pure sex. And through drug dealers, lesbians, my mother and abusive boyfriends. I'm still tormented through everything. I don't trust anyone. But, with doing that, atleast I don't emotionally abuse myself anymore. I'm all I have. And, like I said, I KNOW you know that. I know you'll take care of yourself SOON. You WILL figure things out, no matter how lonely you are; i rreally will always love you. I'm always here to talk: because you were always there for me. I love you so much, Shealynie. Taylor xxxoxox

“Love in the Asylum,” “Altarwise by Owl-Light,” “Over Sir John’s Hill,” and “In Country Sleep,” by Dylan Thomas. There’s a whole Dylan Thomas theme in Paint It Black. “Love in the Asylum” was actually the title of the short story. “Riding the Elevator into the Sky,” by Anne Sexton, from The Awful Rowing Towards God. Sexton and my protagonist have many fears and yearnings in common. I can’t get her language out of my ears. “Burnt Norton” from Four Quartets by T.S. Eliot, also The Wasteland. The end of time theme. Eliot’s poetry is a constant song. The Prose of the Transsiberian and Little Jeanne of Montmartre, by Blaise Cendrars. There’s a whole Transsiberian theme in the book, and I think Cendrars captures the restlessness and extremes of youth so beautifully. The Ballad of Reading Gaol, by Oscar Wilde. Each man kills the thing he loves. Other books: The Pillow Book of Sei Shonagon. I return to this for a certain aristocratic clarity. The Thirteen Clocks, by James Thurber. The Dark Castle and the Duke who stops time with his cold cold hand. Poe, especially “The Fall of the House of Usher.” Poe was my first love. Faulkner. The existential, familial doom of The Sound and The Fury. A history of the LA punk scene, We’ve got the Neutron Bomb by Mark Spitz and Brendan Mullen, totally evocative of time and place. Music: Punk music, circa 1980, with special emphasis on LA. X, Germs, Cramps. I have a character who is a cross between Nina Hagen and Lena Lovich. Patti Smith, who inspires me always. Nico, and Velvet Underground with Nico. Nico to me embodies absolutely the dark poignancy of this book, songs like “These Days” and “Fairest of the Seasons,” which so evoked the boy’s mindset in my book. Classical piano repertoire. Late Brahms piano music, really spoke to me, the Romances and Intermezzos. The musical voice of one of the book’s major elements. Schoenberg Pierrot Lunaire, both for the modernism and the fact that Schoenberg was an exile from Nazi dominated Europe, like the grandfather in the book, Debussy, for that out-of-time sense of a house in mourning. 1920’s music—The ‘golden age’ music of the book, so to speak. Louis Armstrong and the Hot Fives and Sevens, Lucille Bogan, Big Bill Broonzy, Ida Cox, Bessie Smith. Films: Ciao Manhattan and Chelsea Girls, just to see Edie Sedgwick, an icon of this period, and evocative of my protagonist in certain ways. Last Tango in Paris. One forgets, this is really the story of a suicide survivor. Sunset Boulevard. For Goth feel. Billy Wilder was another exile from Nazi Europe. Visual arts: Egon Schiele, the boy’s favorite artist—a somehow desperate, highly eroticized, painter of the Viennese Secession. I love this period, but it took me a while to warm to Schiele. Paul Tchelichew—disturbed, metamorphic drawings--highly inspirational. Eric Fischl—I craved his eerie eroticised domestic scenes.

So, I was supposed to have left today. Woken up at 330 in the early morning, climbed out of bed to fix a wholesome breakfast, which probably would have been one of the last for days. We should have been half way down thte highway by now, maybe on the boarder, maybe some place, stranded between vegreville and wainwright. Heavy footed, cold and everything else that possibly could have driven us apart. It feels like summer will never come, that winter will always be here. Some sunny days with plus ten and some wind, then back down to minus sixteen in a day. Snow snow snow, here there all again. I am so tired of this. I've lost two hundred and fifty dollars and It SUCKS. I miss my ipod. this is probably one of the most unintelligent things that I have written here in a long time.

The secret. It's all a secret. an embellishment upon her laugh and the way she moves her hand, softly, across her hair, her eyes, especially when she's around you. Nothing can remain the same after this. I'm walking down the stairs, it's quiet in the halls and the carpet is muffling my footsteps as if they were words being breathed softly. How can a woman love a man? I'm standing in front front of your door, leaning on the cool wall, and it's scratching my bare arm, my dress is catching it lightly, pulling it up against my leg. I'm making this all happen, I'm waiting for you to walk out side, and see me standing here, sad and tall, hair splayed around my shoulders, framing my face and you'd say: . I can hear the voices muffled through the walls, there's laughter there, and quiet times, and music that flutters through I know it surrounds you in there. It's soft and warm, it cascades from your lips and hands, those songs and your fingers are warm with the movement. Standing here, I'm imagining them on my face, they're tasting of tea and cigarettes, bitter. Your thumb would pull down against my lips and sit to rest on my chin, the most beauty is undecrible which is why we have nothing to say, all kind quiet things, ive decided to change my ways. Aggressive and smart, calmm this time, ill prefer things quiet, old, ill like it all that way. smiling and swallowing words while giving head itll take time to get used to it all. he kisses her on the mouth, words and sound still filtering under the door, im convinced: you're running your hands over my wrists up through to my neck, your mouth is drinking out all of this love from me, and i'm laughing content on the inside of my mind, im finaly laying down at the belly of the beast, the feast has begun on my heart. to be picked apart like raw meat on the bone, she's LAYING there, and moving quietly while you're making love to me. I've never imagined anything so vividly before, it's making believe that you're outside the door, and you can feel her, you know I am there, Waiting with soft scars and loud words, But this time, i promise I won't say a word. Her eyes are closed now, and I'm moving slightly to the sounds from inside, dancing, if that's what you could call it.

Simone Simon in Cat people

the times you fell in love me with were: when i ran out of the store and you found me on the floor in the bathroom and i would not stop shaking. when i could not breathe on the bench. when i borrowed scissors from your mother to cut up my pills and did not brush my hair. i am running out of reasons for you to love me even before the piss yellow snow melts and you know it is up to you now. you love me best with a wet face and swollen lips and i don't mind much.

LAZY EYE THAT FALLS ON YOU 1. When You looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was behind you? a window filled with crosses crosses crosses, the snow likes to whisper that it is the sun's lover. dispite the truth of the affair between the trees and glass 2. Do you like someone? i cannot make up my mind, my feelings wont listen to me 3. What were you doing at midnight last night? learning how to breathe. i finally found out what i cannot do with myself. 4. Favorite planet, which you would live at, if you could? drops of jupiter 5. Who is the first person you ever kissed? kale. he wanted to marry me when i was six. 6. What is your favorite ring on your phone? my phone doesn't ring. it sobs. 7. What kinda underwear are you wearing? pink. 8. What do you think of yourself? im too impulsive, and i need to make up my mind, fold down my brain. IM WAITING FOR MY LIFE TO PICK UP WHERE IT LEFT OFF. THE CAMERAS ARE OFF THE CAMERAS ARE OFF, THE SET IS SLEEPING, THE ACTORS ARE CALM, HARDLY BREATHING. im waiting for you to come back, i want my ending. 9. Name the brand of your shoes you're currently wearing? feet. they are bare, craving sand. 10. Night light or pitch black? pitch black, i dont want to see who im laying next to. 11. What do you think about the (previous) person who took this? i miss her, the way her palms matched mine and her fingers laced through my own. 12. Why do we always press harder on the remote when we know the batteries are dying? its an attempt to make up for our own lives. we need stability, we're forceful, we're undeniable, hardly disarming and need need need an ending, we need control, and if its unable to attain through inanimate objects, we fucking suck. 13.What's a word that rhymes with mist? kissed. when will i be missed by your mouth. come back come back. 14. What did your last text message you received on your cell say? 'there must be a reason' well, curves. there isn't. 15. Where is the nearest Valero? It forgot to exist. 16. What's something that you say a lot? you heard me, i dont want you to think im crazy. i appreciate you i appreciate you i appreciate you, and sometimes that makes me want to kiss you. i think i told you that too. 17. Who told you they loved you last? I haven't been told i'm loved since September. and even then it was forced: "i havent told you that i love you in a long time. so, i love you" she didn't mean it. 18. Last furry thing you touched? my dogs head 19. How Many Drugs Have You Done In The Past three Days? i dont do drugs. i smoke tobacco. 20. How many rolls of film do you need to get developed? 1/2/3/4. 21. Favorite age you have been so far? 16- it was my royal birthday and totally irreplaceable 22. Your worst enemy? i have forgotten everyone i used to know. 23. What is your current desktop picture? kandice, in that hollow with all the leaves falling all over her face like a blanket. 24. What was the last thing you said to someone? verbally: nothing. 25. How do you like your eggs? mushrooms and green and red peppers, shredded cheese, salt pepper, toast and some ketchup. 26. How much cash you spent last night? i bought a twix and some water at work, i also tried to make jc deep throat the twix bar, but that was too difficult, so i just blew in his ears instead making his eyes water. 27. What was the last song you listened to? sunday morning. 28. Tombstone, Urn, marker, wooden cross, or forgotten grave? Urn, my ashes wont stay there forever. if and when i die, they'll be distributed throughout the santa anas in california california california. 29. Spell your name without vowels: tylr, or tlr aka TRAILRE 30. What is the date two days after your birthday: August 18th, one day i wont forget. i lost my heart in a hallway, surrounded by people. her mouth pressed to my ears whispering whispering. your mouth was so cold. 31. How many pairs of jeans do you own: four 32. How many are designer: none. my soul is the designer artifact. 33. What color do you wear most: black or purple i suppose. 34. Least favorite color: yellow or nauseating neon orange 35. Last song heard on the radio: i dont listen to the radio 36. What's for dinner tonight: something shitty. popcorn since im seeing a movie. 37. Are you happy with your life right now: i dont remember the last time my life was continuing. its stagnant, and stale as breath in the morning. im waiting for it to start again, im waiting for you you you you. sweep my off my feet, remember how much you used to love me. im waiting for the climax, the ending. for the credits to roll. 38. Tell me a secret about one of your siblings: he fell in love with a boy who broke his heart, he still cant breathe, he hasnt been breathing or laughing since august. 39. Anyone ever said you resemble a celebrity: unfortunatly, if that was the case. id have a sexcapade. 40. Who did you last call on your phone: yesturday i returned jcs call. and from my house phone, karen. Do you own a.. 41. Ps2: yes 42. Xbox 360: no 43. Psp: No 44. Sidekick: no 45. Digital camera: 2 actually. 46. Where do you want to go to school after high school: I hope im living in california close to the coast, in a small apartment. im going to take photographs, trace the flight of imagination with my fingers and ill be so in love love love, that ill paint his face on the glass of a window, kaliedescope and broken eyes, sigh sigh sigh, ill live with the water too cold and ill be afraid of being swept away by the sea, ill study the city at night and the lights, the santa anas winds and the fires that will creep up a mile from where you stand. ill dance at night and sleep on the roof, reciting the moon and how it howls when you cry to it. im going to study love love love and i wont be without you. 47. Do you shop at stores like hollister, abercrombie & fitch?: who? 48. How do your make money: i work full time. i make friends, i make love love love. 49. Last thing you bought over fifty dollars: possibly a sweater awhile back 50. How's the weather: it trying to convince itself that the world is happy, trying to make us all smile. it should be grey, you fuckers. 51. When do you start summer break: I gave up my summers last september. 52. Are you missing someone right now: yes, in a spiteful kind of way. unless its the boy who has eyes that smile, i miss laughing with him, and the way i can look at him without blinking. 53. What chores do you have around the house: i sleep too long. 54. Finish this sentence. I wish I was with Someone: that resembles my insides. i want the thoughts to be the same, the experiences, the preferences the music taste. the hopelessness and the abilities to both be stunted. i want an undying love of movies and sleeping next to each other. i know he does and i know you do. i wish i was with someone who forgets how to cry but then i can remind them not only of that but if inexperience of FEAR FEAR FEAR for living, and finishing off all the sentances with people you love. i want them to be here, and be vital, an organ thats pulsating and who will never have worry about the final period at the end of our sentances. they'll always be commas because hell always be there. ill work. 55. One word to describe you? screaming. (myskinispeelingofffrommythroatdown) 56. Favorite pair of shoes: bare feet + sand = love love love. but other than that, converse. 57. Do you own big sunglasses: aviators that are broken 58. Do you find yourself attractive: im bald. how the hell can i be. apparently i need to have long hair to be pretty. fuck yall. 59. What would you rather be doing right now: chewing my thumb nails. sitting on a sofa with someone i am comfortable with, smoking and watching a movie. 60. What should you be doing right now: my fucking tennesse williams project. unfortunatley i am lazy. 61. Last im you received: from, i think her name was krista. she left when i didnt say anything. 62. Last message you received on nex: an explination from kandice 63. What are you going to do now: i dont know. im contemplating a lot 64. Are you thirsty: for you. i can tell you that im actually screaming for you. i hate the fact that you feel so bad about it, that when i get close you look away. not that you see me anyways. you have a juvinile heart.

i am not a woman

THIS IS MY RESOLVE: somewhat an ode to new years resolutions, to talking to your lover without hearing their voice; resonating in your brain reverberating inside the skull to having your fingers move up and down up up and down once twice and then before the third time, she came along and i am too young to having the guts to shave your head every time your heart breaks, to 5 am phone calls from girls who disappear, who think you're drowning and thinking and breathing in cigarettes and wine. HERES TO HAVING YOU KISS MY SHOULDER AND PROMISE YOU WONT HURT ME PROMISE YOULL STAY PROMISE YOULL STAY I AM TRYING TO FORGET YOU I AM REMEMBERING YOU YOU WERE SPARKLING. WE WERE SPARKING. and these silly things I like to dwell on. Here's to realizing that dreams arent really dreams until you wake up, that holding hands cant make you invinsible, that pizza will make you fat and that tattoos really never do fade. Here's to youre memory, the fact that all I have left of you is a picture in a locket that I pretend he bought for me the first night he kissed my eyes S H U T. And THEN THERES ME, im always changing, always leaving those parts of you and you and you behind, boy girl boy boy boy boy, the only girl I will ever love, body spread out on the hotel floor, time is stopping, we are stalling and we're kissing and mocking this and its just too too much. this will never exist again. and I know it. HERES TO MY PIERCINGS AND MY TATTOOS, MY SAD BALD HEAD, BLONDE BANGS AND MY CIGARETTES. HERES TO THE FLORESCENT LIGHTING I BREATH-IN 24 HOURS A DAY WITHOUT SLEEP. HERE IS TO ME WITH OUT YOU.

mood: byron vass is the star in my eye "We all reject out of hand the idea that the love of our life may be something light or weightless; we presume our love is what must be, that without it our life would no longer be the same; we feel that Beethoven himself, gloomy and awe-inspiring, is playing the "Es muss sein!" to our own great love." - Milan Kundera. Hysteria, as put my mr. eliot, is that of a heaving breast, the laughing mouth, the way that the hair falls over the eyes, shut and embraced in the thought, the general contradiction and love of the spoken words, the adoration your breath on her cheek; and here he was: twenty-six, thriving, pulsation that is starved, filled with contempt because of the rejection felt by the laughing haughty woman. And he cursed them down, then obsessed with these creatures, that ungreatful being. I follow the words he is saying, with the masked adverbs describing the fog of the breath, and attraction that he's felt to those women. That mouth of hers is damp, smoldering, burnt with the taste of ash. The way his eyes wouldn't follow, the way the body has a capability to sway against yours, the desire, the desire, the animalistic capabilities that I have held close to your body. The lonliness of a human body screams for the touch (now). The temptation of the heart to be beating against mine and yours and yours and the body itself is warm and tangled and left coughing through the entanglment of bedsheets like those veins of spider's webs. They trace up and up and catch your eyes and the beating of the heart in your throat like a drum. You've caught my imagination in the palm of your hand. My general captivation and there's your narrative left inside of my body. How do i keep on moving. How do i keep on moving. How does the heart keep on beating? Left behind, destraught and unkept in your bedroom. The hands stretched across the throat and the words left in place, untangible and thoughtless without love. I'd love to miss you, but you would not wait.

mood: byron vass is the star in my eye Water Colour Heart: To state it bluntly; this is a return to the written word, a return to the saddest part of my memory and the fact that to have fallen in love is taboo. In my eyes, what am I to say, especially to you? The fact that you say good-bye to months like September, October and November; and haven't even lifted a sleeping eyelid to all the rest of the world, all the rest of the people who have fallen in love with you, I am left standing, wringing my hands, asking you this question. "Whose fault is it, but that of your own?" Today especially I can't even open my own eyes to look at you, to look at your sad face; the one that's in my dreams: ill and tired. In my dreams the heart is noticed and worn on the sleeve proud to be torn at and loved all too fitfully. And in my dreams I am able to kiss your sleeping blind eyes but in the waking hours, I can't even catch your spoken words on my tongue. I am at a place, where I'm actually convinced that my heart is bleeding these colours mimicking watered down paint, as if the tears that also fall from my eyes are the storms that we all walk through. Is it true that the only words you can say to me are through the voices of other men, who sit there sad and strumming, playing with their own thumbs? No. A mistake of mine is that my frustration is undeniable. My misdemeanor is my own fault, I become flustered at the idea of politics, at the idea of romance, at the fact that I feel my life is too SHORT and not turning out how it is supposed to be, even though this may very well be it. I'm waiting for amazement, to be swept off of my feet, to sit on your front porch and let the smoke filter through my skin, embed itself into your lips and I want to be kissed, I want to be held and my skin milked for all of its silk. A rhyme is all I have to say this with. It's like walking on glass that refuses to penetrate the skin, I want attention to be brought to my suffering, the bruising on my knees, I want attention to the blood on my feet and hands and for the sobs that are hidden in the folds of my brain to be stifled by your eyes and your words and your hands playing down the curves of my body like it was the body of a guitar.

i need people to take pictures of.

"i said it i said it i said it, maybe i wanted it, maybe i was scared, maybe we knew it all along and i still cant figure it out or maybe just instead it was all because of my mouth and the way that i talk and the way that i would and couldnt move against you, that made you stop loving me. i still dont think that i honestly know what to do. the scent of memory, sticky against old teeshirts, pool towels, shampoos that we used when making love in the shower... the things that we've been through. these that just make me not understand anything and how it could end up so bad after you asked me to marry you. you said that we could do it, that we were old enough and that you loved me and then you kissed me and we'd fall down onto those sticky wet fingers, disappear and be together forever...I'm going crazy. You're the only girl I'll ever really love. I've forgotten about the ones that taught me to smoke, about photos and movies and my unambitious love of drugs, i've forgotten about them and all the ways we'd kiss and braid flowers into our hair. because i love you i love you i love you, its continually falling out of my mouth, falling from my hands, and these words are exhausted screaming off of my skin,all of the y o u's sketched there after you'd left me to sleep, look up at me in my window your eyes so full of stars and the fact that i miss your cheeks and freckled hips, i can imagine you and you and the pale curves of your body, like the cream of a guitar. you could play it and me so well. come back to me. in my head, a town full of those asleep"

the eyes sight is the most destructive part of human denial. on wednesday i saw you and you didnt see me, swinging my feet, bruised hanging from the branches of trees. soft figures smiling and glancing in the periferals of my failing sight, and there is a sigh on your lips, a sigh of your heart as you smile at her and her and wrap your arms around my hips, and im screaming for your lips, the space inbetween your smile and your eyes when theyre closed, making you look asthough you are climbing upwards into the sky, the blue sky: opposing your eyes. and here I am i love you like a watch, winding down the hours, seconds, the evacuation before the explosions are let out into the skies. i deny_____. my hands are laced through yours. lets _(noun)_.

I've forgotten all of my end of the year resolves, and am a fool. La foule. Life is what I make of it and I finallly can say that I have a somewhat positive outlook on life. Besides the mishaps and all of the disappearances of you and you and myself, I can say that I am so in love with you. I am so in love with you and your mouth, the way you can say my name and pull 3 words off of my lips, pull three letters, being why oh you off of my body, oh you oh you. The drowning has become, the bathtubs are porcelin and white, im dripping from head to heart from heart to foot to the tiles on the floor. What am I to do now? This life is all I have to give, and to me.. you are perfect. This summer was the best summer I've ever had. My Summer of Love. The safety of us is this, the arguements of thunder clouds at 11 pm on side streets. Never leave me.