I know what is there I know the love Waiting In your chest A fist Ready to unclench

i am sitting on the exit doorstep of my roof smoking a cigarette talking to you feeling you can you hear me, strange man? i am speaking to you through this night staring at the mauve clouds heavy with the reflection of grey city lights. this night is cold and glossy twinkling and serene and i'm remembering all those other nights speaking to you from a distance in the dark the nights since the beginning of my life and now you're a stranger no longer i know those green eyes and that tenderness running its fingers on my thigh the warm voice of home the still silence standing with you on your back porch smoking cigarettes watching the rain the snow and soon the sun will shine strongly again and the cats will come out from hiding they'll wander, strut in the back alley and parking lots and we'll be there together standing still

this will be the last sitting on the staircase of your apartment building arms around knees balled chipping salmon-colored walls leaning on the black shining railing i've gotten closer with this railing than i ever did with you i've familiarized myself with this cold step the mornings after makeup dripping on my lap and hands my hair spilling in tangled dreads my body and soul worn inside out like dirty socks from not being able to say i love you this cold step it and i shared our moments last

it wasn't you all this time, these months, close to a year neither of us able to make it through to the other we tried, dear it wasn't me and it couldn't have been you i believed i was too crazy for you too much to handle not in the ways i behaved but simply how my mind was arranged i wasn't trouble, but troubled i didn't want you to see any of it anything beyond what i felt you recognized in me that night in late october beautifully spent in a strangers' shameless exhilaration the wet counter of the dingy bar and city lights shining on dark bay windows moving from the park bench to the cold grass it moving fast from the first cradle in your arms and to the last honest moment with you i held back from then on because i couldn't bring myself forward unable to reveal who i was it wasn't you i was meant to go there with pages of ask the dust sweep over me to the place of arturo's drunken night with camilla he said some beautiful things then but she didn't hear them and it didn't matter because he said them anyway and they weren't for her or else she would have heard he spoke from some inner whispers there with her then because of her but they weren't for her or else she would have heard Chris, it wasn't you though i loved you (and still do) i reveal myself to me only and keep going to show the one waiting the love i really am

the days with you are long red velvet carpets rolled out for majesty - because i came into existence for you because i am as i am for you to have because you saw me realised me because you know me are the only one who does because it is you who conjured me because you love me - you do not know the color of my eyes sunlit - you awake in the early morning around 7 a.m everytime move closer pull me in wrap an arm around me use the other to caress the skin of my neck arms upper back and for the shortest moment i can suspend the reality of what we are over me replace it with a warm caramelized dream until your running fingers take speed downwards and bring me back to the place and thing i exist for you - hit me slap me i love you am the only one who can come closer hold me be soft tender the night rolls closer now brutalize me from behind contort my body and take me my fat thighs spilling on each side pull my hair pull me closer to you don't keep me so far from your body i hate you i hate you more than the devil can burn hit me - tell me again all those nice things you said at the bar after i confessed i was crazy about you tell me again as i hold you against the door of my bedroom and once you're through telling me i will jump on the bed up and down several times like a child like a monkey like a lunatic because for a night people can be really happy for one night it happens people will feel the need to jump on a bed repeatedly and not care about waking the downstairs neighbour because it's just one night really, the only and everything that happened before was leading up to this -

springtime; walking under grey-blue clouds the lazy herd moving slowly above the crows ravenous for life for death my feet crack the salt and pebbles below me and i may slip on the milky ice and hurt myself on exposed pavement i may slip for you and show you something real this spring time because i know now that the trees never died nude and bold they bear though they persevered as will i, dreaming of the green foliage the fullness the silent heat of your body near - i'm missing the flies circling the streetlight i'm missing the beads on my pores the orange spills of sun on leaves i'm missing the songs of cicadas and crickets and the dusty horizon of the city, seen on the bridge over the freeway the satin of petals have been forgotten watermelon waits to quench and i pass right by that too i'm missing out on the wonders not somewhere but everywhere life is begging and i trudge along ignoring the asking cup i see nothing am unaffected by all i turn inwards the mind numb to senses the heart knowing one thing i am missing you - remember after the jukebox played Bruce Springsteen we walked in the dark taverned lights pass the pool tables back to our barstools how I turned to look at you and asked "where did you come from?" i remember you lying on my roof under the clouds with bullet holes shot through them how i put my arm under my head and stared above at the sky and i felt you from the peripherals and you stole the sight of me and i remember undeniably meaning something to you then remember when you called me a beauty and asked me to go gently remember the sunsets the evening in may with the leaving sun crying on factories and abandoned buildings all around us sparking wine and menthol cigarettes the oratory as a back-drop to your stunning face i remember the moons they were charted to the nights with you i remember every second i lived since the first night i spent with you but mostly, i remember you from before i knew you

i'm not normal, i'm not normal, i'm not normal, i'm not normal, i'm not normal. even as i write this and repeat it over and over as a mantra in my head, it feels empty. like a prayer designed to comfort the mind and warm my cold heart. i'm so full of it, drunk and ready to rip myself apart. I WANT A STORY, A LIFE. NOT THIS. RAMBLING AIMLESSLY. JESUS FUCKING CHRIST. WHO, OUT THERE, WILL HEAR ME?! lover, i'm winding the string of the rod one last time. i'm tired of waiting. fishing is stupid, but i'm desperate. pretending i have anything of worth to say. see all these notebooks! hidden in them is true prolificacy. see these boys who want me, displayed on my wall like trophies, but i never touch them. i am not normal, i am not normal. i never was. but damn am i empty.

for the times spent in my parents' basement, typing, fingers without circulated blood. this is for the teenager and her way to go. dear diary, dear diary. where do i start? it's been a few years since i last kept an honest, open or direct relationship with you. i found solace in my dirty, stained notebooks instead. on paper, ink covered. tired and alone in the cafes. and yet here i am, still me. fears, insecurities, vices holding fast to my soul. or, at other times, shed off like an animal's coat in preparation for the new season. i am still me, always. nostalgic tonight. drinking strong chamomile, this music floats and allows me to move freely above time and its limitations. van sings it, and the melody is tranquil and almost meditative but his voice won't let you go, pulls you back from your drift. it's like entering an emotional dream. my whole life has been an audition for a role i never cared for, trying to act an age i never felt inside. the truth is i once was a child who awoke one morning acutely aware of everything that was wrong with the world and humanity. i woke up old, as if i had already experienced a lifetime without having gone through the motions. i had been, up to this point, trying to fight that reality. sad about being inherently sad. feeling my depressive emotions were warranted for a war veteran alone, i kept tabs and observed the world. writing down notes on what it is to be like others. how does a girl act? how does a teenager behave? now, replay. because of this, i can't help but feel a little sick when i come back here. the voice of this diary was never really me, but a desperate projection of what i thought i ought to be. yet my fight and denial against who i really was is so evident in these entries, it holds just as much significance to the overall story. this place is actually like a ghost town. aside from the fact that it's deserted and none of my old cyber friends write here anymore, it's trapped in time. like an abondoned building which will not be torn down or renovated. keeping haunting spirits confined to this small place, in the same self-form before their death. i mean, i can't change some of my preferences, i am stuck with a lot of my old settings but i am still allowed the liberty of moving forward with a new entry. like a ghost trying to find some purpose in its movements. i don't know where i am going with this. i am jetlagged, thinking of my past, awake at odd hours of the day and in a state of contentment. i've long ago accepted my own defeat, and have been basking in the liberation of that. once you stop ignoring the good fight and understand that you cannot control your win, then you are able to truly experience moments of genuine and pure joy. i'm not saying to be attached to pain and misery, let go of it, but in the process understand that it is beyond inevitable but actually necessary. it brings you closer to what is real and counts. i will never win, but i can experience tastes of victory while trying. and it's all worth it.

here is I wondering the difference between love and need for validation need to be desired wanted. I am dry of desire other than my crave for you and your touch and laugh and those eyes indecisive about their own fucking colour. I am out of words, but feelings are here they just sound wrong out loud, on paper in my head they make me sick. I am dry and sick and afraid of loving you and of needing you to love me and of counting the ways you do.

".. I am old when it is fashionable to be young; I cry when it is fashionable to laugh.."

It arrived on the doorstep this morning. My dirty laundry spilling out of your gym bag, reeking of tobacco ash My body and mind have been sorting through it as a team separating colors, darks, whites. While my heart runs back to those apartment nights. And I taste the cigarettes in the kitchen frying pasta in the bathtub in the bedroom with the fan blowing ashes sprinkled on velour, on skin, in the beer, in the ashtrays that made this laundry so dirty. I taste the cigarettes and I indulge in the flavors of nostalgia until I remember the other girl and know for certain you must have shared cigarettes with her too. My dirty laundry laying witness on the floor. I taste the cigarettes and I wonder how I could put this defeat into words instead of tears. This is the one that enters the big book and I'm choking up, unable to say anything worth more than a dime anything worth more than a shrug from you. Can you understand? I am deprived of words, I am drained. I cannot bring it or give it anymore. There's nothing left to bite into. I let go of it a few miles back it weighed me down It hurt me, was no good to me. I cannot write that beautiful poem. No words of mine could serve me justice. But if you want a taste, (now that I've started) I would ask you to close your eyes and think of your one truest lover lying in front of you smoking cigarettes with another.

22 going on 80 I feel like a war veteran with a missing limb.

i can taste vodka, beer coffee mojito the candy it's moving up and down my throat it's moving inside me. the wash and spin cycle of my stomach my head is floating somewhere above me and although i've showered i still smell like an ashtray i want to vomit and shit and piss and bleed expell all bodily fluids i want to be sucked dry, suck the soul deflate me i'm giving up you win

I am angry. You found a fucking rebound and stuck with her against your better judgment. I am angry that I'm choosing to deal with you, with this, in such a way. That I have to be the strong one, and take the fucking high road. The harder road, not one that is smoothly paved before me. I hate that I refuse to get distracted and instead chose to face this. I hate dealing with my pain. Everyday. I hurt and I'm not running away from it. I hurt and I'm alone in this dwelling because no one ever chooses to deal with things the right way. Why can't I get a fucking break? From me? From my god damn better judgment. Why can't I fuck every guy I want. Till I'm numb, until I'm dead inside. Why can't I use anyone? Pretend and fake affection. Play interested. I think I'm better than everyone else. I think I'm better than you and I feel guilt because of that. And I hate myself for that. I'm angry that you found a rebound and that she meant nothing. I'm angry you had to be weak. I wish I could be weak and give myself a god damn fucking break. I wish I drank myself to death. I think I'm better than everyone else and therefore know I can never love. I understand the permanence of everything last night. It's over. I can never see you again, because when I do all I want to be is bad. To have what I cannot have. We could never be, and every time I see you, I convince myself otherwise. The world does it the easy, escapist way and I wish for one night I could be bad. I'm dying to get it out of my system. I hate that you don't cry and that your sadness manifests itself through anxiety instead of full blown depression. My eyes are swollen. I broke three picture frames, punched the walls 'till my fingers bled. And you're fucking a dumb fat slut. I hate how I broke up with you, and I am the one suffering. I am wallowing, drowning in some muddy pit. But most of all, I hate that you weren't the one for me, and you still believe I was. Marriage and true love. I hate how you still keep a picture of me in your car, and when it fell through a vent, you begged your mom to help you break the car apart so you may find it. And you found it. And it's back in its safe place. I have a picture of you too. To look at it is torture. To rant this way is torture. But I am dealing with it. The right way. The "strong" way, whatever that fucking means. What else is there left to do? I cannot be any other way. I am real. I am here. I am hurt today. And if one more fucking person tells me time heals all wounds, I may become physically aggressive.

Yesterday, I was sitting outside of a cafe and I looked up at the sky and the clouds were mauve and pink and orange. And I dared anyone to say that the world wasn't beautiful. I was in love with life, the moment. Time suspended. Today, I saw you, we spoke, we hugged and I didn't tell you how badly I wanted to caress you, make love to you. When you left, I punched the walls until my fingers bled. I cried. I wished I was dead. I don't know how this works, I don't whose dirty trick this is. It torments me then provides me with bliss. Or vice versa. This life, with me feeling things so intensely. Always. Those clouds, they are the reason my knuckles are stained with blood. I love too intensely. I love you and now you are no longer. You are gone. I can never see you again because what we had was too beautiful for me to resist. To not jump right in. I can't help it. Do you see? That all I can ever have are memories of you, and not you. Yesterday, I dared anyone to say that the world wasn't beautiful.

I'm wearing his sweater. he gave it to me but he's not here he's gone. no trace of him to be found and I'm sitting alone with nothing to give with nothing to offer to him. he was going to teach me how to share to be open and share myself but I'm not the selfless type. I live alone in my bedroom in my head and to share a minute a phonecall a conversation is to ask too much of me. To spare love beyond the love I have for my mind and self is to ask too much of me. So here I am alone once again with nothing to offer but this pitiful poem.

listening to elliott smith drinking black coffee smoking my last pall mall building a bookshelf unit building courage building a stronger back bone productive hopeful, believing in that way two eyes can meet another two. today, i am believing in love and all its greatness.

I lit my cigarette and heard the crackling of tobacco and burning paper as I dragged, dragged, dragged. I thought of life in the hawain pacific, or in alaska. I thought of life on a boat or in the altitudes of a mountain top. I thought of life. Here, now. Everthing is dimly lit out here, at this hour. Shadows are clearly outlined, the world is dark, cut-out shapes. The bicycle resting on the fence, the stop sign, the pine trees that roof me. Little humble abodes, no bigger than summer cottages are houses! Lived in, worn out to the most comfortable and safe beauties. The grass is wet, I feel it below my feet. The breeze only brushes through my damp toes. There are stars here. The constellations do not hide, they present themselves loudly. I see the moon, behind a dark oak tree with its nude branches. The moon is full aside from a missing piece taken from its upper right side. It was me. I bit the moon. I was starving for it, I ripped into it and was satisfied with a single taste. Everything is silent beside my exhalation of smoke. Pffhooo. Now I hear a train. I heard the train rumbling on its tracks. I sense the vibrations, a soothing serenade. I look for it in the distance. The horizon is purple-pink, despite the time of night. It is still alive! As am I. Today is not over. It is never done. This cannot be measured in time. I close my eyes, I am light headed. Everything is so intensely black. I flick the cigarette dead and wonder, how this can all be mine for now, forever.

most of the times. Trying very hard to keep my mind away from the seductions of security, but shine that ring towards me, pretty boy, and I'll reconsider everything. I WILL FOREVER LIVE IN BAD FAITH. And I've accepted that instead of challenging it. Ignorance that knew better.

I don't miss him very much. He became a zombie towards the end." " In what way?" " In that he enjoyed to eat human flesh and suck brain. He preferred genius brain, and you know, he really couldn't resist me. He tried to control his cravings, but one morning I woke up to find him chewing on my left ear, working his way up and about to carve into my temple. That's when I decided it was probably best to part ways."