I tried to write in one
non-stop continous flow
with little to no interruption
from others or myself
and didn't suceed by any means.
instead, I've sat her for near an hour
stairing pell-mell at the screen
blinking haphazardly,
I can still feel etchings on my skin,
that resemble the path your fingers traced.
It writhes through my blood,
I can feel it on the inside.
Several showers later,
I still breathe the scent you left behind on me,
just by passing you by.
Oh sweet debauched world.

---now, only to turn that into a song like thing. hmm.

you bowed as I passed you,
I smiled just to thank you,
you smiled as well but you could certainly tell
there was something else behind it.
and as I pardoned my way through,
you're hands would graze both my arms,
almost to say
stay here.

i kept walking,
your fingertips left patterns on my skin
that I can feel in my bones,
and through my blood...
why couldn't I stop,
why didn't I stop.

you're an arms length away,
and Ive finally held my breath...
I'd give my life and others; to move my fingertips closer.
I spend nearly every moment with you
day in day out I see you
week in week out I touch you
yet I still get butterflies passing you in the hall
but you dont know...
these words like sand.

--where the fuck am I going with this?

"It's been raining so long," she said
"even the stars are wet."
she turned off the headlights
and used her cigarette to guide her.
burning bright against the midnight hour.
(breathed and stop)
every joke had a cough for a punchline
but she just dropped her dark brown eyes
and watched the highway float past.
the rain hit hard against the winshild.
those little dancing silver bullets,
whose music was competition for her breathing.
she wheezed and they hushed
she coughed and they rushed.

in between fits
she looked at me, and asked again
if ever I believed in God.

and then she spun the wheel.

"this", you said
"is beauty".


you took my hand in yours
with disney slow motion and near romance
then traced a star
on my palm with the knife you pulled
from your back pocket.
and with a sudden deathwish,
you placed my hands upon you
and allowed the knife to chase
my fingers path
as I traced the same star
across your wrists
only you pressed a little harder,

"this" you said,
"is fantastic damage".

you watched strawberry gashes
cry crimson tears,
that floated to the floor
and patched the carpet
with little jagged hearts,
before you folded my fingers
around the blade,
and touched it to your chest.
I couldn't deny suicide's beauty,
as you pushed me to
drag across the flesh
guided by
soft
sweet
moans

"and this" you said,
"is love"

there's a crusifix between my fingertips
which doesn't do any good, but
concieveably
holds the key to my demise...
as they walk along the walls.

but on my fingertips are marks
that, to the best of my knowledge,
weren't there the last time I used them
I suppose I should use them more often

in the middle of the night, I kick my covers off the bed
because I never use them
and it's not until morning that I finally realize
im no longer cold

the crusifix is cold in the corner, away from direct sunlight
without belief it doesn't do a damn bit of good
jesus has no power... jesus has no power... jesus has no power...
against you

the icing on the cake is
that you really could care less
about me,
and that you wont,
no matter how many times you're told to
if you're really listening, you may,
the reason's hidden beneath the floor boards
around the corner
and in the nick of time

I want to taste you
but somewhere in this darkness that's taboo
and I can feel you, your hands on me
flesh on flesh
adoring on apreciation
and my hope on...
the weight of your decision
...and I dont know where I'm going with all of this.

all I ever really wanted was to stand on top of this building with you
and watch this whole damn city on fire
and as I sit alone hoping you'd at least call,
I realize; the icing on the cake is
that you really could care less, but wont

he will bruise a
secret skin
and you teach him
to burn red

the dark asks
about these wild
evenings
_______________________
I tell you,
these bruises
are only his songs
slicing through
my skin
and ask you to
leave it a secret
_________________________
a minute away
from red skin
and
burning tongues...
this dirt is only
for him
______________________
skin tells him
the secrets
my tongue
will not

In love with want
though you are not
_____________________
imagine her here to make smoke
and you are white from the mess

you are empty sex
and electric blue latex
you waste her at every scream
and deeply break
a passion made only for fashion
I write about our expirements
as if they were art
and I imagine you,
a masterpiece
your kisses touch like blood
and whisper naked promises
that sleep forever
porcelain decay and dirt
the kind that brilliantly
kills
a glass heart
the night you explore
and growl
in secret
concrete my broken universe
with smoke, mirrors
and warm explosions
but she wont keep quiet

shh.
I want to whisper
and tell your lips a secret
as you're looking down at me I want
to come clean and leave all this dirt behind.

I don't hear your voice nearly often enough
unless it's repeated on this radio, it's
cold as rust and not much
company; a broken
lullaby to welcome
sleep.
and I dont see you,
unless it's in my dreams
these days'll go on like sundays
this religion's left me empty and it's a
dirty mile I dont want to walk, before laying down

shh. I want to whisper and tell your
lips a secret as you're looking
down at me. I want to blow
this fucking place
away

you're black
(and blue, and Im seeing red)
Even over the phone
I could feel you cast
your dark eyes to the ground
and stumble your breath
as if it tripped over words.
I twirled the phone chord,
and hoped it would help
because
loving you is like loving the dead

you hallucinate
dirty shadows on the wall that I cant see
they'll strangle you and
I just stand by watching you suffocate.
I've no other way to cope, I've no other way to chase the demons away.
my anger subsided to pitiful lines.
I trace them behind your back
and they blur
in and out of the scenery.
every one of your smiles is just good politics,
your entire life is measured
on how well you can hide.
I make a good punching bag,
I'll listen and wont say a word.
I want to see you smile on your own terms
I want to give up this rusty forever
and touch you,
to hold your hand on this old dirty roof top
over looking the whole damn city we can set on fire,
But until then and for now
I'll watch your demons get the best of you,
and suffer with a smile as
the worst of you gets the best of me.

somewhere in the back of my mind
I remember when you would stare at me and somehow pierce
through my thickend skull with
what I thought were your eyes.
I remember I was wrong.

and underneath those little pearls, bloodvessles and nerves
there was something foriegn,
dangerous
obtuse
and in between the nausea and the fear
in the space between a blink and a tear
I fell in love

and I fell in line

little did I know, much to my demise
something wicked this way come,
and go

as they sparkle and shine.