wasted nature

The wind breathes of You
soft and clean
It sings to me, But I can't sing back.

Trees look to you
bright eyed, beautiful
They look at me, but a can't return the glance.

Rain funnels down your skin
cold, yet consuming
It touches me, but I can't hold it.

The sun shines down on you
soaring heights, warm yellow rays
It reaches for me, but I must constrain my affection.


A love that is not wholehearted does not deserve a title.
Words that are spoken with weak meaning do not deserve to be heard.
Actions carried out minimally deserve the same return.
Intentions that remain ambiguous are plagued to wander endlessly.

you would take me and place me in your box of pillows

And so you sit in the back of the room-Who knows what trails about in your head. Though, I do wish that I could control it, with a certain obliviousness (oblivion perhaps?) To answer my prayers, offer up tat hope that you might know what feelings are and can differentiate between significant and insignificant emotions, that if I spilled out my heart, you would take me and place me in your box of pillows
and bean bags
with walls decorated with neon reflecting traffic vests
and random sketches and tallies of things that you can do with your eyes closed,
and you'd come visit me and we'd play in the candle wax, drawing our names and melting plastic objects and maybe I'd find out that you really are amazing and not just a projection of the way I want to see you. If I could be proven right for once in my life, the air would sing to our skin.

slit open your stomach and let it all tumble out kid.

I scramble to the door, desperately lunge at the handle the second it comes into view- swing the door open and stumble in with a loud slam. I lay back against the wall, slide to the ground slowly and stare my Fucking Reality down. Thats when the cold linoleum sensation hits. It purges my mind, and suddenly I'm sucked back into this tunnel where the minuscule details tower over the broad ideas or the core subjects...and ALL THE DIRT SHOWS. The places that were missed juxtaposed with those over-cleaned so harshly they now lay pale and sterile. And so...this imbalance...I start screamingIletgoScreaming-with-every-forsaken-breath-in-this-damned- shadow-body.

old things,,,,from a rediscovered notebook

Like an indirect kiss that gives you a rash after-
makes you w0nder why you even tried.
Blasted thoughts.

Rain falls and I'm seduced
drawn to your existence
intrigued by your face
engulfed in that sound that remains constant
as though it were sent from some alien sky
to ensure
the rhythmic beat of my heart
pounding pounding
soft soft
pounding pounding
soft soft
everything melts together
a symphony of peace
the bass hits deep in my chest and soon my mind is locked
until once again finding myself entranced in euphoria.

Take me back to the time when I could breathe you in without your knowing:
Fall in love with your eyes on paper.
A diluted version of the real thing- still leaves a strong smell on the breath
as I lay glued to the floor, immobile, intoxicated.