i like you.
all of you.
can i **** my time with you?

in a circle,
it spins.
a double helix.
my own personal dna.
genetically modified.
underneath the core
lies truth and honesty.
something we're not destined for.
cylindrical oppositions.
and yet,
we are not allowed to
reproduce.

my memories are stained with a heavily liquored frown.
i drown in my tasty ***** imagination.
smeared with Smirnoff,
my veins can't transport the blood anymore.
and sometimes i don't want them to.
my hair is laced with the hennessy that
evaporated last night,
but those **** dreams wouldn't.
and i dig the hole deeper
until i'm entrenched in chinese soil
because sometimes foreign matter
reminds me of the reciprocated
foreign love we all desire.
but i'm lacking it.
so i turn to the brandy in shelf.
i wish i had someone to **** time with
but instead i'll **** my liver
till I turn
red, white, and
blue.

the liquid over my eyes does not tingle
with every ****.
instead it fades.
quickly.
the snowflakes dance around my thoughts,
piercing the shadows.
i try not to stare,
but i know the enigmatic art does not exist.
saucy and treacherous,
i emit a howl that illuminates images
that only i can see.
i'm not crazy.
my heart has been permanently severed,
and it beats to the rhythm
of every pill i am forced to swallow.

let me go.

i burned myself today
and to say i didn't enjoy my skin sweltering
would be a lie.

it begins to sting.

and i know the ****** is waiting to occur.
watching it char like a dandelion in a bed of roses.
god the intrigue.

it begins to boil.

hot like the unrepentant geraldines
tori amos composes music to.
but alas solace comes when the skin is ripped open.

i partition the awe
and while my skin cells may die,
my soul remains intact
for

now.

i don't know why it happens
but i feel it happening,
and i am tortured.
i'd rather not discuss matters of the heart,
but my mind compels me to do so,
and for that,
i am tortured.
i soak it up in vain,
dancing around the horror of my reflection.
broken and shattered,
i am tortured.
the glossy whispers are muttered
with their sound waves vibrating in my ear,
giving me a pulsing sensation
to lament
silently.
and for that,
i am never the same.

i placed my stress in a blender
to make it easier to swallow,
but all i do is wallow in regret.

it hurts to breath when
no one can see you doing so,
but i won't lay down my arms.

i work desperately for innate satisfaction,
but my utter need for validation
makes my effort drown in vain.

but once again, i live at the bottom of the chain,
yearning for a hand to pull me up,
but pity is easier to swallow than pride.