What a creamy dreamy steamy boy

When i was little, i wanted grace. When i grew older, i wanted you. So how close was i? how close am i? am i still alive? Is it okay if i tell you that when i see you, i want to assimilate you? Why don't you ask me something this time. Ask me if i always wear my hair this pretty, or if i like cheesecake, or where do butterflies go when it rains? This could be such a heart-licking love. It could grow and hit the ozone layer. but you are too busy and i don't stand out. when someone asks me why i want you, i tell them i want you because you are like peter pan. you don't want to grow up, you think you're tough and you have an amazing sense of style. You are not my type. When i see you i don't get butterflies, this Lepidoptera is unimaginable.
Last week someone asked me where i go when i masturbate. I go somewhere where i can wish for the happy times to come again.








junior high is underrated. this is where the pain & love really starts.

;immune to emotion.

once its over, i am back on the floor. back on the sidewalk, counting each line i cross.
dividing me from you more, and more each time. when you change the station, kiss the dial and a sweet beat sounds, i cannot stop my hands. they love you too much, as do i. its true, i lost. you lose. we are going to hell for wanting heavan.

all the dust is waking up, all my closets are being pulled open and revealing you. i am happy. because now you know how much i love you, and you are learning to love me more. slowly, softly, like learning to walk again. walk and stomp all over stupid little hearts. my stupid little heart should have never loved you.

but this is love, this is how i pictured it, and its finally not pixelized or memorized in my brain, its here, and its mine, and i'm yours, while youre mine, and everything is fucking beautiful,

When all is lost, all is left to gain.

a long time ago, i remember thinking i was ready. i remember feeling like water on glass. hearing airplanes, right here past my window. it was never like this. when you used to tell me you cared, we'd sit in the field while it was 40 degrees outside. i would say help me, and you would carry me into the net, and hug me under fiber. this meant so much to me. this showed me you cared. now, you sit in the driveway, and i know you're not waiting for me.
and so when he stepped off and declared it, she said yes. this always happens. i miss seeing the orgami hanging down your cieling, he would say. and she'd throw the book aside and say, no you just miss sleeping over. this is what happens when you sit crisscross behind the church bench, and kiss little boys, while choir notes pass over thier tiny feet. you were a bad little girl, but you held breath, and hope, much longer than you do now. everytime i would see you tug space between your clothes, you would look at me and smile, and it would be so easy. but now, your hands are stuck between sheets and window stills. lets go hide behind here, but i would never. theres no snow today, and there are no stands outside. and now, you take slower steps to your choices. one thing is being impulsive to sin. another is walking slowly to it.
this is you, the flame,
this is me, the moth,

fingerlocked.

well, i am pretty sure everything is going to turn out fine from here. when she gets back from that 5hr drive, it will have changed her, she will be better. she will have a softer voice. i miss talking to her on the weekends, hiding under hotel sheets, as if i was still 15, still in my bedroom with the purple zebra curtains. it makes me happy. we are still young, we are just getting older, and by older, i mean , weaker.
when we learn to forget, we learn how to stop learning. and i know that doesnt make sense, but once youre here, you'll hear that lesson in my voice, the lesson that quivers, shakes and holds, right in the air, sticking out like an adams apple.
and when you reach the back alley, hopping over ripped tires and old bins, you tell me you have not lost hope. but you smell like art and blood again, where have your hands been? you say its all blurry right now, that things will be clearer in the morning. but the things that happen in the forest don't appear. they stay beneath the blur, in dreamy colourations, making wierd shaped memories real again when you come to sit&visit, and talk with them. the little things in the forest.
so stop listening to me, i have nothing interesting to say.
this and that, nothing is ever going to change.
i have met the line, beat the time,
i have been born and right now i have died.