no solution.

maybe if i curled a little more around the tension in my stomach,

the memories would go away

the tug o war between propriety and self would go away

the battle between myself would go away

maybe if i sob a little bit harder,

the poison would melt away

the headaches fade away

and my heart would be okay.

conclusion here: one significant line wrapping up loose ends and solving the problems that had arisen in the writing. [i have nothing to fill this empty shell]

my favorite secret.

it starts within. a glance in glass reflection causes the corners of your lips to rise, and your smiling teeth reveal a glimmer of hope. the ruffles sit right on your tired ankles, and your voice is ready to stop. don't you know? nothing can happen before the freckles on your face sit well on your eyes, and the curves of your body are only things to fill out your clothes. it starts within, a small flicker of something so contagious, and so ready to come out. don't leave me, my favorite secret... walk with me, guide me along to that place where i know i am fine,

i am fine.

genre incorrect.

finding myself unable to decide if i am jealous,

i dwell in words like "hermit" "recluse" and "settling"

they seem comforting... like chai.

as long as it doesn't ferment in a cup.

don't be mean.

well, i don't have high expectations... what am i left with?

headbands, greasy hair, pretending that coffee helps me.

it's totally mental... and very white.

its so easy. its so hard.

obviously your life is full of drama of that kind.

crossed legs, photoshop.

library visits and stark, awkward contradictions from a beautiful face.

the kindest words.

the simplest touch.

people, people.

enough is enough.

irresponsible freedom.

making choices between colors and shapes

now between touching and tastes

i know no regret

i feel no evil

except for love leaving the eyeless

sigh will i

for not knowing direction at 17?

please let me forgive

pray for the weak and brokenhearted

vision beyond the open-ended square

"you deserve someone who thinks you are the best thing to happen to this world"

doubtful

toast sans butter.

ideally, my body would be that of

toast

sans butter,

my soul of

fluff

not illusions to a cutter,

my mind

a bath tub clean and pristine,

my countenance

dainty with a hint of

mean

marmelade on the side,

but only, darling, if you decide

for i am putty resting in your dry hands

as i melt like childhood's crayons

teach me, toast,

to be a bit lighter

teach me fluff,

to lose spite towards her

teach me bath tub,

to cry without water

so as to clean the places

that are too dark for public

marmelade on the side,

pecan ice cream in mind

my countenance sweet

like childhood's treats

and old age's defeats

yours truly, making things harder for myself since 1992.

give me the timeline of my life

so i can find tonight and be

panther pictures.

time becoming slow

the future never arriving

i reflect on the flashes

apart

see the muscles moving?

you make hype like thunder

making me a thoughtless blunder

not for you

dreams surround the idea of "you"

you

you

am i involved in this?

slip the sweater from your wrist

show me that italian love

tonight we will dine in the thought of ourselves

perfume at the nape of my neck

smile on my lips

reveling in the thought of you

and me