WithLove-FromMe

i lurked taking in your ventilation like a filter utterly fascinated by the purity and pain that rang in my soul like lead butterflies until one day they dropped all at once but not at all - a ripple

I want to write but I can't find the words          I guess maybe I should stop trying to write about you                 But I can't help it        so I trick my self to write about you about how I can't write about you

Progression, progression, progression You are no where near me yet I can feel your breath on my neck; the moist mist of your putrid c02 evade my nostrils like mustard gas. and all I can do, and will do is look out the window at the passing cars, blurring like a vomited Pablo Picasso conception. It makes me sick so I close my eyes and focus on the propulsion. Progression.     Progression.       Progression.

old man makes me feel awkward when he stares like that its almost like he knows i have been forgotten he stares unblinking while his dog snaps and snarls at the toddler i'd swear he is mocking me but his stone face speaks other wise

                                                         he says,                                                 "you taste how heroin feels."                                             and while his dry cracked lips curl                                          at the end into drug induced happiness,                                      he settles into the euphoria of the intoxication.                                          "you're my diamond and diamonds last forever."                              while guilt erupts through me like a science project gone awry,                                                 i cling to you and cling t

We resolved like the sickening crash to the indefinite skidding of tires on pavement when the wrong cards are dealt and you forget your lucky rabbit's foot in the shoe box beneath your bed. Oh, how oblivious I was to the truth that we were living in that final inhale before impact; absent to the true potential of what our separation was capable of.   And now here we are like the twisted metal and carnage splayed on the pavement in hot July for all to see.

Thank you for refreshing my memory. I nearly forgot what you looked like from a horizontal perspective and how it felt to be two equal signs amongst numbers. Yet, it is true too, that I tried to train myself to banish that sort of math. We are not the product. Let’s stop trying to multiply.  We   are     divided.

The distance I feel is not like the way the road stretches up and over hillsides for as far as the eye can see Or, The distance that is marked between Two x's on a map signifying HERE and THERE No. This is not speaking to you for days and knowing you didn't notice a damn thing missing

"I am no good for you." You remember those words as clear as I do. After all, they were uttered from my lips. "I'll be the judge of that." You just don't know what you are getting your self into. Yet, I stay quiet. You invited me into your arms with a small gesture and kissed me. Your lips were salty from tears and tender from all the nibbling you had done. I bet you look back and realize you should have heed my warning.

sorrow erupts through me and ricochets around my hollowed ribcage like a delirious bumble bee in a half closed palm. the buzzing resonates from within with a hum until the reality sets in with a harsh sting. you and i will never be.

Her physical flesh couldn't withstand the guilt anymore. The unmerciful wretched feeling began deteriorating the young girl's chest cavity like maggots to rancid meat. Her sternum, now the consistency of an over ripe apple, held her finger indentation as she tested it's dexterity. As confession went unsaid, the decomposition progressed.

i. i crawled back into your web of lies today. you told me you loved me (again) and so i stood there with my forehead pressed against your chest while trying to convince myself this was the last time. you said something but all i could hear was your heart beating in my head like a ritual drum. ii. i crawled back into your bed last night. you told me you were sorry (again) but i didn't let you touch me. that made you angry so we slept back to back while listening to the tic-toc of your alarm clock. you told me you loved me (again) and i pretended to be asleep. iii. i crawled back into your arms last night. your whiskey breath was re

"You are leaving in a week." I say as if you didn't know that.   Why did I feel the need to state the obvious? I guess that was my way of telling you I was going to miss you. "Yep, one week." I hope that was your way of reciprocating my emotion. "Yep..." I mean, what more can I say? Is that it? Aren't you going to miss me? I am going to miss you. No. I just turn my phone off and cry.

the spine to our romance novel was not strong enough to bind the pages of our love story anymore and no matter how frantic i try to stack, staple and clip the pages they just keep flowing like the cascades of waterfalls on my cheeks that makes puddles in my shoes boy, do i hate the way they squeak when i walk. it reminds me of that strange choking sound you make when i make you cry

all the other freaks would express their dissatisfaction with her two left feet and the fact that before blowing fire killed her and the sword swallowing, alcohol would. she swug gasoline almost as well as rum difference- she spat the gasoline out grabbing the earth to keep from drifting into space, the contents of her stomach would resurface.   she was good entertainment plastered; like the thick cracking acrylics that keep the face of Bozo from drooping. Admission- ten dollars Side shows- five dollars there was a booth behind the sagging 70's cream orange tent where she would charge double to show what years of guzzling rum and gasolin

alphabetical heathens rec havoc in black and white to a silent hymn in methodical rhythm. every kiss to the space bar; propulsion of emotional disarray

i've been looking at the sun for too long a blue blob replaces your face now and everything that was once right is now wrong is it such a crime- to seek some sunshine?

“It’s an irrational fear of a specific object, activity, or situation causing you to have a compelling desire to avoid it.”   “Then yes, I have a phobia towards love.”  Your nose crinkled while your eyes tried to solve me. “No, I don’t think you understand what I am saying…”  You carry the two.  It shouldn’t be too hard. i  m     s  i  m  p  l  e “OK, how ‘bout this,” you start from a different perspective, “wouldn’t you say my devotion to avoid the situation fitting of the phobia criteria?”   You are so far off I want to fail you.  Or woul