Only not.

I go back to a time
in between dreams
dark and cold and light and warm
the soft pitterpatter of summernight rain
keeping rhythm to our
minds racing.

Knocking at my door

Lying in bed.
Under my sheets, even though they make me cold.
Blanket up to my nose, my hands grasp the top of the blanket'
White knuckles clenched.
It's getting darker and darker
And the barbed wire is getting tighter and tighter.

My feet are frozen, and probably blue.
but I'm too scared to look at them,
because they are so far away,
at the end of my bed, dangling off my mattress.
The draft whispers at my mouth and nose and ears
and ruffles my hair.

Barbed wire tight and cutting.

It's just me and death,
and he looks me in the eye,

well I don't know because of the hood,
but I pretend.
Because it feels like razor wire now.
Tight and cutting.
Blood.

it must be time, I think.

"I'm scared."
Death says 
"Me too."
"Why are you scared?"
"Because anything you are scared of, will always be just as scared as you are."

Razor wire, wrapped around my neck.
tight and cutting.

It's even darker than before now.
which up until this very second of my life thought was impossible.
It's colder now too.
and my feet are so far away, and
The door is further than my feet.
Which I also thought was impossible.
I know I can't leave,
because my legs are like a slow computer
jerky and slow.

It's foggy in my room, and it's funny,
because I don't remember buying the fog machine.
Death gets closer to my bed.

Death is the only thing that seems in perspective.

Death smells like roses.

which I find strange,
because it's death we're talking about here.

But then again, 

a rose will still smell like a rose,

long after it has wilted.

I'm Uneasy

I'm scared.

I'm scared of a lot of things like horses and maggots. Rational things like death and spiders, and irrational things like power outages, and microwaves.

I'm scared of bugs in my bed.
I'm scared of bugs in my hair, and eyelashes.
I am scared of the dark.
I am terrified of not having a Mom.
Scared of straws getting stuck in my throat and scratching the back of my mouth.
I'm scared of worms. Earthworms, heartworms, flatworms...etc.
I am scared of having to many fears.

I am scared of waking up one day and having nothing.

I am scared of what people think about me.
I am scared of running out of new things to try.
I am scared that I will always be who I am right now.

I'm scared that one day, I won't be able to control my anxiety.

I feel like someone is watching me right now.

I am scared of Marijuana

I am scared that Girls won't get around to liking me.
I am scared that things won't mean anything to me anymore.
I am scared that everything I have, all the moments I have collected will disappear. And I'll know they are there, but I won't be able to get them back.
I'm so scared all the time.

I'm scared of the outside world and not being able to fit, because we were all born on third base. Not having the experience that I need, to know how to use a doctor's office, or a Redbox machine, or how to use the emergency room when I most desperately need it, or not knowing how to use a train, or a school registration process. I am scared of making promises. I am scared to break another fucking promise that I knew I couldn't keep in the first place, but made it anyway so you would be impressed with how much I know.

They tell me to allow my fears to control my body for 10 seconds. And I won't be scared anymore.
But I'm scared of first steps in new directions. So I'll bottle up these fears and keep them to hurt someone another day, for a rainy day when I least expect it. The bottle will break and I'll lose it.
And I'll lose you. 

and you,
and you,
and you,
and you...

I am scared to say 'I love you'.

I am scared that I will run out of words.

I am scared.
I don't want to be scared.
But I always will be.

It goes something like this

A new kind a coup is happening in my heart.
The kind that leaves little fireflies to their own devices
and butterflies to flying around in circles
once in awhile caressing the lining of my stomach
with their recherché wing tips.
And even though I'm not ticklish
It still sends little messages
up my spine and into my brain
where it makes me dizzy,
and makes my body act all wrong.
I'm scared I'll say something stupid.
But something inside of me doesn't even care.
Being here with you is enough for me
Being here with you is all I ask
Being here with you makes me ticklish again.

stuff that happened to me

Let me compare some things

I'm thinking about you like Djs think about Cds

and Cds think about Ipods, 

and Ipods think about Djs.

like Rubber bands think about tires 

and how they'll never be one.

I'm thinking about you like Death thinks about cloaks

and Horocruxes, 

and Edward Cullen.

I'm thinking about you like girls think about boys,

and boys think about sex,

and girls think about holding hands and kissing,

and boys think about sex.

I'm thinking about you like cancer thinks about killing 

like cells think about dividing

I'm thinking about you like meteorologists think about the weather

and geologists think about faults

and critics think about faults.

I'm thinking about you like monkeys think about bananas

and pens think about ink

and ink thinks about paper.

I'm thinking about you like crazy.

Love; a Noun.

 Since I am obviously the master of love and have the most experience you've ever even heard of in the love subject; I will dispense all of my secrets about it now.



I Have No Idea.



Love is an emotion. Love is a black hole? Love has no end.
We've all heard the Yatta-Yatta from T.V. shows and movies and books.
But do we really know ourselves?

As stated in the dictionary:

1. a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.

2. a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend.

3. sexual passion or desire.

4. a person toward whom love is felt; beloved person; sweetheart.

5. used in direct address as a term of endearment, affection, or the like: Would you like to see a movie, love?

Who decided all that. Can we really expect to be able to define an emotion?

It's all so subjective.

Maybe we're supposed to interpret passionate feelings in a bad way, something we should stay away from.

Maybe Love was never meant to be pleasing but the bodies natural sign to run away, or hide.

Maybe love was never intended to be pleasant.

Love is the weed sticking out of the crack in the driveway, no matter how many times it dies, it will always grow back.

Love is the season of Summer, always to short, and perfect.

Love is getting mugged.

Love is a brier patch.

Love is a plane with one engine left, on the left side.

Love is a boxing match(with yourself?)

Love is an oak tree.

Love is black ice.

Love is my zipper.

Love is the knife drawer.(and yours too)

Love is a domesticated wolf, living in your house.

Love is a thumbtack.

Love is a film camera.

Love is The city of Atlantis.

Love is a bag of potato chips.

Love is a black guy?

Love is a potato

Love is an empty street corner.

Love is a rusty scrapyard.