You cause
a break inside my organs
Pointing out my flaws
our differences.
You are at peace.
I sit jittering, worrying
what everyone will think
of when I didn’t care
you made me laugh at
everything
Changes.  You’re not right for me
Nor I for you, but I can’t help
Thinking
What if?  Then I remember
you’re not what nor
Everything I want.

You are an intellectual snob you
have a depth about you
I would love to delve in,
a psychological study
that even the best critics would praise,
but I don’t want anyone else to have been there
or ever go there.
I cannot hold on to you
tear me away while
You’re haphazardly gluing us together
We’re a kindergarten art project
messy, trying to see
Beauty within the confusion,
unfinished    

You asked me
Where am I most at peace
4 years old.      
I could be anything
No fears
I hadn’t been ripped apart.
I was the girl that said everything,
until I felt the need to screen my thoughts,
like the filter you use to make your coffee
each morning.  I wish that’s where I was,
having you tell me
that you like your women like your coffee
Dark and bitter.

I can look past your chauvinistic ways,
not giving a **** about anyone.
You’re not really closed minded
You just act like it,
which annoys the hell out of me
Sometimes.  I wish life was simple.    
But then
I would never know your complexities nor
Feel the things you help me feel,
like hate for train whistles
or the burn of gin hitting my throat.
Music      
you introduce me to
offstage trumpets, bad movies.  Your politics,
your brown eyes      
and how you can hear frequencies
that most everyone else can’t.  I worry
that you hear
the fear in my voice and heartbreak
With every word I speak.

When were you going to tell me?
Or was that your plan all along?
To throw me out
like yesterday’s coffee grounds
or cut up scraps
Used and unwanted.
I wish I could tell you
to tell her you don’t want her
but me instead,
you don’t, I don’t want you to.
I want holding hands, laughter
comfort, personality, humor, intellect.
You want that plus things
I can’t give
But you always take.

You are your coffee
disgusting, caffeinated,
addicting
the only patch that helps is
comforting words you never spoke.
We had many conversations
of your desires, lusts, mistakes,
but I was burned,
by lies, distrust.
You left, like always,
a harsh, acidic aftertaste
on my tongue.

I remember they once told me that
music is the best time capsule

It's where people keep their secrets and feelings;
of their insecurities, their mistakes, their sadness, their first cut,
and even the wounds and bruises that invisible to the eye

It's where people let their wildest dreams alive;
of the one they can never reach, the one that will never come back, the one that got away without proper farewell

It's where people store their most sacred memories;
of their first kisses, their first love, their first dance, their first bucket of roses, their first heartbreak

So they were right after all,

Music is dangerous, yet addicting; it can either tear you apart or put the pieces back altogether, it depends on what kind of ghosts living inside the interlude

Thus, be careful who you listen the music with
some melody is louder than the others

**

Today I played the music box you gave me on my seventeenth birthday
How odd it is to realize that music sometimes can be a time machine, how every strings and clinks bring me back to you—towards you

It doesn't **** you...
But It makes you forgetful & dumb
It can be addicting even when you say it don't.

I can't even talk to you when you're all doped up. It makes me sad that you'd just turn to drugs.

Solitude is addicting
As my head grows restless
And my thoughts take over
Washing down like a waterfall
But at the bottom
There is no oasis
Just rapids

Madness is inviting
As my thoughts bounce around my head
Like a tennis ball at Wimbledon
Knocked back and forth, searching for a victor.
Like 100 tiny voices fighting to be heard in an endless echo
It's like fighting for calm
In the middle of an endless ocean,
Struggling in the midst and mist of a hurricane
I'm thrown from the sanctuary of my boat
And plunge into the murky waters of insecurity
Drowning in sorrow, mistrust and anxiety.
I sense a calm and open my eyes
Just to be hit with another wave and pulled back under
Deeper than before.

Rush of success
brutal trusting
Sensibility, briefly
Using it in a perplex and deceiving claim
Chaos, is her calmness
Designed, to harness energy
Absorbing, more than her worth
Power is implemented
A mighty resistance
Others would **** for royalty
She walks naked,
without an ounce of shame

the most frustrating thing
when it comes to a writer
is when everything
every word, every letter,
isn't enough to give justice to
the captivating picture of you
in the afternoon:

soaked in sweat,
grinning foolishly,
striking up a conversation
about coffee,
and how unhealthy it is
for me to drink
three cups straight,
to stay awake,

yet the bittersweet taste
stains my lips.

it spills down my throat,
covers my lungs,
and drowns them
with the addicting aroma
of coffee beans
and lazy dreams,
until i cannot seem
to breathe,

and the only thing
i can ever do
is to spill ink
for you.

A morning of escape via sheets and pillow
A day of escape via coffee and comeda
A night of escape via I.P.A.
And marijuana

And thus the passions return
As expected
At 12:13 A.M.

Such a longing of soul to an extent that I cannot rationalize or define

My very being expanding past my expectations of its spatial limit

Pressing so very ******* my solar plexus

A low frequency thud

To my heart

Beat


This will never leave
It makes me knees shake
And my foundations shudder

Fear enters my heart

But the excitement is addicting.

To lie or not to lie - that is the question:
Whether 'tis better to keep the truth
Shutting the light in the dark,
Or to bring upon pain or pleasure
Why, by bringing truth, gain unwanted reaction. To lie, deceit -
No more - and by secret to say what we want to say
The will of truth and lie
That flows from lips - 'tis an infection
One craved by all. To lie, deceit -
Deceit, perhaps too much. Ay, there's the problem.
For in that deceit of truth what pathologic lieing may come.
When we have gained such filthy pleasure from this lie,
Must force us thought. That's the reality
That makes chaos of such pleasure.
For who really wants to hear or speak an ugly truth,
The lover's love gone, the child's art trash,
The woman's ugly face, the man's unattractive body,
The co-worker's stench, and the embarrassing blemish
That gives opportunity for lie,
When they themselves would appreciate
Why give them heart ache? Who would give them truth,
To give them hurt,
But the chance they would enjoy the truth,
The unknown glee from fate's unlucky victims
For the victim's mind confuses the liar
And makes the liar want to speak truth
And to see that reaction instead.
Thus turning pathologic lieing into suthe saying,
And thus the addicting infection
Is cured with the disease of truth,
And infection seems less appealing
With this regard the lies soon stop
And lose what effect they once had.

Your love is like a drug,
except I crave you so much more.
When your lips touch mine it makes me
feel like I'm floating on cloud nine,
unable to come down from
the sensational high.
When your laughter floods my ears, I can't get enough. I truly want more.
When I feel your fingertips softly graze my skin and your sweet scent dances
through my nose,
I'm suddenly wide awake craving you more than any other drug
on this planet.
It's amazing really, this thing you call love. It's more addicting than anything.
Maybe, that's why we can't help but turn to alcohol and drugs when we're heartbroken.