blood bruise

what a thing to hear
once uttered it can't be returned
turned outside, from in
it aches like a deep bruise
bleeding internally

your beard and a wispy soft roughness
shivering on my cheeks
a taste and then its gone again

softly, through the white fabric
covering myself, covering me
a kiss down below

i cant say a word
or a whisper of this to anyone
except into your ear
trapping myself into desire

-ing

walking on concrete and garbage
swimming in ditches
and bathing in sunlight

eating red plums
drinking warm white wine
while selling bits of gold

wearing green dresses
bicycling past highways
and crossing bridges over salt water

to move on past these feelings
not believing it was difficult
and so it became that it wasn't so hard

i feel it all

cycled tears
recycled
over and over,
how can it hurt since january?

with foolish moments of calm
where genuine, the smiles warmth
made my rooms illuminate
over and over

until the next month
and the next recovery
trust recycled
built up to cave in

crumbling
like time
like pie crust
like my silly little broken heart.

crushed
every angle, like a recycled pop can
empty, of all susbtances
i can give no more

with every beat

regret, it hurts
a disgust with your own insides
an incision in the gut
bleeding out, but not enough to kill you.
just enough to seep throughout
outside of the veins
touching your bones

its never like christmas morning
not anymore
instead its like a chilling phonecall
one you overhear, and you know its bad news

listening to irregular sighs
half sentences
quiet mumblings
this is not what you want.

icantwrite

another silent goodnight

inside of his boring girl
he is a tourist

the bored boy
lacks to see her luster

he takes a trip, twice a week
not ever really seeing her

she thinks of him always
and fumbles inwardly with exhaustion

like a thinly sliced apple
she feels her core disregarded

she will give up soon enough
no longer able to speak

when a love cannot be given words
things do become boring