But I still adore him. In a way.

"I don't have dreams anymore."
-g.b.

Like lots and lots of PILLOWS.

Moving. It's all a useless jumble of boxes. When I grow up, I'm going to live in a lone little house with little furniture, and abundant space. None of it will necessarily be empty. Nope. I can fill it with whatever I'd like. Or fancy.

Before I go to sleep.

It's so nice to think and realize, that in this huge world of dark...
...someone is thinking of you,
too.

Which makes pretty words.

Lofty butterfly in half-hearted might. [Always incontent,]
Intuitive dove, soaring with flight. [She loves the constant.]

Lemons for atomic planets.

I loathe
how
we
speak
and float sideways

Pretending that
we still believe

in the power of
astronauts.

And yet,
there is no ship.
It took off long ago.
Without you.

Obnoxious rythmes, obnoxious time.

I guess it's time
to cast you to the sunshine

Let the righteous beast
swallow you whole

Maybe some other day
he'll suit up for your rescue

But for the bits of now

he has no soul.

W, you are...

A sugary feast for the senses.

Call me sappy, but...

I've always wanted to be kissed under a cherry tree.
I want to kiss under a tree.
A tree with flowers.

But really,
[i just feel so silly scribblin' all of this...]
it'd be nice.

Her old words, and her old jumbles.

we love
and live
in clouds
in hate
lost ways
will follow
and lead
astray.


(rhyme after rhyme after rhyme after rhyme.
what jumbles together, will jumble apart.
just like my finger to pen to paper
jjjjjumbleee *jumble*
jjjuumblleee....)

I and air. A bit third person.

Running her hands through her hair,
she violently breathes the air in. Sucking.
For the molecules must be crying and screaming.
Brutal, her moist lips show no mercy.
"you are mine now,"
like a bird claims to it's worm.
Before it is eaten.
And killed.