And

I kissed you and thought of Walt Whitman poems and how the moments we want each other most are perfectly synced in a firework display. 

(photo from tumblr) 

Conversations with A Boy I've Never Met (III)

me: I need to leave. To Africa or to India or to Germany. I need need to leave. 

him: To England, to Whales. You never will. 

me: No. I won't. I want to shoot every clock that exists. I don't want to breath or count seconds or days or moments. Everyone's dead. I woke up and had no sense of time. I don't want love. I want sadness. I want to drown in an ocean.. I want someone important to get shot. I want an endless sea surrounding me. I want to never sleep again. Never eat. I want a world without speaking, only movement. I want every shade of sadness. I want to run until I throw up. I want to show everyone what my blood looks like. I want to write and write and read. I don't want to sit in a classroom and nod anymore. I want knowledge. I want to learn.

Him: What makes you feel like this? Since when? 

After Last Night

I tried to bring back purity by 

drowning myself with

tangerines and lavender 

but they came up as 

us and I

My body has been on a funeral march 

since my birth. 

You are a king,

I am a slave. 

Let us find a path. 

(II)

I ran four miles. I made sure to count. 

I felt sorry for myself

then for you

then everyone after that. 

All the virgins, the very apple.

Every truck in America. 

move back. 

I apologize to every ant I kill,

to every flaw.

To every speck. 

When You Aren't Looking

My love for you depends on what shirt you are wearing. 

And the placement of your lips when you aren’t talking.

I wonder what you sound like when you are angry. 

My love for you depends on if I am looking up at you. 

And if I am able to smell you. 

Show me my place. 

Draw a line through my hands, dammit. 

Here. I won’t touch you. 

I will make sure a glass door is installed. 

No, a steel door. 

With a lock. 

My favorite smells are pine, mint gum, and your neck. 

You taste like flesh mixed with a sun warmed forest and old coffee. 

I could put my lips to the hairs on your chin for 2 hours straight.

wait. 

Let’s climb a mountain. 

And then lay under a blanket of 1 am. 

I need to ask you. 

When will I stop building spider webs, 

just to dissolve them like spun sugar? 

A long time ago..

I keep wanting to write letters to the people I love. For some reason I think writing letters will sufficiently get all the little ideas that are really just warmth on my skin all collected and able to enter the physical world. So dear you, here is tomorrow. Here is to living on. Here is to Saturday. Here is to you. Congratulations, you captured a bird. No, the bird flew to you. The bird gave up it’s wings for its new found curiosity. Look at me. I haven’t smiled like this in far too long. I want to tell you so much. Everything. I’d grow old with you. I’ve known you for barely 3 months. I like human beings. Too much. It’s my fatal flaw. I want to wake up to them. Sleep with them. Drink with them. 

Lucifer

If everything beautiful must be set free,
can I just make you ugly enough that the
window will not take you from me?
And perhaps that deems me cold.
But I would let myself freeze 17 times over,
just to keep your body
touchable.
You, me and
sunlight drenched sheets.
Turning brighter with each morning:
you dissolve.

Beginnings

Recently, I have been thinking about where I want to go with my creative abilities and photography skills. I feel as though I am waiting for the perfect shot, and won't settle for less. I took a picture of my bed, because it is simple. I need to realize everything has the potential to be the "perfect shot" and that I need to go through many pictures to find it. Everything is just waiting to happen; just light the flame.