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shooting blood
onto the grey and black pages
of a blank obituary
in tomorrow's paper.
donating
whatever bullshit
and broken teeth
are left
to random strangers,
a slack jaw
unable
to corroborate
the stories
between
my image
and my emotions.
whatever's left
can be consumed
by a plague
of bacteria,
advertisements,
and panic.
sitting in a car,
immersed in shivers and sweat,
sick,
and
alone,
looking at the memories
of former lovers
carved inside my skull,
comparing it to their
recent pictures:
twisted tongues,
limp wrists,
dyed hair,
brittle limbs,
punctured lungs,
swollen eyes,
cracked skin,
and brown bodily fluids
oozing out of nostrils,
into white bathroom sinks,
swirling down the drain.
no amount of make-up
or editing
can hide the fact
that they are
ugly and
missing a pulse,
like me.
but
the difference is
i don't hide it.
the difference is
i hide a trick up
my sleeve
no one will ever learn
until it's performed.
shh...it's a secret.
whispering words
softly into a void
in the dying light.
confessions hanging
in the air like
criminals with
ropes made out of
thousands of interlocking hands
gripping their necks.
if someone comes
across my body,
just let it rot
or
throw it
in the trash.
my sympathies
for the delay.

Whenever I get close to you I think I will lose a leg on a land mine

Boredom, loneliness, and a hard dick are a dangerous combination, especially with nothing to do and no one to talk to. 

I haven't had sex in a month; I haven't made love in even longer. 

You are my girlfriend. You are my best friend. You are my world. You are gone. 

You'll be gone for hours like you have been for the past month, and I'll be at home by myself. When you're out, I usually watch the clock like a television. The red digital numbers constantly changing every 60 seconds, as I think about you coming down the hall, opening the door to the apartment, and stepping inside. I think about you staying, just being around, and pretend you are happy. 

I miss you. Even when you are home, I miss you. 

At night, we sleep on different couches. We eat different meals for dinner. We feel different about each other. 

Right now, you are gone, and I am horny. 

I go into the bedroom, and see a pair of your panties (a charcoal grey thong) on top of the pile of clothes in the laundry basket. I pick them up, take my shirt off, pull down my grey basketball shorts, and boxers with the monkeys eating bananas, to my ankles, and I am naked. 

I hold the thong up to my nose, inhale, and remember what it's like to be inside you. I am a bull in heat that has already been put out to pasture. 

I take a clean pair of your panties,(the powder blue boy shorts with white polka-dots) wrap them around my hard dick, and pretend that you don't turn away when I try to kiss you. I pretend that we are in an alternate universe, and that things aren't actually the way they are. I pretend you still love me. 

I lay down on the couch, and start stroking. Holding the dirty charcoal thong up to my nose, I inhale, collecting your DNA, which I use to create a clone of you in my mind. I close my eyes, and remember you being on top of me saying, "I never want to be with anyone else. I never want to be with anyone except you." Just like the numbers on the clock, with each passing second things change. Feelings change. You and I change. 

I compare the past to now, and get off, having the most painful orgasm I have ever had in my entire life. I make sure not to make a mess in your clean pair of panties so you won't know what they were used for. 

I put your dirty charcoal thong back in the laundry basket, and fold the powder blue boy shorts with the white polka-dots, and put them back on the shelf with the knowledge that the next time you wear them, my dead skin cells will be rubbing up against the most intimate part of your body. 

cj + mv

cj: when i stare into your eyes and you stare back into mine, i don't just see the surface, i see the galaxies they hide. and for those fleeting moments, i know not of gruesome thoughts, but rather of the cosmos-- the stars your eyes have caught. it's as if you swallowed the night just to take my breath away. the universe is endless and my feelings are the same. striking depths of space i see and its your eyes that provide this view. what do you think while you search mine? all i think is "i love you."

+

mv: when i look into your eyes, i see a dream that i have had since i was a child, but never remembered until now. before i met you, the dream was a nightmare, because it was what i always wanted, someone to hold, kiss, and understand me. someone to talk to. the face was blurred. and every morning when i woke up i would be alone in a bed, on a couch, or on the floor. by myself. the feeling. and memory would dissipate. i would go through the motions of the day, smiling, and laughing masks hiding thoughts of lead bouncing around my cranium. medicine got me through, but never cured the problem, or satisfied. this was my daily routine for over twenty years. there were false dawns, but in reality it was still night; just fires burning on the horizon. when i looked into your eyes i remember that dream. the dream became reality. the reality was love. but those twenty some years have had side affects, and i need to recover cause i'm sick and losing my grip due to moisture that has built up on my hand holds. but when i look into your eyes i want to recover. i feel the strength rush back into my arms and fingers, which helps me climb to the summit so i can be with you. to hold you and love you. to give you the world embedded in a gold ring. and ask you to spend the rest of your life with me. when i look into your eyes, my dream is fully realized.

elephants' graveyard

i am on auto pilot;
legs taking tired steps,
pores and wounds
dripping sweat, blood, and lactic acid,
which are absorbed into the earth,
stumbling across dirt, to asphalt,
to sidewalks,  over welcome mats,
across beige tiles, down wooden stairs,
to a carpeted plain, which calloused feet
traverse, until they can't go no more,
and reach the navy blue fabric couch,
where splintered bones, and yellowed skeletons 
are scattered across the floor.

collapse.

my thoughts about the future have changed:

no longer thinking about
how much money
i'll need for cigs, credit card bills,
medicine, rent, fines, new shoes,
and moving to philadelphia.

no longer thinking about
what animal i'll have to kill
or plant i'll have to harvest
because empty stomachs
have stopped crossing my mind.
the same can be said about
personal appearance, and hygiene.

no longer thinking about
what could've been,
or what i could've done.
what doctor or shrink
i could have seen.

no longer thinking about participating.

no longer thinking,
just doing because
different parts
are shutting down
one by one by one.

wheezing, instead of breathing;
my lungs have become frayed nets
that are losing there ability to
capture oxygen
with each passing second.
with each attempted breath.

this is a personal experience,
which is why i have to go
alone, because this legend
is a reality.
it is a well kept secret
that each of us learn through
instinct.

the hazy glow
from a late night
reality tv show
about people competing
to be deep fried food masters
illuminates my mottled
grey skin; this is
the difference between
life and death.

i feel the sinews of my biceps
and the joints in my fingers
snapping like branches
under foot, as i check
my cell phone.

no new messages.
no missed calls.

i realize it's uselessness,
and break it by slamming
it against a wall
watching one utile piece
multiply into many dysfunctional ones.
all different shapes and sizes
now exposed to climate controlled air.
useless.

it's impossible to be perfect all the time.
it's impossible to make good on every promise.
it's impossible to not have regrets.
it's impossible to go back in time.
it's impossible to live forever.
but
it's possible to love.
it's possible to apologize.
it's possible to forgive.
it's possible to not be a shitty person for your entire life.
it's possible to change.
it's possible to live.

as i close my eyes,
i have one last thought:
i see a warm smile
slowly expanding across
your sullen face
that is unable to
stop the tears
tumbling down
your cheeks;
you kiss me on the forehead,
then my right cheek,
and finally on my mouth
with your saline soaked lips.
i wrap your body in my arms,
and squeeze as hard as i can
you into me,
me into you,
meld together
until we become one.

thank you for teaching me the definition
of love, meaning, and happiness
without the use of a dictionary and worksheets.

the wind will erase my footprints,
while the lions, dogs, worms, beetles, and vultures
erase my physical existence,
disassembling my anatomy
one bite at a time.

no one will know what happened to me,
but it won't be a mystery
because
all of us have to die sometime.

if every day is like today then wake me up tomorrow (prologue) {rough draft and to be continued}

last night you told
me, "we need to talk."
as we drove
back to my aunt's
house up
luzerne mountain.
in the darkness,
my mind was
a rung out washcloth
that was already starting
to become cold.
i lit a cigarette,
and told you,
"can we talk tomorrow?
please i just need one day,
one day without stress,
and bullshit. i'm sorry,
but i just need a day.
one day, cause i don't
think i can take a
serious discussion today.
it's just too much.
every day is just too much.
i just need a break."
standing at the edge
of a cliff kicking rocks
into free fall with
the tips of my sneakers,
i thought putting it
off would coax me
away from the ledge,
but the world keeps spinning.
i couldn't see your
face. i was blind.
i didn't even know
you were standing right
behind me;
i thought you were
still in the car.
you quietly said,
"okay."
i was deaf.
i heard you,
but missed
the sadness sewn into
that one word.

okay.


when we got home,
i smoked a g-bong,
then a cig out of
my bedroom window,
as you were by
yourself in bed
on the computer.
after i finished smoking,
i ate a bowl of cereal,
and laid down next to
you.
tired,
we decided to watch cartoons,
instead of having sex.
i kissed you goodnight,
and passed out next to
you, in your arms
because there is
always tomorrow.

tomorrow.
tomorrow
we were driving to philly
to get your stuff
so you could move out.
tomorrow
was going
to be one day closer
to moving into
an apartment in vermont,
getting jobs, getting clean,
swimming in the lake,
paying bills, going on walks,
and grocery shopping together.
tomorrow
i would cook you dinner,
and do the dishes with you.
tomorrow
i would scratch your back,
and use my tongue and lips
to massage your skin.
tomorrow
we would talk
about our past, present, and future.
tomorrow
your hand would still be in mine.
tomorrow
you would still be here,
and we would still be together.
tomorrow
i would be happy
just because you
will be at my side,
and will be there
every tomorrow
after that,
which is
all i need in life.
tomorrow
is exciting,
and i'm looking
forward to it.

my dreams were filled with
fireworks, endorphins,
your naked body in mine,
and your words, in the time between.

tomorrow became today
when i opened my eyes.

you were already awake,
preparing for what i asked you
to put off.
for something
i had completely forgot about
when i was unconscious:
the talk.

my mind isn't a rung out washcloth anymore;
it is a tea kettle filled with water,
and your words are the flame.
the water comes to a boil,
and the whistling sound
never stops.

i am on my side
with my back towards you
as you wrap your arms around me.

"we need to talk..."
is never the start
to anything good.

your voice sounds like
a piano that is out of tune.
shaky, nervous, and sad.

tomorrow is now today,
and tomorrow is unpredictable,
and never goes as planned.

"first, i just want to say
i love you, and always will.
you are everything to me, mv.
you are my life, my soul, my world,
my happiness. i never thought i would
love anyone until i met you. i want
to spend the rest of my life with you,
and be with you forever,
but,
right now this isn't going to work out."

i am back on the ledge with
one foot ready to put its
weight down on thin air.
ready for my body to follow.

you grip me tighter,
as the tears start to metabolize
in the corners of my eyes.

"i can't go to vermont.
i can't stay here with you any more.
this just isn't going to work.
you can't keep supporting me;
it isn't practical.
and i can't just run from my problems.
i talked to my mom yesterday.
she talked to my p.o.,
and she's not going to put me in jail.
if i go back to philly,
they are going to put me into a program to get clean,
i have a job set up that is going to pay really well,
and my mom said she's going to send me $100 a week
if i do what i have to do, and stick with it."

the whistling sound gets louder and louder
inside of my head and there is no way to stop it.

the dam breaks and the tears start cascading
down my face into my pillow.
i keep my eyes closed;
i don't want to remember the visuals
of this moment in time.

"plus, i have to go to those court dates,
and take care of that whole situation
with my roommate after she robbed me.
it's just not going to work,
no matter how much we want it to.
we can't just hope that will get jobs,
and be able to support ourselves,
pay off our debts, and make it.
i want it to, but it's not.
when we go to philly today,
we are not getting my stuff.
you're just going to drop me off,
and go back home.
if you still want to go to vermont, you can.
i'll try to come and visit once a month,
but i can't go.
or you can stay here, and i'll visit as much
as i can. or you can look
for a place in philly because after my roommate
robbed me, my landlord won't allow anyone else live here.
we can make it work.
it's going to be hard,
but we can do it.
i have never loved anyone as much as i love you,
but like i said, i need to do this."

i start to shake, as the tears
and pain come faster and faster.
i wipe the snot dripping from my nose
into my spaceman sheets,
trying to pretend that this isn't real,
even though i can't escape the fact that it is.
i am not a magician.
and don't know any miracle workers.

"no matter what i love you.
please don't forget that.
please don't stop loving me."

you are crying now too,
still holding me in your arms.
trying to hold me together,
even though i'm completely falling apart.
shutting down.
this is what hurt.
this is what pain feels like.
riding a bike with
a collapsed lung is nothing
compared to this.

"so what do you have to say?
what are you thinking?"

silence.

minutes pass, that feel like years.

i am in total freefall,
watching the ledge i was standing
on with you grow smaller and smaller,
farther and farther away,
waiting for the impact.

more time passes.

at this point we are both crying
as much as two human bodies can.

"please just say something."

your words have dissolved my tongue,
all that comes out of my mouth is hot moist air.

"i need to take a shower."
is another way of saying
i need to leave.
i need to get out of here.
so i grab my keys, wallet,
and a fist full of drugs
while i'm in the bathroom,
and turn the shower on.
i look at myself in the mirror,
and see the shattered visions
of the future i planned
in the reflection of my eyes.
it resembles the half eaten corpse
of a decaying elephant
dead in the tall green grass of the serengeti
being consumed
by vultures and flies.

i tried to escape out of the other bathroom door
that leads into the hall,
and avoids the bedroom entirely,
but you opened the bathroom door
and walked in before i got out.
shit.
i was caught. 
but it didn't matter.
nothing mattered.
shut down.
and numb to the world.

"are you seriously going to leave right now?"

i can't even look you in the eyes.
i can't communicate my reasoning,
how i feel, or what i'm thinking.
i can't even say yes or no.

so i just leave.
i leave without saying a word or where i'm going.
i leave without my phone because phones are useless in times like this.
i leave you standing in the bathroom
crying hysterically in the unknown.

i run down stairs, still in my pajamas,
grey penn state sweatpants and a yellow t-shirt,
hop into my car, snort a line, drive five minutes
down the road to frances slocum state park,
and heading for the solitude of the woods.

status update 7/4/2014 (mv swydersky and cj parlante)

mv: i'm saving rainwater in my tear ducts and bottling thunder and lightning in my chest cavity to use on a sunny day.

the tornadoes in my lungs are tangling the wires that make up my nervous system. this is what happens when you put your trust in other people.

i put the teeth i've lost underneath my pillow, and when i wake up they are still there. i guess magic and fairy tales have an age restriction, which i've already past.

whatever teeth are left i've filled with ink. same with my tongue. later tonight i am going to write love poems on the inside of your mouth, behind your ears, and over the rest of your body, even though you are not here. your ghost will have to do.

cj: My hands are ink pens and your body is my stationery. the thunderous roars and blinding flashes of light erupting from your core convey my every thought with utter perfection. You are everything I feel and ever wanted to say or write. I'm struck by a bolt of your beauty and we become one. Together, a perfect storm.

mv: together, we take the world hostage with a deadly virus, and make a list of demands: 1. gold 2. a crate of birthday cake oreos 3. a soccer ball 4. that people should stop acting like dicks 5. a fucking time machine. 6. to leave us alone and let us be together. as we step into the time machine, the world tells us how we will never get away with this. what the world doesn't realize is we are going to go to a time where the statue of limitations has passed. and what the world didn't know was that there wasn't any virus in the first place because we made the whole thing up. bonnie and clyde bitch! the best part of all is our friends are finally dead. ah. you. me. and silence. as it stands, we are the oldest people on earth

late at night, i pull my pants down, go on facebook, and put my butt up against the computer screen so people can finger my asshole by liking what i post or poking me. isn't what those functions are for? self-gratification. anal stimulation. pleasure.

i wait for your phone call, because if i don't hear your voice, i'm too scared to fall asleep. there are monsters under my bed. and one day i will have to fight them.

when i looked up at the sky tonight, i connected the stars with a glow-in-dark marker and the picture it made looked exactly like you. so i laid in the grass on my back as the dew is absorbed by my clothes staring at it until the sun rises, and i fall asleep.

cj: Then I looked down at you from the sky and smiled and arranged more constellations for you to look at before you fell asleep. What you didn't realize was that I was singing you a lullaby with the wind and the hoo's of the owls and the chirps of the crickets. Once I heard the labored breathing of your sleep, I entered your dreams with a time machine and the rest is history.

mv: When you entered my dreams, I was at the bottom of the ocean, lying in a graveyard of shipwrecks, covered in a blanket of sand, and surrounded by a crowd of people who all had the styles and personalities of game show hosts. Suits, ties, sequined dresses, and layer upon layer of make-up. They are hungry, and have weighed out the risks, figuring out I'm an easy meal. You're at the surface screaming for me to wake up. I do. You tell me to swim towards the light. Towards you. I kick my legs as hard as possible until they feel like overheated motors in need of water and an oil change. I keep kicking escaping the crowd before their whitened teeth tear into my flesh. I reach the surface and breathe as you pull me into the boat. I collapse from decompression sickness and start to shake. You wrap a towel around my blue body, rub my temples in circular motions with your index fingers, then kiss me on the forehead, and say, "there, there, you're with me now and everything is going to be okay." While biting your lower lip with a worried look on your face as you paddle away towards our new life which is in the direction of the sunset.         

Standing on the corner outside your house,
cold sweat suppurates
out of the pours
on my lower back
creating a slick that kills otters, fish, sea birds, bull kelp, and dolphins.
i watch the red tail lights grow smaller
before the darkness of the horizon
consumes them.

at different points of the day,
the seconds seem to speed up or slow down,
but, in reality, they don't change;
it's all in my head
like it has always been.

you make it to the hospital,
as i park behind random cars
on a random street
to get well,
and pass the time tonight without tears
under fluorescent orange lights.

you lose matthew. sorry, man.

this is who i am.

back in the best of times,
which isn't really much different
than the worst of times;
i am trying to tread water
to keep my head above the surface.

i want to see the sunrise tomorrow morning.
i want to close my eyes and look forward to it.
i want to sleep in the ocean's waves, and be warm and comfortable.
i want to be less lonely.
i want to become someone i would enjoy being around.
i want to kiss your forehead when you're sick, make you chicken noodle soup,
and tell you, "there, there darling. you'll feel better. you're going to feel awesome soon.
do you feel awesome?"
i want to sleep next to you so i can pick out the melodies under your breath,
and hum them at a later date.
i want to stop being a disappointed disappointment.

i want to stop wanting so i can start doing.
but every morning when i wake up,
i look for a reason to open my eyes,
and come up empty handed.
resting my head on the grey, oil stained cushion
of an abandoned backseat from a mini-van
thrown out in a dumpster
from a post-apocalyptic society.

i'm sorry.
sorry for being so lazy darling.
and for being such a coward.
if i discovered bigfoot or a ufo
i would give all the credit to you
because you are the only thing
in the world that matters.
the meaning behind all the metaphors in nature.

i nurture so many regrets as i tear the pages out of the calendar,
one by one; time is passing,
and it's sad to see it pass sitting alone
in an empty bedroom overflowing with empty beer cans.

i'm trying to rearrange all the individual pieces
to form a limpid picture that
makes sense to the both of us,
even though it never will
because i am too far gone.

so i am left with a choice
between death or insanity.

i am laughing hysterically
while shooting bb's into my white teddy bear
with a blue ribbon around its neck
that i hugged after i was born,
and can't explain why.

i apologize in advance love.

navy blue lace thong

source.

in your polar bear paws,
i don't know if i should feel like a cub, or a seal.

"i mean like why did they have to wear ski masks? they dressed like islamic terrorist from the 1970's. maybe they wouldn't have gotten whipped if they didn't."

photo source.

watching daytime talk show tv:

kitty boner + kitty vagina + camera = (insert rape sounds here)

i'm watching.

captivated.

sucking a bannana.

stroking my dick.

mixing it up with my pussy.

through the nylon fabric of my granny panties.

that way i can't get charged with the double:

beastyality

and

pedophilia.

Dia De Los Muertos.

photo source 

Walking around a cemetery with my hood up, when the sun turns orange as it gets ready to go to sleep, I sit down and rest my back on a worn out tombstone that says, "mother, sister, and child."

I forget why I'm here, but I'm not afraid.

Just tired.

Sleepy.

I pull a flask of scotch out of the breast pocket of the brown denim jacket, which is frayed at the cuffs, and take a pull.

I don't know when they arrived, but they are here:

Skeletons wearing dust covered suits, and tattered color faded dresses.

Smoking cigarettes.

Playing cards.

Reading yellowed paperbacks as the wind carries the smoke out of their chests.

We are all in a circle.

Just passing time, and curing boredom.

I pass the flask into the stained bony fingers next to me, and someone tosses me a light.

"Thanks."

Staring off into the distance.

Looking at nothing in particular.

Just humming funeral songs in spanish.

Observing two of the younger skeletons making out without any tongues, feeling each others rib cages and pelvic bones.

Pulling blades of burnt sienna grass out of the ground, and scattering it across my sneakers.

Thinking about my true love.

A skeleton sits next to me indian style wearing a lavender floral patterned party dress with a hole on the hip takes a pull from the flask, and passes it back to me.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"Na. Well...maybe. I don't know, it's complicated and confusing."

"Isn't it always? That wasn't a very good question, but I got a better one: Are you in love?"

"Yes. Yes too all of the above...actually I don't know, maybe I'm just lonely. Or both."

The skeleton wearing a lavender floral party dress with the hole on the hip leans in closer, puts her arms around me, and rests her skull on my shoulder.

"Shhh. Shhh. Shhh. It will be okay. I can't guarantee that, but it'll work out one way or another. You're not going to be alone forever. However, it isn't going to change in a day. So don't think about it right now. Just have some fun, and let it happen."

Her earthworm perfume slows my mind enough to allow me to notice each and every passing second.

"Thank you. Seriously, thank you."

She tries to smile but can't, while two skeletons in black suits pour out a 40 into fast food cups in the waning light.

"You're welcome."

I get up, walk two graves over, and pull the bouquet of pink roses out of the white vase sitting on top of the granite tombstone.

I come back and hand them to her, then finish what's ever left in the flask.

One of the flowers gets stuck in her empty eye socket, and we both laugh.

"I can't smell them, but I remember their smell. Succulent. And sweet. Thank you. They are beautiful. That was really nice. I see flowers around here all the time, but never think about their smells. When you don't have a nose, it's easy to forget that smells still exist. Thank you for jogging my memory. For making me notice. You're really nice. Never forget that. Okay? Never forget that you still exist after you die;you just exist in other people."
 
"You're welcome. And okay. That is something I will always try to remember."

She pushes the bouquet into her face one more time, before laying it on the ground, then takes a cig out of her pack, lights it, and places it in between my lips.

I inhale.

The last ray of light disappears behind the horizon, as the sky starts to change from red to pink to navy blue.

"You ready?"

"Yeah."

The skeleton wearing a lavender floral pattern party dress with a hole on the hip sinks her teeth into my arm, as the rest of the circle puts down their drinks, and encloses in on me.

As the day ends, I remember.

i understand if you don't want to talk to me anymore.

my alarm clock goes off,
and i punch it in the face.

smashing my head
against a brick wall,
trying to breakthrough, and always failing.
blacking out,
and waking up
alone
saturated in a pool
of cold sweat
and partially coagulated blood.

a dented forehead.
a cracked skull
exposing the thought of
you in the front
of my mind.

fuck.

i repeat the process
over and over,
and over,and over,
and over,and over,
and over,and over,
and over,and over,
and over,and over,
and over,and over,
and over,and over
again with the same results.

you watching.
you crying
as i hit the floor.

negatively affecting you.

i'm passed out
while you're
on your knees
next to me,
cleaning my wounds with
your delicate tongue.

fuck.

i wake up.
alone.
and realize i am an equation:
(piece of shit squared multiplied by the square root of manipulative bastard equals motherfucker.)

i wake up.
alone.
and repeat the process again,

an observation about myself 2/2/14

i miss holding hands with someone else, more than having sex.

A Piece of Literature About Love

Someone told me, "Yo, Mv. We gettin' you some pussy tonight. There's these hot bitches comin' ova tonight to da crib. We hookin you up. WE GETTIN' YOU LAID! WE GETTIN' YOU SOME HOT ASS PUSSY! Y'all need it bro. You pick the bitch tonight. We'll make it happen. We got your back bro. We tight nigga."

Then came in and gave me a handshake, which turned into a hug, (but that someone would like me to clarify that it was "no homo, just a sign of respect.")

I wanted to say, "Thank you for the offer. I really appreciate you trying to get me some pussy, but I'm not really looking for that right now...no homo."

But instead nodded my head and said, "Yeah, totally. It's all about the pussy." then came in gave that someone a handshake and a hug (no homo.)

I stayed at da crib for another twenty minutes before I made up an excuse about my aunt needing help at the house with the laundry and dishes because she broke her foot the other week.

"Yeah man, shit sucks. Sorry maybe another night."

Someone says, "I feel you bro. HaHA, just means more PUSSY FO' US. AND HENNY! HAHA!" and smiled.

"You enjoy that. Peace dude"

"Later bro. I'll hit you up tomorrow."

We came in and gave each other a handshake, which turned into a shoulder bump, and then a hug, (for the last time, no homo.)    

Then I got into my car, drove home, and spent the night in my bedroom at my aunt's house alone, but not alone because I spent the rest of the night talking to someone else on the phone about all my failed sexual encounters, which was every sexual encounter. .

Malnourished

The only nourishment I wanted to consume was your love, and I know that will never happen.

The only thing to look forward to is starving to death.

Passing Time In-Between A Decision That WIll Lead To Either Happiness Or Suicide.

I stuck my fingers into the surface of the parking lot pavement in an attempt to reverse the orbit of the earth so I can go back to the four days I spent with you because my eyes are unable to make out the shape of the future without you in it.

Blurred with tears.

Of course it was a stupid idea, I am not special or strong, which is why my fingertips have been sanded down to bloody nubs reminding me of broken pencil tips.

And the tears fell into the wounds causing them to sting.

But the stings felt good. Deserved. Like someone who cuts themselves to relieve the pain.

I'm a piece of shit who has failed once again at something important.
I deserve worse.

I passed a dumpster and felt the urge to climb in, close the lid, and put a plastic bag over my head so I wouldn't have to trouble anyone with the clean up — yes, sometimes I can be considerate.

Instead, I checked my cellphone for any change in the screen but all I kept seeing was that stupid fucking clock and today's date.

(No new messages.)

I started punching the teeth out of each passing minute and collected them in an old shoe box that I will give to you when I'm ready to show you I can be patient.

Alone in the silence, I learned how to have conversations with myself.

I learned that I hate having conversations with myself.

Because I'm so fucking predictable.

And I'm causing us to both suffer from my predictability.

Whenever I have a knife in my hand, I think about slicing my tongue off, and afterwards, anyone I have ever known will form a line, come up, shake my hand, congratulate me on a job well done, and say, "Thank you. Seriously, you don't know how much this means to all of us. Thanks again."

Same shit happens whenever I use scissors.

I should have told you to wait instead of letting you drive off, I just felt bad because you said you had to do homework. And in retrospect, I know that sounds so fucking stupid.

I should have hugged you in my arms and locked our fingers together forever, if you agreed.

I should have never left that Waffle House parking lot to go back to Pennsylvania.

I should have never left you, which is why I use the dress you gave me as a blanket, and pretend like it's your body, wrapping it around my self before I go to sleep.

But like I said, I pretend: Your dress isn't you; it is an inanimate object unable to talk, kiss, or touch.

Unable to feel or give off warmth.

It doesn't get me hard.

Or love me.

Nor can I give it a back rub, and take it out to a Mexican/Caribbean restraint, after going shopping.

I'm sorry for leaving.

I don't have a religion, but I will dedicate myself to you because it feels right.

It feels good.

And good is a word that hasn't exist in my vocabulary.

I don't know what the common thread is because my thought processed is so scattered, illogical, and fucked up.

Making no sense.

You said you need time to think, which has never been a good sign in the past.

Usually means: OVER.

I fucked up, so I've been getting fucked up by not taking showers, and injecting ice water into the veins in my forehead to pass the time in-between a decision that will lead to either happiness or suicide.


But I will wait, punching seconds, collecting teeth, until my whole body goes numb.


 

Dream Description/Apology. (I Might Be Developing Crossdressing Tendencies.)

We were in bed half-clothed
with our legs locked together.
My face
was burried in
your shoulder notch,
while you skimmed
your fingertips
through the hairs
on the back of
my head.
I pulled away
to look at you,
tears start welling up
in the folds of
my eyes.
Your hand
raised, waving
back and forth
in front of
my face,
saying,
"No! Wait!, not yet."
before it wipes a tear
from of the corner of
my eye.
The tear
smeared on the outside of
your index finger.
Then you picked up a tube of mascara
off the bed stand,
and started applying it to
my eyes/eyelashes.
I didn't object.
Or try to stop you.
I just let it happen
because it seemed like
you knew what you
were doing.
"Boys/men don't know how
to cry because thevy've been
told not to their entire lives
because they're supposed
to be tough.
So fucking tough.
Even though you're
all a bunch of pussies,
yourself included."
You finished the last streak,
and kissed me on the forehead.
"Beautiful. You're ready to go
whenever you feel like it.
Your physical appearance
has to match
your inner appearance,
which is why
you have to look like a fucking mess
when you cry."
So I did.
I looked like a fucking mess.
Black watery lines started crisscrossing
across my cheeks down to my chin.
You drew abstract images with them.
I instanstly believed what you had to say
and felt better;
I didn't need a mirror
to see recovery.
"I should do your make-up more often.
I mean you have a lot to learn,
and I have a lot to teach.
Once you get this down,
we can move on to dresses,
lingerie, shoes, accessorizing,
and how to protect yourself from getting robbed
by kicking your assailent in the balls.
Plus, it'd be hot if we both made out in real glossy lipstick.
Hahaha"
We laughed, hugged, kissed,
and then i woke up in my bedroom alone
900 miles away from you
wondering if I am developing crossdressing tendencies.

"I'm sorry for being a shithead for the past week. I love you. And yeah, I'm in serious need of a makeover. How's Thursday sound?"

Romantic Relationships/Love

I learned everything I needed know after watching two alley cats fuck on the roof outside my bedroom window at 3am.

The screams were beautiful.
The screams sounded painful.