everything you touch will
live forever
a house on a hill
or something equally familiar
a facade with hidden
but deep, blemishes
a brush of your hand
fixes the cracks
in the dusty windows
in the intricate tiles
the vines leeching the walls
they hide the delicate patterns
they cling together
innumerable
twisting and weaving
an everlasting embrace
it never breaks

him

it could be the blending
of hazel to blue
encased in a dark circle
the look they give
or the soul within the
small brown flecks

it could be the soft
cheek in the contours
or a curl to one side
the line so natural

it could be fingertips
creating electricfying warmth

or nothing simple words
can capture
at all

concentration eludes and
everything seems tinted
in a depressing state
of grey
and on the witching hour
jealous and angry and white hot
the beasts come out
to play

O, the blood and the treasure
And then losing it all
The time that we wasted
And the place where we fall

Will we wake in the morning
And know what it was all for?
Up in our bedroom after the war.

fuck the new year

it doesn't matter how many times i try
it is never a fresh start
ever

everything happens over and over
love, lies, drugs, sex, cigarettes,
bullies & mean girls

i hate all of it
i want to feel ok
i want to be normal