we won't see you breathing, we won't hear your words beneath the sheets.

an ocean before i tell you.

these little stones within our ships, and everything we keep beneath, and when i breathe you in, i'm drifting, and when i breathe you in, i'm sinking, these little souls within ourselves, and everything we lose between, and when i find you, i'm already broken, and when i find you, i'm beginning to think that i'm hoping, our two breaths, that they could span the ocean.

a little lonely with just these rhymes, the blood coursing through my biggest dreams, retract and recreate in the midnight of my bonds, the world has left you within. i smash my kaleidoscope down, to pavement and bite my knuckles and seventeen weeks away from safety, sifting through once colour.

I still feel you here.

a lack of words translates roughly: the blessed days, the living bliss. if i should never write the book, i guess i was buried with all my happinesses. if i should die without love, i guess i kept my throats in perfect posture.

i think you need to understand that the violence won't ever leave you. there's no great moment where in, a single spark of starry breath, the war retreats. the violence is as intimate and threshing as the lover, and as much as it needs you, you need it. you need it to ask the question, you need it to know the answer. you need it to crack your skull, you need it to remind you, your skull can always still crack. you need all the paths it remembers, all the ruin it has traced, all the cracks of light from the corner of eyes. all the quiet eyes of violence are no fools.

but the love inside of me is bigger than the hurt, and i've fought bigger battles than this. this, another rejection, is small, just another scar of colour, of note. i'll find a place for it, and laugh so stupidly at how, bent, it all was. i was a soldier of lust, and i lost the war. i already know the truth of it.

the love inside of me knows that i am surrounded by a force of hands, and smiles that question the same. the love inside of me is bigger than the mind, the violence, the lurker in dark places.

i'd give everything to just live. depression is raping me. but no one hears and no one can help.

soon as you leave me alone, i can see the hours for what they are, minutes that stretch and drag, bruising their knuckles on quiet eyes. i can start to say, that if we cleared all this away, we would have this place. if these fingers could drip through, unclasp the weight that hordes us, we could leave it to the light. but we only have ourselves, and we only have a handful of songs. music was meant to stop the war, friends are meant to stand alongside, but this place, this place is... i remain small, i will remain here.

i don't want to see pictures of cooked catfish right now, i don't want to know all the rules.

(It will be okay. Awkward and innocent.)

was bent and stooped, this ugliness that corrects me, but you said i was the odd sun, your only last light on perfect days.

Find us.

the absolute truth, without any sort of colour, no tenses to hide between? for all my adoration for love, i am inable, inept, absurdly broken. i know love is not everything, and it does not carry you to the end of the book, and i know that stating all of this, does not set up the justification for, all that i then seek for beneath.

but, this is... enough.

i only want to be better, not in a strength of self, or any kind of crown. i want to be better, for the world around me. something i can put no games to, my mother. she gets that colour in her eyes, like a sad puppy but with, hope. she's trying to obtain an ipad for my sister, for her 21st. i know this idea in itself doesn't seem like anything great, or special, simple greed. but, she places a half-torn docket on my desk, with that colour in her eyes, whispering, Enter this (code on the docket) and win her an ipad, please, please, please, please. and just, that goddamned colour. that hope just crushes me and makes me smile. i love my mother so greatly.

sometimes the cut through the skin, it's not a wound, but it stands up, becomes a string tugging at planets. a lover is an alien, a weapon is a smile, shark teeth. it all gets quite difficult, to stew in one state of conquest, because those wings are growing to defy the sun. you might even be brilliant. a kiss to shatter you.

you can tell. if things didn't change, think of where you'd be. i mean, to get truly mindfucked, you wouldn't even exist, because your parents never grew up, they never met; nothing would exist, without a starting point, and an ending point, and the change between. you wouldn't have met any of your friends, or crushed any of your hearts, or just, given into the absolute rapture of so many moments.

you should only look back at things in happiness, never for want of. every new change is a new spark, a new chance, a new hope; a new fight, a new test, a new mark of courage.

if i don't obey the rules, the conversations cracks, like a star with the tongue cut out. the light exists, the heart bears a socket, but these two things, they won't ever meet. they sprint like greygrounds, one to a bullet between, the other to a tyrant court, glorious spluttering throne of better eyes. though the spark returns to the gun, the catcher to the crown.

I am speaking (stop, Wait, I have to consult the notes that govern me...)
I am yelling (but, i am wrong, i must let it, i must let it...)
I am fucking writhing (you accurate mess.)