three parts.
I. It is within the mechanical workings of a heart that barely beats without a dose of reality and some complimentary caffeine, that she knows I am a good person.
Is this awkward for you? Because I can certainly play this game for the rest of my life.
I refuse to support the tight-lipped rally whenever you set foot into what you deem "entitlement"
and i REFUSE to stand-by and watch while innocent bystanders are the tokyo to your godzilla.
II. There are times when I would give everything just to see you walk across the street barefoot at 2am because you thought my house was yours. The knotty knuckles that would dole out the cherry-red popsicles in the summer heat of our south shore suburb; you knew you loved me, you just didn't know why.
If I could kiss you on the forehead and hold your hand for just one more second, i would give up ever thinking that I won't continue on when I expire. You won't ever realize how much someone you didn't really know means to you until you remember that blood will always be thicker than water.
III. Across a sea of tolls and turnpikes, I know that soon another fever will be close to breaking. I'll bring the wet rags if you remain in a state of opacity. I don't want to disappoint you with what I really look like when you open your eyes. I'll recite a book of dickinson's finest, while standing on a chair over the bed and ringing a cowbell with one hand.
This will recreate that time we spread out in a pasture of wheat and locked joints. "The end," that big thing looming ahead will come early for you, but not until I clear the white basin of red phlegm and plasma, and tell you that I'll be ok with a garden and your notebook.
Is this awkward for you? Because I can certainly play this game for the rest of my life.
I refuse to support the tight-lipped rally whenever you set foot into what you deem "entitlement"
and i REFUSE to stand-by and watch while innocent bystanders are the tokyo to your godzilla.
II. There are times when I would give everything just to see you walk across the street barefoot at 2am because you thought my house was yours. The knotty knuckles that would dole out the cherry-red popsicles in the summer heat of our south shore suburb; you knew you loved me, you just didn't know why.
If I could kiss you on the forehead and hold your hand for just one more second, i would give up ever thinking that I won't continue on when I expire. You won't ever realize how much someone you didn't really know means to you until you remember that blood will always be thicker than water.
III. Across a sea of tolls and turnpikes, I know that soon another fever will be close to breaking. I'll bring the wet rags if you remain in a state of opacity. I don't want to disappoint you with what I really look like when you open your eyes. I'll recite a book of dickinson's finest, while standing on a chair over the bed and ringing a cowbell with one hand.
This will recreate that time we spread out in a pasture of wheat and locked joints. "The end," that big thing looming ahead will come early for you, but not until I clear the white basin of red phlegm and plasma, and tell you that I'll be ok with a garden and your notebook.