i can tell you the things I say to myself in the mirror
but is that love ?
The heart of stone can turn emerald
but what does it take for your emerald to disolve into gold
and your diamond ring is as significant as you smoking for a personality trait
but do i call that , progress
if I write to tell you a feeling and you react to a thought
I hate the places I've been , the boys I've been when doing this
in New York , in California , in the Mariners , by the beach
coffe shop dim-lighted and my fingertips
to paint you an image and you'll see allegories
caved holes and capillars
is this poetry?
because the synth run through your body like a riff you do with you tips
and the exctasy is given from an eclipse and our skin-sharing will be irrelvant
do we call that shaming ?
I prefer to live in illusion , you'll open the door for me , you'll ask me I'm waiting for someone tonight , you'll let me down in ways , seperating in coherence
and I'll grieve for a mistake of ours unhappened
becasue if I do , do knock on your door
It will be prevision
I 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑤ℎ𝑖𝑐ℎ 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑚𝑒 , 𝑑𝑖𝑑 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑤𝑟𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠
I 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑠 a 𝑛𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡 𝑃ℎ𝑙𝑜𝑥 𝑠𝑒𝑑𝑢𝑐𝑒𝑑 by 𝑎 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑥 in a home that planted daylilies
your white lie will have teeth , mine had canines
because the interplay of id, the ego of a trait
is Asclepius being epidemic
and my image is as if my sparrows and swans turned to thorns and Edward Teller's tale
is suffering a blasphemy if I do it to please you ?
If I prefer going out to save my sanity , is that selfishness ?
If my inner child is wounded , and you were focusing on my outside circles
would it heal me if I'm cut off world ?
Because I hate to hate you
not out of love
but out of defense
to not be bored and robbed
you're sadder but your dreads are dusty with study
and you night thing is a state of taste or a taste of state if your elbow is below you and your head is not ahead
because in two years in advance
I want you to see me
wave at me
because I'll wave back
and you'll feel as if we're becoming strangers
because it's all
in your head
acid leaking like tears on your pillow-bed
trenchancy or transparency would not matter
if you're mind is still unfixed
and the boy's you've been
can tell you
that you no longer care to fit.
