glance: i am not going to be sappy i am not going to be sappy
stare: sappy is synthetic fabric — flimsy not-blue-enough wal-mart sweater that consumes man's ribs. sappy is phantasmagoria — the favorite utensil of the fallen star. sappy is coarse — just like we.
look: we cannot unite in shakespearean love. we are drawn apart by the moon and pulled apart by the sun. there are still rivers falling. i cannot repair this dam with my skeletal palms. you are foreign. you don't want autochthonous love. the temple has crumpled. the foundation is tremulous — as is i.
gaze: there is no more. the banks have been removed. the blue and green have fallen off the face. the lungs are starving. the stomach screams. the heart is dry. the tongue is vague the brain is still there — but it's pulled turned twisted. i chant at the hollowness. we are okay. the void is not satisfied.
eyes: we are none.
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lol he and i broke up and i wrote six poems in a span of 90 minutes about him and i (a new record)
