All night, all morning.

I spent all last night, thinking about nothing but you.
I spent all morning thinking of something to say.
I spent all afternoon wishing you were here.
Now its night again and I'm still at a loss for words.

Everything that comes to mind are little things I say nothing of.
White knuckles and soft skin, quiet breaths and simple smiles.
Soft lips and soft touch, that silky taste on the edge of your lips.
Wild eyes and pleasing shape, oh I wish you were here tonight.

If I could I'd write a thousand songs and sing them to the world.
I'd sing my love out to the stars and anyone who's listening.
I'd sing the world to sleep for you.
Just sing and sing and sing about you.

I'd call you every night, if I only had the chance.

Just because...

All day long you dance through my mind, fleeting smiles and flickering pecks on the cheek are all that consume my thoughts in a passing moment. Given more attention, it blossoms into intimately casual moments lacking in physical caress which seems to shine through as a definitive peice of something I consider the best. Conversations that are well remembered, but well forgotten all at once linger at the edge of every memory with you. No note or passage I write could ever express the way you overwhelm me with your sincerety and honesty.
No rose beneath your pillow could express the intimacy I share with you in even the least intimate of moments. I could kiss you a thousand times, lay with you for hours, hold you tightly in my arms, and even give you flowers. Still, it would not hold a candle to the overpowering grip you have on my emotions. The way you can make so little always feel like so much in all the right ways. The way we share stupid little salts and silly little vinegars between the both of us which makes some of the dryer moments feel a little bit more hopeful.

I only wish I had more ways to tell you I love you, because saying I love you just doesn't seem like enough.

A jolt, like waking, but with inspiration.

Lurching from dreams filled with parted lips and the electric touch of palm to cheek I come to put a small few thoughts in my mind to rest. If I don't, I won't sleep.

"Don't ever leave me," the faint voice whispers in his ear as he focuses on the electric surge beneath his finger tips as she presses her skin against his and urges to feel him against her. Opening his eyes, he gazed across the table to where his hand softly brushed her cheek, those slightly parted lips awaiting an answer as she leaned forwards, face pressed against his hand.

Nope, didn't come out how I dreamed it. Back to work...working sleeping!
Can't wait, just writing this makes me sleepy again...

Insomniac

Long hours staring at the ceiling, thoughts scattered, unappealing.
Words are seen but remain unread no matter how many times you peruse the manuscript.
What is thought, conciousness, alert, aware, waking, sleeping.
What are dreams?
Is there a such thing as a break from reality? The opportunity to truly delve into ones thoughts and invade your own personal space by seeing things in ways that excite and calm you all at once?

Shaded corners and shifting colors, movements that are unmoving as shapes dance through your mind and eyes, but not your room. Old friends are your enemies as the strangers creep through the darkness encroaching your faded vision.
There is no light, there is no hope, there is only nothing with which to see with and nothing for which to see. There is but darkness and memories to plague your every moment as you float in a semi-living trance.
You are not dead but you are not alive. What are you? Where are you? Not here, somewhere else while remaining in your head. Dreaming without dreaming. Resting without feeling rested.

A shadow of your former self, you drift emptily through places you once knew, and recognize nothing.
A shadow of your former self, you drift emptily by people you once knew, and recognize no one.
A shadow of your former self, you drift and breath, but you are not breathing the air your once did.
You are but a shadow of your former self, an empty shell which looks like you, but is not you.

Bitter regret, hateful remorse, absolute ecstasy, hope, love. these are things you no longer can recognize within your own carapace. It simply carries the emotion of emptiness. It simply is.

I simply am. You simply are. We simply continue to be.

So night light, night light, only thing awake tonight, I wish I may wish I might have a little dream tonight.
Kiss me softly, eyelids closed, and wish me fondly on my way.
Night light, night light, don't leave me awake tonight. Flicker...flicker...flicker...fade...now my night light sleeps...

But still I'm awake.

Liquid Senility Courses Through Your Veins.

Lets see exactly what you're made of, unwind that mystery which hides beneath your smile.
I want to know you and what makes you act like that. What went wrong and what went right and why can't we just be fine?
I want to be better but I'm not sure I can. How do I know I'm not like you?

Insert clever title here

Broken battered bruised and worn
shattered windows in my room
Oh the way it makes me swoon
To be totally destroyed by you

random

Spontaneity on Conformity

Preformed in spoken word

What is a part of me that is not me but something created through a composite of reality you can't strain away from the conformity of internal gratitude that only me could ever hope to learn to see because everythings a part of me until I change.
Stop looking at the kerouac that tells you all the ways to act to be a part of something that is not a part of everything you see around you. The norm is not the norm, its a concept that simply excludes all things that scare the simple minded fools who can not see that individuality is not the curse, but the cure.
In my abnormality of walking callousness and jealously slated remarks of questionable truth that you can see it shine through that only me could be the person you most certainly could come to love if it weren't for the normality that grips you greedily and draws you away from all that makes you unique.
Conform you shall to nothing more than to conform yourself to no one elses views but those you delve into far enough to understand they hold some kind of value to you or the ones you love. Being a part of something everyone else is does not make you a follower or conformist, only a believer and supporter so do not allow your overgrown pride to tell you otherwise and instead conform yourself to the idea of not conforming.
Of casting out beliefs and becoming something only those with closed minds and open mouths can ever hope to find a common ground in during any kind of shallow conversation which echoes depth. To cast out your ability to believe in something regardless of who else believes it is to cast out your ability to love because someone else shall love them as well, and then to love them would be to conform to the other.
Enjoy your simple conformity while I go out and discover me and all the quirky similarities I don't share with those who are unlike me. You'll know where to find me, walking callously while slating jealous remarks at those who are even more unique than the unique person I find as me.


End.

Because it was 5am, I hadn't slept, and I felt inspired.

When I Get Home...

You're so dead, yea you're so dead when I get home.
Want to know why? Oh don't you wish you knew why.
You should always have known every thought. I screamed them out with every smile and every little thought, so wild.
So keep believing what you'll keep preaching to the senseless crowd that listens listlessly. You'll practice what you want, but not what you preach.
You're oh so dead when I get home. Baby, dead when I come home.
Can you share that smile once more? Share it with those fickle folks that watch you blankly, does their approval mean that much to you?
Dead dead dead. You're so dead to me when I get home.

Get out, get out, get out of my car. I don't want to see you smile my way again.
Get out, get out, get the fuck out of my car. Take your words and don't look back.
You're so dead to me. I'm going home.

Its on fire...my empire...

Hazy eyes, blurry vision, broken thoughts and disrupted memories.
Where, when, how, who, what, why?
Answer my questions, give me something so I can go.
Moon shaded, clouds in sky, winter weather leaks through the walls and fills the house I live in.

I'll dream of you tonight.

The first thing he said...

As I walked through the door, "Make sure you're using protection."
Protection from what? The world is harsh, and my heart is gone. My body is whole and my soul is crippled. What is there left to protect? Nothing for me, why protect myself when I've left everything so open for so long?
Protect her? Protect her from what? The pain of heartbreak, the pain of loss? Headaches and confusion, and headbutt moments? Protect her from myself?
No, there is no need. I promise you its all alright. Clean, happy, and fully-fulfilled. Naps, and meals, and crazy driving. Showing up late and leaving early and getting back on time. A million thoughts and memories which swirl, what's wrong with that?
Do I need to protect myself from this happiness?

And then...

He breaths, mist rising off his lips. The wintery smoke of a warm breath against the air, rising off his lips like the aftershot of a pistol on a windless day. Jacket wrapped around him, he shivers happily in the bleak night of this dark time. Humming quietly, his lips vibrating a little when they part for a moment, releasing another waft of smokey air. His eyes are closed, his face softly embracing the fleeting warmth of his own breath as it caresses his face on its endless flight towards the atmosphere. He has no name and no voice. He has no life and no love. He has no face and no identity. Yet, he is.
And then it was wonderful.
His eyes opened and the world opened before him. Green eyes embracing the world around him, white clasing against brown and an occasional splash of green smiling back from evergreens in the distance. The sky, sunless and cloudy, mirrored the earth, expanding in every direction without definition, save the leafless trees and the immortal evergreens. His last breath spirals upwards, a large break between the puffs as he holds onto the breath he has already. Unable to move, unable to inhale or exhale, he simply stares at the wilderness around him. Is this his world? Where he will be forever? How had he come to be here and how would he leave?
But then it didn't matter.
He was where he was, with who he was, for what its worth. Happiness would come to the one who accepted what they had, and he would accept this world before him. Was he lonely? Was he dead? Alive? Hungry? He didn't know, but he was happy.
And then it was over.
Once more, he closed his eyes, began to breath once more, smoky tendrils extending from his nostrils as he closed his mouth to keep his tongue from drying in the chilly breeze which began to swirl around him. His world darkened and he was nothing once again.

Love is...

Love is finding beauty in all the wrong places. Love is finding humor in the darkest of hours.
Love is smiling when the day is done. Love is laughing when you do something stupid.
Love is giving someone everything you have, and scared to hell what they'll do with you.
Love is resignation. Love is acceptance. Love is understanding. Love is to grin and bear it.
Love is fighting, full of difference, hopelessly wordless, and senselessly understood.
Love is visiting someone when they're sick. Love is liking in others what you hate in yourself.
Love is insightful, loud, quiet, quick to listen, and quick to speak.
Love is the answer to all your questions. Love is what kills you before you die.
Love is from everyone. Love is something only one person can give you.
Love is found every day. Love is only found once in your life.

Love is.