How come that blood

The sun hangs up there and it doesn't want to fall. days seem longer, they drag and wilt awaiting our kiss dizzy summer. I have trouble getting to sleep. my mood sharpens or fades depending on the music i play, the books i read, the photos my eyes show me. maybe it all depends on if she loves or not - misses me or not - or.. at all.

shadows appear on walls and familiar faces loving and lying and twice in between, not enough. I'm fixing us something to eat, I'm using a grill because where there's smoke there's fire. drinking wine and waiting for midnight as if something will change. but, no pumpkin, no white horse, no death. not yet.

i think of how much I'm hating the word "sustainable" lately.

I breath in ,,,, one, two, three, and out............ four, five, six.

driving home past road kill and garbage trucks. idling slow at red lights next to pretty girls on cell phones text fucking their lovers. I care about the earth and our sustainability. I do. I drink water from taps, I apply even pressure to cuts and scraps. I kiss bruises. I just don't use the word "sustainable" as it applies to food or textiles or the rubber garden hose coiled up like a snake.

Broken when I bought it

1. Making The Rules:
She is talking to me about mistakes and regrets.
And I don't think of them as one in the same. Everyone makes mistakes and regret is just the possible result of such mistake. Since mistakes are inevitable and unavoidable - Human. I ask her. "Doesn't that make regret just an illusion?" Isn't it more a feeling of guilt based on the making of a poor decision.
"But don't' you feel guilty or regret for anything ?" she asks. " "I don't"
Simply I chose to learn from mistakes with the knowing I will most likely make more. The real lesson is what have I learned? Just because mistakes are bound to be made, it doesn't make for an excuse to knowingly engage in something that is bad for you.

2. Giving Me A Try:
Are you the type of person to try anything once? Can you talk-yourself into believing in fate, that life is to short, that this could be your one and only chance. Do we have second chances?.
What if I miss the chance to touch her, to feel her, to know her, to love her.
She tells me there are no second chances.
I say " In another life then. That is where I will get to love you, to keep you." She half believes me, I can tell. She is the kind of person to try anything once.

3. I Like The Way You Are:
No one is innocent. Some people are kinder than others, but overall no one is much more special than anyone else. She tells me " You're not perfect and hardly as brilliant as you might think."
Once you realize this the burden of perfection is lifted. I asked her does she often dream of being with someone else other than me. "In bed?, of course and don't say you don't."
When she is feeling fragile she asks me if I think she is bad. If I think her thoughts are bad. That I don't understand how bad she is. This is really confession. A story for a story. Stories aren't bad. Thoughts aren't bad. I don't think in general anyone is really that bad. Forgivness. I can give her. I can make it okay again. I can open and close scars. "I can't put you back together, but when you are scared I can help you go to sleep"she tells me she liked it when her step-father used to touch her. She asked me if it was bad that she liked it. That nothing ever went to far, just he touched her, but she wished for more. In her room she would orgasm thinking about this. Sometimes she still did. It was dark and rainy out. She likes the lights off. I don't mind. Regret, mistakes, guilt. I tell her it doesn't fall into place there. It falls into place here.. and I point to her head, then trace my finger down to her breast, I run my hand over her nipple. It falls into place, here.. and I reach between her legs. "Is this how you felt? tell me, Is this how you feel?"
When she calls me Daddy, is that bad?

4. Dear xxxxx:
I am not perfect and not always nice. But I do learn, I do stumble, and I do, you know I do. I do fall. I move on, but I am not any less for having wanted to stay, not any less for the wanting something different. not now not ever. For the wait. For the every things we can not have. I am not asking. I am taking. I am stealing you, I have stolen you. I have written you alive and dead and here and there and for LIKE EVER.
I know that no-one is better than me and that is not ego. It is fact. Take all your new and improved versions of me. Those special snow-flakes. They melt like you- on my tongue. I won't burden you with you having to lie or impose vast expectations. Only that what you give me. What you give to me. Let it be fucking real. I will trust, until you show me different. until your actions say otherwise. Still even then, after goodbyes, after all or nothings and the little suicide attempts at closure. I will remember you fondly, knowing you are just like everyone else. Except. You are no longer in my world.