the devil between us

be careful what you wish for, she told me. and i said. yeah, be careful. and she said, yeah, be good. i tried not worry about the pretty things, about the photographs, words and bite marks. i don't want to be fake, I do this with the intention of getting you into bed.

I want to kiss and fuck you there. no, I wish. I wish to put everything inside you. my fingers, my dick, my come, my memories, my lust, my love, my lies, my anger, my pain, my birth, my death, my happiness.
I want study your black and blue. I want to smooth out the lines and fall between the silences. I want to know if you still think about me sometimes. am i the poison in your blood
am i that bruise? 

Darlin' you'll be the ruin of me

my paper heart:

I carried a legal-pad in my backpack, striking yellow paper. It was the sun and star to beautiful to pervert with words. My spastic cursive turning beauty to chaos. I hated my language for ruining the silence of such delicate pages. The right words elusive or never enough. It's as simple as a drawn heart.

I scribbled my signature over and over in the margins.
In the middle of the page her name. mine. They looked good next to each other.
I started a letter:
Dear you,
will you ever notice me?

Wisdom teeth:

there was a girl in class who never spoke. she was pretty and shy and her hair was golden curls. You could tell she didn't like people much. I think she was scared. I think i fell for her mystery. I think she became and instant muse for me. She could talk I'm sure of it, she just never did.
the teacher called on her and she would open her mouth but nothing came out. An uncomfortable silence. In the seat directly behind her, I would hold my breath. Minutes seemed like hours seemed like days, and the teacher waited.
" Okay, maybe tomorrow?"
finally I would breathe.

Our favorite record skips:

Do you carry around ghosts? I wonder are you anything like me. Do your wisdom teeth hurt? What is the sweetest thing you've ever tasted? I carry around ghosts, I talk to them. If i could get you to say something. If i could hear your voice. Is it husky like girls who work in offices or on t.v.? Is it soft and slight like a bee? Here is my phone number. show me where you keep your honey. Don't be afraid to call or I could call you if it's easier. You don't have to write me back. Not words anyway, just numbers. I'll trade you poetry for math.
Are you good at math? count up the letters in our first names, subtract 2 and add one. If it's an even number then we were meant to be lovers, if it's odd, lovers then enemies. do you like to have your fate decided?

Fly:

Dear you,
I saw you take one of my birds home. Did you look inside? Did it make you think of me? I am the boy who sits behind you. I am silent too. Will you keep it in your room? did you know it was all for you? the birds, the notes, were all for you. this is for you.
"okay, maybe tomorrow?
let me breathe.

I folded notes into yellow paper cranes. It's something I do with letters never sent. feelings kept inside with sharp edges folded and tucked. write, fold, fly.
I left them in all my classes, everyday, on desks, in the lunch room, on the bus, I hung them in trees. hundreds maybe thousands set free. questions with no answers. my paper heart has wings. I am the boy who sits behind you. I want us to unfold. read me. ruin me for all others.

photo:
yyellowbird

Everything is.....

When it comes to love, there are a million theories to explain it. But when it comes to love stories, things are simpler. A love story can never be about full possession. The happy marriage, the requited love, the desire that never dims - these are lucky eventualities, but they aren't love stories. Love stories depend on disappointment, on unequal births and feuding families, on matrimonial boredom and at least one cold heart. Love stories, nearly without exception, give love a bad name.
We value love not because it's stronger than death, but because it's weaker. Say what you want about love: death will finish it. You will not go on loving in the grave, not in any physical way that will at all resemble love as we know it on earth. The perishable nature of love is what gives love its profound importance in our lives. If it were endless, if it were on tap, love wouldn't hit us the way it does.
-Jeffrey Eugenides

So when you think it could be heart break

i like my body when it is with your
body. It is so quite new a thing.
Muscles better and nerves more.
i like your body. i like what it does,
i like its hows. i like to feel the spine
of your body and its bones, and the trembling
-firm-smooth ness and which i will
again and again and again
kiss, i like kissing this and that of you,
i like, slowly stroking the, shocking fuzz
of your electric fur, and what-is-it comes
over parting flesh . . . . And eyes big love-crumbs,

and possibly i like the thrill

of under me you so quite new

-ee cummings

I don't understand the human heart.
Only pain makes it grow stronger.
Only sorrow makes it kind.
Contentment makes it wither,
and joy seems to build walls around it.
The heart is perverse,
and it is cruel,
I hate the heart and it
seems to hate
me