Get up, get out, get away from these liars
'Cause they don't get your soul or your fire.
Take my hand, knot your fingers through mine
And we'll walk from this dark room for the last time.

Because Some Things Don't Go Away

This ever-changing number is a symbol of our growth. It is God's method of reinforcing the constant inconsistency of life.
Tomorrow after today and later after now. Some things are difficult to escape from. An expensive habit that leads to the door of an old friend. An addictive drug.
Or just the process of accepting ourselves.

Bent needles only stitch broken chains. Uneven patterned paisleys with purple Anchor.

And you will find yourself flailing your arms wildly and kicking violently in a pool that you once proudly filled. You will also see the people peering from above, shaking their heads, watching you sink and saying to each other they didn't want to waste their breath. On you.
So the sinking will continue for a while, then cease.
The ever-changing number will stop changing.

The Artists

We travel. You are near, with your monsoon love. With your gusts of affection, your showers of adoration. Gods and goddesses come through. A teacher and a student. Naivety comes through like the strand of your hair falling into your eye. One Non-grainy Canson sheet after another. Grape vine after grape vine. We paint. Oils and water. Density and weightlessness together in the same works of art. Paint our minds and paint our souls. Cages of skin and blood and veins opened to set free everything. Charcoal ideas and pencil inspiration.
Two paintings but only one masterpiece.

And maybe I shouldn't have.

What lights up London, Paris and Tokyo?

Who walks upon their neon-lit pavements?

What magazines do passengers in whirring subway trains read?

How many people watch their dreams dissolve in these Big Cities?

How many people find Love there?

Who lives life like we never will?

Poem

My mind will become like an open book,
Where the chains of thought will all unhook.
The words are black, The pages are white.
Gray shall find his place soon beside.

One question still, I don't exactly know,
Will he want to read all he's read before?

Turn

The lazy June evening sun awaits.
Tiptoeing across sandstone pavements and grass that's ever so cool. Heat clings to skin like a mask and we stir things up. It is summer.
Pools of cold water offer refuge to our flammable hearts and we spiral deep into them. But when we come out, fighting the weight of the water, we find ourselves dyed in hues of purple and turqoise and magenta.
When we stand before each other, recognition fails to appear in our eyes.

His Heart?

There is a heart beneath layers of skin. There is a heart behind his habits, his behavior. A heart maybe not of gold, but silver so pure and so very soft. This heart that keeps him alive, keeps her alive too. It's the same heart that beat when he wrote her fifty songs for their fifty days. And he lives for her almond-scented skin. He lives for her sound.
He's seen the world and the world's seen him.
I write this because I know he will never read it. He's far away.
In my eyes he's forever blue.

Plans

It's five minutes past twelve and your phone rings. We're both so bored and unable to sleep. Besides it's summer, we need this. Thirty minutes to get ready and we're out. I can't believe I'm finally going to do this. Stuff the keys in my pocket and head out the kitchen door. Be extra careful to walk slow, don't want to wake them up.
It's not funny. Have you ever tried jumping over a six feet high wall, bitch? I think not.
So anyway, where are we going? Do you know? I don't. We're supposed to remember this night for a long time. No pressure though.
This car smells like...Mangoes? We're at the park before we know it but the gates are closed. Damn, did I have to wear skinny pants? I can't climb over this fence and you're laughing again. Did you just step in a cactus and get pricked all over your pretty legs, darling? It's dark except for the single light out on the road. It filters through the gaps in the leaves, casting thousands of slivered beams upon us. Bubbles? You have got to be kidding me! Do you really carry those around with you or did you bring them specially because tonight is supposed to be like the movies? Look at that brilliant sky and you'll soon know you've seen nothing like it. Each star sparkles stronger, a little more fiercely as it hangs between blackness. No, I'm not being cliched, it's like this every night, you just haven't been noticing.
You want to see your friends and I want to see mine but we're too lazy so we're going to stop at this tiny store and get ourselves something to drink. Orange juice? Fuck you. But you brought ice lollies so it's all cool. Mine is dripping all over my kameez and you're licking your fingers clean. It's actually thirty five degrees out here. We have strawberry stained lips now. That'd look sexy in pictures. Lucky for us though, 'cause I brought a camera, baby cakes.
Did we waste so much time already? Damn.
You're swearing really loud. I think your eyelash went into your eye. Stupid you. Now I'm telling jokes that really aren't funny but you're still doubling over and laughing like you're crazy. You're singing songs from the 60s and you sound actually very beautiful. We should sing together, you and I. We could call ourselves The You and I. That'd be so absolutely retarded and obvious.
I'm trying to keep you awake by tickling you. Maybe you just keep falling over onto my shoulder to annoy me. Either way, stop it. Fuck. The stars are disappearing already! But we get to watch morning happen.
Look, it's not the rise of the sun, but the change of sky.