Made My Day

Just got told I'm a buttload of good karma!

Ew, Gross

What the fuck is wrong with you?

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On your last day you called back to say goodbye. And you played me a rough but lovely piece on the grand piano in your nana abu's house. Despite the fights we'd fought before and the aggressive ways of our love, I knew I'd miss you.
Now seeing these pictures of shot glasses in your hands, shirtless girls in your lap and puffs of smoke around you breaks my heart. Pictures at all the bars and clubs, with the strobe lights and people doing obscene things to one another in the background. You're not even wearing a shirt and this girl dressed as an airhostess in a black miniskirt is clinging to you!
It's not that I want you or still love you like I did when I was a child, I just wish you didn't do these things.
Please don't do them.

She picked at her fingertips with most commonly found sharp objects. Needles, straightened-out paper clips, scissors. Teeth. She peeled away layers until the raw, red flesh began to show. Blood collected in the grooves on both sides of her nails. The newly revealed skin would be devoid of sensation. It was as if her fingertips refused to feel anything. She wasn't complaining; nothing was worth touching anyway. When her fingers healed and the layers melded together, old with the new, there were no fine lines on them. No fingerprints; but there wasn't need for those either because she'd already left her print on the canvases of his mind and skin. People obviously could not understand why she would subject herself to this pain but to her it made perfect sense.

Because the joy of love is nothing without the taste of pain.

She knew why so many people wanted to hurt themselves by taking sleeping pills or cutting someone's initial into their skin. She knew why they would resort to old disgusting habits. A friend of hers had told her about someone who had begun to eat dirt after her loss; she hadn't believed it until then. That's why we all want to do crazy things, she thought. Perhaps it is the only way to distinguish between love and all the other emotions and words frequently made synonymous with it. An irrational psychotic desire to suffer pain for love.

Because love isn't love at all until natures laws of equilibrium have resulted in the loss of it.

watermelon lolliPOP

I don't think you're much but I think of you so much.


Come back. For just one day. One hour even. One return into the past. One select moment.

And I'll bring the lollipops again if you promise to bring your lips.

I Am Happy

A free woman today.

She has sworn not to fight battles that pull her down.

...
From above we'd cut a slow eight shape
And much more

I'm folded in the bread you made
You're cold until my body bathes
You in the heat I kept aside
All these days.

I'm not afraid of anything even time
It'll eke away at everything
But we'll be fine
...

Tap On My Window Knock On My Door I Want To Make You Feel Beautiful

I'm cascading, tumbling downwards.

Into you, the pool, I am the water, in this fall.

You collect, collect, collect.

And we go on and on and on in concentric circles.

Producing ripples together.

In each others lives.