She made threats to slit my throat while waiting for the number 8 bus. I can't remember the color of her eyes, but the smell of her breath reminded me of cotton candy left out in the sun. Soft touch on rough surface, this skin is mine to protect. She made threats to forget me while waiting for the number 8 bus. I waited for her to touch my face, but nothing became of her hollow threats, they fell upon deaf ears.
She slit my throat while waiting for the number 8 bus. I didn't wait for her to find my sweet spot. I stood behind myself and watched the color of her eyes turn black. Her skin became cold and my heart became numb. I'm nothing without her to make me feel alive. Her threats kept me even, made me aware. I will not survive without her, so I watch her eat cotton candy and make threats at the number 8 bus stop.

To the one who dates her next..
She has rough nights, and whether she tells you to sleep or not.. Please stay up with her... Just in case she needs you. But... She’s miss independent she will rarely ever ask for help, still reassure her you’re always there, and make sure you are always there. Whether she calls on you or not, but don't get mad if she doesn't... That's just her. She has her moments when insecurities break through, she will tell you to run, or as will begin to speak negativity of herself... it breaks my heart, throughout the years I've known her.. She's always been her worst critic. She may try to push you away, don't be offended.. She just doesn't like having people too close, but even with her protesting. You stay there and support her, even if she doesn't let you in at that moment.. If she gets excited about something, don't claim it is silly and push it off... It brings her joy, ask her by or what it is. Kiss her, even when she's sick... And sing with her, even if you're sick, or just can't sing.... Sing with her it will make her smile.  If she wants to watch a movie, hold her close and cuddle with her during the movie, even if it's a kids movies, you watch it with her. She's never really been to fond at video games, so if she says no.. Don't be mad. Always listen to what she has to say, let her know how appealing her mind is.. And just know. Her mind is so intriguing. Of she goes off on tangents or begins to talk, listen, and let her.. Often she talks about why she finds interesting or it's something she cares about. When it comes to studying she won’t always replay, though sometimes when she is procrastinating you will. If she texts you one time, and then next time doesn't don't take it personally.  She’s just busy with school work, she's dedicated to her college, to her dream.. She wasn't comfortable with her body when we were together, so when you're together, she may want the lights off... Say yes, make sure she's comfortable, ALWAYS make sure she's comfortable.  Oh, sometimes, rarely, she will grow jealous... Those lovely green eyes will show it.. Her eyes are a key, eyes show it all... Reassure her that you love her too. On that note, make sure she knows that you love her, even with her flaws... and on her bad nights. If you can’t, leave. There will be nights she craves to drink.. She never really drinks much.. Mayr a shot... But if she happens to intake too much, Make sure she gets plenty of water and Advil. Be sure she drinks all the water or so she won't as miserable in the morning. Remember the date you asked her to be yours, that's an important date, you should see it that way because she gave you the joy of being together, even if you think it's silly... Tell her happy anniversary. Remember how she likes her coffee and just how sweet she likes it. Attempt to remember all the little details she lets you know, because they make up her... They make her the lovely lass she is. So if she mentions her favorite flower is the one you just drove by? Document that it is a Tiger Lily, or why her favorite song lyric pulls at her heart.. Speaking of what makes her who she is... Ask about her childhood, her memories... They molded her to who she is, ask about her background even if she tells you a story you think is boring, you cherish it, because It is a piece of her... When she’s having an anxiety attack wrap her up in your arms, and just ask her if she wants to talk.. Even if she doesn't want to talk about the cause of the attack.. Talk about anything, whatever her heart desires. If you can’t treat her like royalty, let someone else... She isn't a princess... She's a queen. She deserves the world, and you need to give that to her.. Losing her is a pain you will never shake. Your world will come crashing down and it's hard to move on... But if it comes to a point where she is happier with someone else, you let her go... I'm not saying don't fight for her, but if you sand in the way if her happiness, step aside. Because her happiness means an immense amount... Give her everything, give her smiles, funny jokes, adventures, give her gifts even though she protests, give her fun dates, relaxed dates... Give her love. Love... Tell her you love her, even when she doesn't say it back, even when she doesn't know if she loves you... Because if you do, let her know.. To her future partner... Take care of her, please... Make her happy.. Show her the purest love that I couldn't offer. She deserves the world.. And just know, whoever you are... You are one lucky individual. You're so ******* lucky...

None of clothes are right and so I am not human. Only cold winds and crazed neon. I sometimes shine a flashlight under my fingers to remind myself of my bones. But they're as breathlike and photonic as the plastic tears I will never be given the right to have.

We know that **** ain't real.

How brittle a (we) can be. What sound is my voice allowed to have other than the violent dance of glass on concrete? My happiness always hangs from the end of a baseball bat.

And that's the way things are.

Of course, my mantras are just idolatry or faggotry. Systems of oppressive heat and chemical equations either pat me on the back or slap me across the face and I can never quite seem to catch my breath or feel an embrace, not really.

My forehead burned, but I closed my eyes.

How heavy must my skin and eyelashes and all the things that encase me, engender me, hang about me before I can finally count myself beloved? The question is as impossible as my own humanity, and my existence is not so self-evident that kiwis taste like queer fruits. So until smiles lose their tartness and I can breathe at last, *******.

I want all of you.
I want your eyes
and the memories
that hold their hand,
and shushes it so that,
though it's presence is
known and acknowledged,
it is silenced and calm.
I want your smile
that shines the walkway
down your throat,
past your lungs,
and straight to your core.
I want your skin
and the paintings on them,
paintings of days with no sunlight
and straight lines of red.
I want your love.
Every moment of joy and pain
and sorrow and guilt, I want.
I want every goodmorning,
after a night's worth of goodnight.
I want the fear of saying goodbye to you;
knowing that at any moment,
the pit would find it's way back
home in my stomach,
as you're gasping for your last taste
of sweet, sweet air.
I want your love.