It was syntax
killing a kiss.
You play with a button.

You press a rose,
between the lips,
in black and white.

A nerve quivers
from head to toe.
Where the stars go when you cry.

The plot of dirt has vines growing
But the rain drowns them again.
In the water, the leaves dance lazily,

waving, the pool floods over the broken
sidewalk, kissing my feet
I rush through.

The sky gives me a coat of mist
And I hug myself tighter
Wishing I could sleep.

I don't know who I am
anymore

feeling empty
like something's missing

I'm just another zombie
among the streets

walking
waiting
endlessly

i

feel          so          ­   high

in             the            sky

like             a            cloud

fading in

fading out

i'm
      f
       a
         l
          l
           i
            n
             g  
               down
                      
               again

what am I supposed to believe in?
the heartless truth
or these blissful lies?

I'm just another dreamer
among the streets

wishing
waiting
endlessly

we fly
through dead streets,
dancing in darkness.

we laugh
under broken street lamps
singing a ***** tune

I glance
at his eyes and shiver - my heart!
flashing like fireworks

we make our own light

I empty my mind in you
I whisper my sorrow in your ear,
make you think it's poetry

Written words in pain yet plain
You would like to know but no
In protest with truth you are
You accept lies from others,
put them in your gigantic mason jar

I can't condone myself
for the things I said
But emotions don't hang well with me
Yet you still want more of my sensuality

Lusting without trust
No feelings here that are similar to love
But still, you stay and worship me at night
You want to get inside my head
I don't like that idea let's just go to bed

How hard is it,
To pick them out,
Together.

I mean they specifically come in pairs,
Two, dos, zwei, deux,
Trapped together by plastic handcuffs.

Pairs,
Like pairs of binocular eyes,
Like a pair of hearing aids,
Like barbeque chicken wings,
Like that obnoxious aunt and uncle.

Are you a slob?
Is your closet a mess?
You’re definitely a person who leaves hair in the drain.

Why do they cease to match,
Is it to purposely annoy me,
While I’m waiting for this **** bus,
which was an hour late,
two hours ago.

One is green like it was picked from a nose,
One is orange,
Bright
Orange.
You had to pick the most clashing colors, right?

And I can see them,
Right there, poking out of your
Adidas flats.

They taunt me,
Regard my shoes with noses turned up,

Play tennis with my emotions,
And twist my brain like a contortionist.

Were you in a rush this morning,
That you totally forgot to look for a pair,
An ACTUAL pair?!
There were absolutely none?!

Is it wrong that I’m judging you right now,
Or that I definitely would not want to have a conversation,
Let alone sit next to you.

Socks are supposed to match,
That’s how they’re made,
Knitted, sewn, and colored soulmates,
S-o came along and bonded with c-k-s,
See, it’s chemistry.