That consuming burn
in the middle of your heart,
constantly reminding you
of a mortal life
that was once so distant
but equally clear.

Works as gasoline
for all human beings
and it's called LOVE.

"red pants
burning bottom
soft cream prescription."

"pantalonasi rosii foc
dos colorat
prescriem crema."

"les pantalons rouges
quel bel cul ardent
douce creme prescrite."

I can no longer relate to the vengeful breakup songs on the radio.
But I can’t relate to the ones about love.
So what am I related to?
In the movies, when two people go spinning apart,
they always come back together in a crescendo
and a last kiss,
before the screen goes black.
But we didn’t get that.
I didn’t run in a baby blue dress to your door
at the same time that you opened it
and immediately everything was better.
We just continued to break,
and break,
and break.
Now we are ash and dust,
remnants of a lost love scattered to the wind.
We do not get a sparkling, happy ending.
Instead, you won’t accept the blame
and I’m trying my best to move on.
I guess it just wasn’t us.
You were not the answer to my question
and I did not belong in your melody.
I know there will never be a day that I can fit into your song.
I can live with that,
but can you?

I try to reconcile with my bones,
bargain with them to stop burning
as they touch the inside of my skin
embers falling into my bloodstream
as agonizing seconds pass
and I cry into the blood-stained
sheets on my childhood bed,
I ask my bones to stop twisting
into creatures I do not understand
seething with anger
that I cannot control
breathing hot coals around my veins
as I attempt to fight my own body,
even though I have always known
it is useless to try.
I ask my bones to give me a break
from the constant suffering they make me endure,
but they laugh at my pleading
and continue to reshape themselves
in the image of my darkest thoughts

You didn't love me
I was a burning building
And you were just looking
For something
To light your cigarette

The sun rose early
to regain her warmth
with a kiss from her lover

In a filed of sunflowers,
only one worshiped
the sun’s burning desire

If you wish to grow these
sunflowers within my blue walls

Know that I am a house
the sun never visits, but I have:

Vacant rooms
with burning lovers

Floors
with footprints of dead florists

Albums
with nostalgic photographs of her

A single bed
on my scorching roof

Stairs
that creak to the rhythm of my growing pain

Doors
with engraved haikus

Mirrors
that reflect her image in front of my blue walls

With his soul
With his mind, he goes deep
On a path to define what
Seems to be refined, but
steals all the time
But there’s a spark
In his eye, he’s got power
Large as life
And I drown in him
In his eyes and his scent
Under his hand I feel safe
Psyche blessed
And there in the dark neon
We connect
mind to mind
Soul to soul
Entwined