Bring your best friend with you. Together you will convince the brilliant to ponder, not act.

I was just lying there- beyond all recognition or dignity; roadkill, a dog perhaps, remnants of fur, until you stumbled upon my silently decaying form. At first you were just staring at me hoping my ugly little legs would move, hoping my ugly little eyes would open up and notice you there.

But there you were. Saw me. Held me. Appeared to me. Appreciated me.

Unaffected by the gore.
You were the only one who has ever saved me
for and from my darkest of days.
It was oddly civilized.

Godfuckingdammityes.

I love you. I love you so much,
I feel like I’m dying.

And love is the greatest treasure of them all.
It can amplify your total unfitness.
After all, the most saught treasure in the universe should have the kind of turbulence to exaggerate every vulnerability you possess.

I watch you, strangely fascinated by your surrendered humanity. This is a place for a masterpiece. Together, we are every poem that has ever deserved to be written. We are each our own sideshow; You’re as much a freak as I am. We are damned to share this earth bound epiphany. We are one another’s deepest truth. We are wanderers whether or not we want to be. Ancient mariners with a horror story to tell.

You moved into my silence and replaced it with your warm sand voice. You pull up all my dry roots breaking the sick limbs to show me what a travesty I have always been for thinking that the silence of me would ever be enough. You weaken me to rust and ruins half a bit above the knees. You slip a little black into my rainbow. You give a little gold without debt. You sing and ring out into my empty heart completely, you dance in all my empty rooms, opening windows and letting out the stagnant air
and
you fuck and un-fuck
my entire
tired body.

And yes, I am deathly afraid that you will one day turn to me with one foot out the door and you will tell me ‘goodbye’.

My fear encourages dilution, sea-like change, rebel flirtation all those shuns.
The contemplation of ‘soul mates’ is best achieved through more than a few drinks; the only way to silence the mind is to kill it. I’d like to pretend that I’m ordinary and rational: a sipper of liquor whose madness is purely purposefully artful.

Lucky is the criminal who’s always running from his crimes, Lucky is the greyhound behind the fake and elusive rabbit, He chases, but there’s no chance he’ll catch it.

By disappointing others you prevent your own disappointment.