Slow Burning Pain

Like cloggy saturated fats in your veins

it slowly matriculates into your bloodstream.

Cuts off the blood flow to your extremities,

and numbs the sensations that they once felt so irreplaceable.

The disease drives into your brain.

Destroys the vivid things you keep stored in old film canisters.

Implodes your senses so that you smell

only the scents that have been contaminated

with the rancidness of decay.

Erases the wheel of color that your eyes

have pictured for your pleasantness,

and eliminates all of the auditory joy

that you've searched so long and hard for.

When it's at your heart, at your soul

you realize that it won't simply turn off the ignition.

Your motor will still run,

and your heart will still pump.

Except you won't want them to anymore.

You'll want that engine to explode,

for the cancer to consume the aching cells of your mangled body.

But when it finally does.

When finally the film canisters have been destroyed,

the pictures burned,

the sensations forgotten,

and the scents have dulled.

You can rejoice in your resurrection.

For the virus didn't kill you,

just remake you.

Our Cabinets

I knew I liked you when I heard Lykke Li

wailing on the background of your

white colored victorian-textile-patterned myspace page.

Her song drifted to me like little ants to a piece of food

left on the sidewalk to long.

Your jeans clinged to you so extra skinny and there

on that chair you lounged so seductively

waiting and wanting, yet napping.

We exchanged music last night

and we opened the file cabinets of us

the ones that say, "I like this sort of stuff."

The ones that say here you are,

here is a piece of me.

You can have it.

We Will Walk Through Graveyards

We will walk though graveyards together,

and take our tombstones away from the mourning.

They will sit in the sun eat late,

sleep in, and drink early.

They will grow moss in the damp misty settings

of our Skins.

One day when they are one,

no one will have seen them.

And we'll think about those things we watched

when we were discovering our Youth Novels.

Oranges

I love fruit. 

The apples, and bananas, oh and peaches.

Those are great.

But I enjoy eating an orange the most. 

I've been eating this particular orange for months now.

Months, and yet it still isn't overly ripe, rotten or whatever

other kinds of odd happenings happen to old fruit. 

The other day however, I was about to eat a piece,

when I realized that it was no longer an orange.

It had become a grapefruit.

I'm not sure if I like grapefruit.

Drops

At times I think our thoughts go on with hope.

They run like drops of water trickling down.

Into caverns where surely they will float.

Or maybe they will go and die and drown. 

It's sad to know our drops will cease to live.

They cling and merge into their lives to say,

we can't, we won't, fuck it, we won't forgive. 

Stand back, let us just die and go away. 

So we can turn our drops into a pool, 

and we can swim, and we can splash and shit.

These thoughts think that these thoughts are really cool.

Like water merging it sounds like a fit. 

But no, we know that time will fuck it up.

They'll take our drops and drink them in their cup.