My brother is telling me a story about rain and small children years ago

but I'm not listening.

I heard rain and all that I can think about is thursday with you and holding you for the first time under sheets of gray agony = water much like the stuff that poured from your eyes and hands when I kissed your fingers with eyes closed like you were everything

you are everything,

and when you have headaches it takes everything I have to keep myself from pushing fingers through

just to see what it's like to be inside of you.

I want to touch thoughts memories pain the part that makes your breath catch writhe fingertips towards bone sinew neurons torn facades feel your tears before you ever had a reason to cry.

Hell, I just want to feel something no punctuation can convey.

I'd give anything to hold you in my arms right now

which is stupid, I'm seeing you in minutes.

I just want to tell you.

You have the most kissable lips I have ever laid eyes upon.

And when I pulled her hair I would have given anything to see her bleed but I guess I'll have to settle for causing pain where memories of you itch her most

fucking christa.

Anyway, forgive me for not updating normally; incomplete revenge and procrastinating illnesses seem to be getting the best of me lately

+

I like to let the rage build up.

It keeps me warm when I'm alone and eye-sweat numbs me more than usual.

Although I'm not sure it matters.

Because really, everyone's cold and everyone's too young to fall asleep and my veins are just as black as yours,

what with the residues of fake romances and dust from our blades.

Yeah.

Again, I'm sorry for neglecting this place. Hopefully this newness will help.

And now that I have something to write about

everything's fine.

There are some things that are hard to tell you, though

from the moment I heard your voice watched your lips fall apart and expose

e v e r y t h i n g

I've been missing in my life.

I knew.

I needed to taste your pain fill that cavity see you with my eyes closed

so I waited until it rained

and you were so scared, I remember pushing my hand over your heart and feel your pulse quicken beneath my fingertips and when you left I found your hair on the pillow your skin in the sheets and your smell on everything you touched.

and I guess there was nothing else to do except fumble for cd's and songs that could ease the absence of your body in my vicinity.

Well as for now I'm gonna hear the saddest songs
and sit alone and wonder
how you're making out.
And as for me I wish that I was anywhere with anyone
making out.

But sometimes I am just so fucking AFRAID,

so fucking scared that I'll give you my sickness

infect you with misshapen eyes

and perpetual cold.

Fuck, i'm addicted to needing you.

Your hair, it's everywhere.
Screaming infidelities, and taking its wear.

And maybe it's trite but I can always be wrong.

Try not to be wrong.