do you know what its like

keeping my head under wraps

a turban

with the wind getting cold, cold, colder

and the sun fading

the sky closing in, down, down

such a downer

we are

we have been to each other

but that turban has turned like gauze in front of my eyes

and now its shifted from when i turn my head

to the right

but this has all been unforgettable for all the notes i have wrote

I have wrought

my hands

over simplicities like fishes in nets caught

that have dried and over time

stained beyond wash

we have turned our head

put low by the wind

turned down by the sky

and puddled like my diabetic blood

I'M IN LOVE WITH A ROBOT.

you have made me hate myself

but only in the way

that I admire

the most tantalizing characters in novels

the bad person is always the most interesting,

which is what I am most about non?

mais, quand meme

j'ai mal au coeur

mais aucun desire

de rehabilite mes sentiments envers toi,

et moi

ou bien comme tu bientot sera

vous.

there is a silken heat

that is infecting

all my unluxurious fabrics

that sway of silk I want to feel in this heat

like a breeze

a dip

my internal anger makes me want to combust

from inside out

leaving marks on the sheets

spontaneous combustion

and other paranormal

supernatural

unexplained

by those

undevoted

to notions of such crap

I want to drown out the fire

in a fit

through a puddle, midnight

while the whole street watches

so that its burns holes

into their hearts

while I seethe,

and let go of myself transfigured

the demon out

and the silken heat, the sweaty velvet, the musky damask

I just want to whisper something in your ear

that you wont hear

leave you forlorn and wondering

what I could have said,

especially judging from the way I cocked my head

these days I sit upon a cold patio

in a cold shadow

wondering where has my sun king gone

when its pluto I feel the most

I crave at least a jupiter

or a saturn with rings above his head

a golden halo

is it Jesus for whom I so desperately call

I am filled with enough sadness to fill 50 barrels of wine

all of which

I could promptly smash apart

like crystal breaking

and gashing all the liaisons of my heart

I haven't felt truthful in a while and

I sure admit I've got no alibi

but that certain songs break my back

and the pain of the bones makes me cry

my heart and soul and mind are like a desert

in which I used to want to live

till I discovered that

even in places where water doesnt exist, there are caterpillars

perhaps I am an ocean instead, a lake, or a river? I guess it could be best said that I am a brook that dries up without rain and causes flooding when its torrential.