I dont know what it is that makes me miss you when your not around, but i do. and I guess i've been afraid to say it here or anywhere because of how much pride I have or because I have problems with admitting to things I know is true.

You are FUCKING MEAN.

Meet you at the statue in an hour.

 Afraid.

Yes well, it was never like this Eileen. 

 And maybe it was just something you would have wanted to tell your kids.

Seeing the cluster of thoughts you concoct in your head
to your worrying smile you so bravely hold
to your deep searching eyes
which tears start to unfold
to the lips I so often press against mine
to the lingering tongue
with such great divine
to those special hand-held one breath moments
to your skin like pure vanilla sky
,
I will embrace and hold just as you are mine
for an important friend taught I,
that lovers be kind. 

 I hate world.

 I want to hook my right leg behind my left roll down and up on my head and do a head drill and land into a chair freeze. only now.

 for too often; do i sit on thy thrown

often unheard and all alone

you would think someone like I

could get all he wants;

 

from a circus show to cold chicken pie;

yet, what pain do strike my chest

3 cm down, below my breast;

the heartache of a wounded lover

the medusa; a clever, clever

 

Hands comfort my face; I frown

as I no longer where this crown;

for now I am nothing but a has-been four leaf clover

for now, I am just a wounded lover

 

for too long; do I sit on this thrown

often unheard and all alone;

often unheard and all alone;

 you really didnt fucking have to.

Cause' I fucking know

 Because when you lock the door; it does you no good
for they just climb out of windows. Instead.

 And if I were to die then & there, I would have gone, happily. For, I swear everything was almost perfect.

 why do we tell lies.

 The place had been familiar to me. There was no denying the resemblence. The poor wet constructed asphalt roads, the dead shady trees covering the area for miles. It had that kind of nostalgic feeling you get after dreams. It gave a whole "9" movie theme to it really. Where there were two glass windows. One occupied by a spider which spun it's web to reveal a revelation of truth. Something that was coming. Something that was about to happen. The other window showed an old man. The grumpy kind in movies where the wife died of a chronic illness and left him to grow old alone. Except, in this story, I don't think he really dies happy.

The buildings where divided between two blocks and that's when the spider spun it's web. The web depicting an old man being harrassed. The trooper then swung swiftly across the building to the other side. It didn't seem bad at first. Before it all turned into a trick. A cold murder. Before he stabbed him and said, "It's me.".

 I spent the night writing, and thinking of you.