To be forgotten.
The spotless mind seems to be most appealing.

Brevity. Subtlety.
The silent letter.

So many lines I wish I'd written.
'Your very flesh would be a great poem.'

I'm beginning to suspect that I'm finding a new green space, and I'm not sure how to react to it.
Also, I've come to realize that the only voice I ever hear in my head is my own.

As our mouths touched each other,
the words did run quick
and stood in a world,
where rhymes could be picked.

But now that our mouths
have traveled afar,
the lines are all hazy
and the rhythm's bizzare.

I'd like to explain
all that went wrong,
but, I've forgotten my tongue
in your mouth so strong.

I'm being terribly obsessive.

My head is being passed around.
Back and forth.

Space. Back. Space.
Space. Backspace.

One by one they come undone.
My actions redefine perversity of all forms.
Cleanliness of the form of water is craved for.

All along I've mistaken my ability to introspect for intelligence.
My nails have grown longer and chip at the end.

To forget and to be forgotten.
To creep from the behind and turn his page.
Thats the secret pathway to my new page.

I locked myself outside
and threw away the key,
now I'm breaking the windows
to set him free.

My eye is clouded
by the shattered glass,
I've failed to see
that he is the house.

Stupidity is me.
Mostly. Greatly.
Yes, greatly.

Too much writing. Waiting. Writing. Plus being a lie.
Stupidity.

Mobile phones are idiotic. It goes with the general repulsion with communication of all forms.

So much bitterness. Blame it on old age.
And yet, called young by another.

Disbelief. Bitter. Non-idealistic.
Lack of words that speak of opposites of rainbows, chocolates and coffee.

Tears are dropped.
Tears that should be sold.
But, the goose that laid golden eggs has been killed.
The eggs are white with some yellow, now.
That should be the end of that.

To consume and to be consumed.
To possess and to be possessed. Owned, perhaps.

'Thoughts meander like a
restless wind inside a letter box'

Nothing's going to change my world. My changed world.

The ability to remember provides no relief.
Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind.

New city. Or merely, old city gone new.
New person. Or the same.
Punctuations are unhelpful.
Eats shoots and leaves.

Photographs bring the reality out in one.
Intimidation overshadowed by large amounts of grammatical errors.

Pretentious writing on open spaces addressed merely to one.

What would you do if I sang out of tune,
Would you stand up and walk out on me?